by Nicola Marsh
“Listen, Dave. We’re study buddies. Let’s not mess with that, okay?” I tried to ease away but his hand under my breast tightened, squeezing to the point of pain.
Uh-oh.
“Study buddies? What the fuck?” He spun me round so fast I felt woozy. “Does this feel like I’m interested in just studying?”
He grabbed my hips and pulled me roughly against him, grinding his hard-on against me. I felt like puking. “You know what you are, Jess? A cockteaser.”
He thrust against me again to ram the point home. “For two semesters you’ve sat next to me. Leaning across me to copy notes. Letting your hair brush my arm. Smiling at me like English is the last thing on your mind.”
He grinned, a sinister stretching of thin lips over slightly protruding teeth. “So don’t give me some bullshit now about us being just friends, because I know you want this.”
The guy was nuts. How the hell had he taken our innocent study dates and built them up into some sicko sex fantasy? I shook my head. “No, I don’t.”
“Bet I can change your mind.”
And that’s the moment I knew I was in serious trouble.
Because I’d just said no. And Dave didn’t believe me.
“Let. Me. Go.” I annunciated each word clearly.
Yeah, like that would help the message sink into his thick skull. “This isn’t going to happen, Dave. I said no.”
“Fucking cockteasing bitch,” he said, a second before his mouth slammed onto mine.
I screamed. Useless. His tongue stuck in my mouth and I tried to bite it, which only served to make him angrier.
He grabbed my ponytail and pulled. Hard. My neck snapped back. Pain ricocheted down my spine. This was bad. Really bad.
I fought, desperate to escape. But the more I writhed and bucked to get away, the stronger he seemed to get. The windowsill dug into my back as he pinned me easily with his body weight and one arm, the other arm insinuating its way between our bodies. Sliding lower. Unzipping.
I would not let this happen.
Mustering every ounce of strength I could, I wrenched my mouth free for a moment and that’s all I needed to let out an ear-shattering scream.
“For fuck’s sake.” He released me, shoving me away so hard I stumbled and fell onto the bed.
Like that was helping my situation. I scrambled up fast and ran for the door, half expecting him to come at me again.
“Frigid bitch.” His tone was so cold, so derisive, I wondered how I could’ve been fooled into thinking this guy was mild-mannered. “Here’s a tip for you. Don’t enter a bedroom at a party unless you want to get laid.”
I opened the door and paused, incredulous. In what alternate reality did a girl trusting a friend equate with her expecting sex just because they entered a bedroom?
“And here’s a tip for you, dickwad.” I stared at his groin and wrinkled my nose. “No means no.” I held up my hand and let my pinkie droop. “So keep your tiny wiener in your pants. And if you ever come near me again, I’ll have you up on sexual assault charges so fast your head will spin.”
Brave fighting words, while I was a quivering mess inside.
To my amazement, Dave deflated before my eyes. Slumped shoulders. Red face. And he started to shake. “I’m sorry, Jess. Been a long time and—”
“Save it, asshole. Just because you’ve got a severe case of blue balls doesn’t mean you get to force a girl into having sex with you.”
That’s when I started to shake too, when the enormity of what I’d just escaped hit me. “Stay the hell away from me. Or better yet, when I get back after summer, I want you gone. Transfer out.”
His hangdog expression did little to soothe my rampant sense of injustice. I had to get in a parting shot.
“And for the record? I’ll be telling every girl in my dorm what just happened here, and they’ll tell their boyfriends who’ll beat you to a pulp if you don’t leave. So don’t think I’ll stay silent because I’m embarrassed or ashamed.” I flipped him the bird. “Because you’re the one who should be ashamed, you stupid prick.”
I made a run for it then, half slipping, half sliding down the stairs. I pushed through the crowd, made it to the door and out. Freedom.
I ran on pure adrenalin all the way to Chantal’s apartment, where I banged on the door until my fists ached.
Thankfully, it was her night off and when my cousin opened the door, I stumbled inside and burst into tears.
Chapter Four
JACK
I hated cooking Mrs. Gee’s hearty beef stew. Dicing onions would have to be my least favorite task in the kitchen and she’d assigned me a kilo’s worth.
“How was the B&S ball?” she said, rinsing and drying her hands while eyeing me with curiosity.
I paused mid-chop and blinked against the constant sting. “Same old.”
Mrs. Gee tut-tutted. “Wild women and monstrous hangovers?”
“Something like that.” I resumed dicing, preferring not to think about that night two weeks ago. The night I kinda went a little crazy.
“You were back rather early?” She poured beef stock into the monstrous pot on the stove and added a handful of fresh tarragon and oregano. “Thought you’d be gone for a few days.”
“Maybe I missed you too much?” I winked and the sixty-something cook blushed.
“You’re full of it,” she said, grabbing a ladle and stirring the stew. “So what really happened?”
I couldn’t tell her the truth, for the simple fact I hadn’t quite figured out what had happened myself.
After the forty-year-old blonde had rooted me on her Ute, I’d made my way back to the main arena. And stood on the outskirts for the next two hours, feeling like crap.
Empty on the inside. Mixed with a healthy dose of disgust.
What kind of a soulless prick hooked up with nameless women?
Pricks like me.
Because that’s how I’d felt, watching couples dance and make out and drink until they were comatose…like I had no soul.
I felt dead on the inside. Like nothing or no one could touch me.
And it had scared the shit out of me.
I’d stopped drinking right then and grabbed a few hours sleep to give the alcohol time to work out of my system, before hitting the road and heading back here.
But the empty feeling hadn’t subsided and nothing I did these days could shake it. Not even long rides on horseback, sleeping in a swag beneath the stars or losing myself in concocting new recipes.
I needed to shake things up but had no frigging idea how to do it.
“Nothing happened.” I took the chopping board over to the pot and scooped the onions in. “Do we put the spuds in now or later?”
“Stop trying to distract me with cooking talk.” She waggled her finger. “You haven’t been yourself since you got back from that ball and I’m worried.”
A little piece of my hardened heart melted. Ever since I’d arrived at Cooweer four months ago, Mrs. Gee had been like a makeshift mum. Rather nice, considering I hadn’t had a mum since mine had done a runner when I was six. At least she’d lasted two years longer than my dad, who’d bolted when I was four.
Mrs. Gee saved me the choicest cuts of meat, made my favorite passion-fruit pav regularly and imparted her best recipes with regularity. She was great. But I wasn’t used to having anyone worry about me, least of all an older woman I barely knew.
“Don’t worry about me.” I blew her a kiss. “You’d be better off being concerned about me figuring out your secret ingredients and winning the Royal Agricultural Show next year.”
She snorted. “You’re going to hang around that long?”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
The truth was, I had no idea how long I planned on staying. After Mum left, I spent ten years of my life being shunted from one foster home to another, until I’d had a gutful at sixteen and escaped. Barely. The beating I’d received from a sadistic older ‘brother’ at that last house stayed wi
th me, all the incentive I needed to fall off the foster system map and go bush. And I’d been traveling ever since, working my way across outback New South Wales and into Queensland.
I liked being a nomad. Multi-tasking; anything from shearing sheep to picking up horseshit. Landing the cooking gig had been totally unexpected and the first thing in my life I actually enjoyed.
“I’ll make you a deal.” Mrs. Gee folded her arms and propped against the island bench in the middle of the huge kitchen. “You stick around a little longer and I’ll show you how to make my famous jelly lamingtons.”
“I don’t do cakes,” I said, secretly thrilled she liked having me around that much.
“You shove them down that big mouth of yours just fine.” She grinned and I smiled back, enjoying our unexpected camaraderie. I didn’t let many people get close. Mrs. Gee was definitely an exception to the rule.
“Well, you’ll have to stick around another month at least, because we’re having house guests.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the door leading into the main homestead. “Yanks, apparently. Some politician who works for the missus’s father in LA. And his girlfriend.”
“So? What’s that got to do with me?” I cooked for the station workers, Mrs. Gee handled the homestead. We co-existed in the kitchen in culinary harmony, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to wanting to cook more than the requisite stews and bolognaise and schnitzels the workers preferred.
“I was thinking…” Surprisingly, she hesitated. Mrs. Gee was never lost for words.
“Don’t strain yourself.” I deadpanned and she laughed.
“What I was trying to say, smart arse, was I’m thinking you might want to try your hand at some new recipes? Help me out?”
Touched by her offer, I said, “Why?”
She glanced away, her gaze glistening with the sheen of telltale tears. “Because my daughter’s having woman’s problems in Cairns and I may need to go see her on short notice.”
Not wanting to precipitate tears, or hear more about the delicate workings of the female anatomy that Mrs. Gee would gladly impart if I showed the slightest interest, I focused on her offer. “Sorry to hear about your girl, but you want me to be in charge of all the cooking if you go?”
I didn’t add, are you insane?
What did I know about serving the posh food homestead guests regularly expected?
“You can handle it.” She opened a nearby cupboard, pulled out a stack of cookbooks and slid them across the bench. “Here. I’ve made notes on all my favorites, but I reckon you could choose a few of your own and have a go.”
“But—”
“There are no guests coming bar the Yanks, so it won’t be too difficult.” Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “Besides, if it gets too much for you, just serve them bangers and mash.”
Somehow, I couldn’t see an American politician considering sausages and mashed potatoes gourmet fare.
“You’re serious about this?”
She nodded. “I have full confidence in you.” She tapped her watch face. “You start shadowing me first thing in the morning.”
I’d wanted to shake my life up a little.
Looked like I’d got my wish.
Most guys my age were busy getting a tertiary education, getting a car and getting laid.
Me? I had nothing but a spatula in one hand and a stack of cookbooks in another. Not quite the excitement I craved but hey, a guy had to start somewhere.
Chapter Five
JESS
“Drink this.” Chantal thrust a brandy at me. “It’ll settle your nerves.”
“I’m not nervous, I’m freaking furious.” I took the drink and downed it in three gulps, coughing and spluttering as it burned my throat.
“That’s why you should agree to my plan.” Chantal made a scissor action with her fingers. “Castration is the only answer for slimy bastards like that.”
“I’m actually angry at myself.”
And I was. Downright livid, that I’d put myself in the position to be raped. I should’ve been more tuned to the vibes Dave had been giving off, should’ve been more savvy than to enter a bedroom, albeit with a friend.
Mom always said I was too naive. Having to admit she was right stung almost as much as me misjudging Dave.
“You did nothing wrong,” Chantal said, curling up on the sofa next to me. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“That’s the thing. I do.” My voice came out soft and pathetically needy. “I’m clueless when it comes to guys.”
“How so?” Chantal glanced away, like she couldn’t look me in the eye and lie. Because the fact was, we’d both grown up in Craye Canyon. Small town life with a small town mentality. I’d been a goody-two-shoes, trying my best to be the opposite of Mom. Chantal knew this. She’d teased me about it.
Lucky for my brazen cousin, she’d never cared what anyone thought of her and had fled town as soon as she turned eighteen. Now, four years later, here we both were. One of us was a stunning blonde dancer who enticed men for a living. The other one was a dweeby, good girl who hadn’t got to first base with a guy.
“I don’t flirt, I don’t date, I don’t have any freaking idea when a guy likes me or not,” I said, grabbing the nearest cushion and hugging it to my chest. “That’s why I wonder if I kinda brought this on myself.”
Chantal punched me on the arm. “You’re invoking the defense of every rapist on the planet. ‘She asked for it.’ Or ‘she dressed like a slut so she deserved it.’” Chantal shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way.”
“I know, but…” Dave’s accusations echoed in my head. Had I inadvertently led him on?
“But what?”
“He said a bunch of stuff—”
“That tried to lay the blame on you, right?” Chantal snorted. “Forget it, sweetie. None of this was your fault.”
Chantal’s cell beeped and she hesitated before picking it up.
“Go ahead.” It would give me more time to ponder what the hell I was going to do.
I didn’t want to throw my virginity away on some lowlife, but I wasn’t holding out for the fabled knight in shining armor either. One thing I did know. Until I had sex for the first time, Dave’s ‘frigid bitch’ and ‘cockteaser’ would haunt me.
“That was Reid,” Chantal said, waving the cell at me. “He’s coming over.”
I sat bolt upright. “You didn’t tell him anything?”
Chantal rolled her eyes. “Relax, I’m not a complete moron. I know your bro’s overprotective. He’d probably bash that bastard’s brains out and lose his fast track to the senate.”
So true, and the major reason I’d already decided not to tell Reid about this. I loved my sole sibling dearly but since our dad ran out on us when he was seven Reid took his man of the house responsibilities very seriously.
“Then what’s he doing in Vegas?”
“To see you, apparently.” Chantal shrugged. “He said he’d been to your dorm, you weren’t there, so he checked in here to see if I’d seen you.”
“Why didn’t he ring me?”
“Said he did.”
I patted down the small purse I’d taken to the party, belatedly realizing I’d left my cell in my dorm room. “Damn.”
Chantal poked me in the arm. “Rule number one of savvy women. Keep your cell within reach at all times.”
She was right. I was a moron for leaving my cell behind when attending a party at a new place. Pity my street smarts weren’t on par with my grades.
“I’m an idiot.”
“Gullible idiot,” Chantal added, with a smirk. “You need to find yourself a guy, sweetie. Pronto.”
“Sure thing.” I wriggled on the sofa and pretended to look under it. “Let me just pull one out of my ass.”
Chantal laughed. “Maybe you should make that your summer project. Find a hot guy and let loose.”
I wouldn’t know where to start.
“What are you doing for summer?”
I
grimaced. “No idea.”
Chantal’s hand flew to her mouth. “Tell me you’re not spending it back home running around from wedding to wedding as your mom’s lackey?”
“Are you nuts? I’m a sad case but I’m not that desperate.”
Besides, been there, done that, ripped up the veil to prove it. Being an assistant to the most hyper wedding planner on the planet was not my idea of fun. I’d been roped into helping Mom too many times as a teenager. If I saw one more place card, garter or buttonhole rose, I’d scream.
“Then what are you going to do?”
A knock on the door saved me from answering. My brother always had impeccable timing. He was also incredibly astute so I better pull off the best acting of my life to fool him into believing there was nothing wrong.
“I’m not letting you off the hook,” Chantal said, before she headed to the door.
The moment I heard my brother’s booming voice, I wanted to cry. Stupid, but he was the one guy in this world I could count on.
“Hey, Sis.” He strode into Chantal’s lounge room, immediately shrinking it with his presence.
Reid had that effect everywhere he went. It wasn’t the slick suits he wore or his height or his confidence he wore like a badge of honor. Simply, Reid was a guy people noticed because he had that unidentifiable ‘it’ factor. Pity I’d only inherited the ‘shit’ factor.
“Hey you.” I stood and welcomed his hug, swallowing the lump in my throat. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to find you.” He eased away, held me at arms’ length. “Got any plans for the next month?”
Was this a trick question? Did my powerful politician brother going places know what a loser he had for a sister?
“Why?” My eyes narrowed. “Because no way am I spending my summer in some cramped campaign office in LA folding letters or stuffing envelopes.”
“Do you have plans or not?” His smug grin signaled he definitely knew something I didn’t.
“No,” I said, with a huff. “Not yet.”
“Good.” He pulled a folded document out of his inside top pocket and handed it to me. “Take a look at that and see if you’d like to join me.”
