That Guy

by Belle Brooks

  Tap, tap, tap, tap.

  “I come bearing tissues. Can I come in?”

  Arlie. What? Why?

  “Please stop crying. I’m sorry,” he pleads.

  He’s sorry? Why’s he sorry? He didn’t do anything wrong.

  “I’m coming in. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

  I turn my blurred sight to the partly opened door.

  Arlie steps through the gap with a box of tissues held out in front of him. “I shouldn’t have done what I did. It was … well, you were about to cry. I didn’t want you to cry.” He pauses. “I made it worse.”

  I shake my head. Is this guy a saint?

  Arlie plucks a tissue from the box and waves it in retreat.

  “You left.” My voice quivers.

  “I did. I had to …” He clears his throat. “I had to fix myself.”

  “Fix yourself?”

  He points downwards. “A male thing.”

  I suck my cheeks inwards. “Oh.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “You don’t need to be. It’s me who should be sorry.”

  Arlie drops the box of tissues to the floor and marches towards me, closing the gap quicker than I can blink. His hands wrap around my body. His heart beats against my ear. He kisses the top of my hair.

  And with this one display of pure affection, comfort, and kindness, my embarrassment drifts away, and my body relaxes.

  “Do you want to put your suitcase back on the bed and unpack? I’ll leave you to do so on your own and wait downstairs at the table for you.”

  I nod against his chest.

  “I’m going to let you go now.”

  Before he has a chance to step away, I snake my arms around his waist and hug him back. I hold Arlie as tightly as I do Chris when I’m upset. Arlie holds me as tightly as Chris does in return.

  ***

  There’s a glass of water to my right and a plate of assorted cheese and crackers to my left. Arlie sits across from me with a binder open, reading through the rules and regulations of the island out loud.

  When he gets to the part about the get-out-of-jail-free cards, I tense. Not long ago, I planned to whip one out so I could go home. Arlie, on the other hand, did not. I need to get a grip and relax more. I’m in paradise. With the first little hiccup, I planned to bolt. I can’t bolt. I can’t run from this island.

  “The cards are in the back of the binder,” he says.

  “Okay.”

  “We need to open an envelope each day that will have a task for us. Today’s one is here.” He holds a blue envelope in the air.

  “Okay.”

  Arlie tears the paper. He pulls out a matching blue-coloured piece of paper from inside.

  “Arlie and Melinda,” he reads. “Your first task is to take a canoe out to the middle of the ocean. Once there, you’re to share three things about yourself with each other, things which have meaning and significance to who you are as people. There’s nowhere to run. No place to hide. Be honest. Be understanding. Once completed, you’ll receive a prize.”

  “A prize? Exciting.”

  He nods.

  “Just one thing: do you know how to canoe?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t.”

  “You’ve never been on a canoe?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well, today you will be an expert.”

  I half laugh.

  “It also says in the letter that if you don’t want to complete this task you can use one of your out cards to abandon it, but we need to use them wisely, because once they’re gone you get no more.”

  “How do these cards work exactly? You get one to leave, and two to remove yourself from tasks?”

  “No. My understanding is you get three cards, and you can either use any of them to leave or to sit out a task.”

  “Oh, okay. Are you going to use yours?”

  “No.” He sounds surprised. “You?”

  “No. I’ll give it a go.”

  “Good. We better head out soon before it gets too late. We don’t want to be on the sea at dusk.”

  “Why?”

  “It’ll get dark quickly. And sharks.”

  I gulp. “I see. Well, let’s start because I don’t want to be some sea creature’s dinner.”

  Arlie smiles. “Bathers it is. There are towels in the bathroom.”

  “Where’s the bathroom?”

  “There’s a door against the wall in my room off from the bed.”

  “Hmm. I didn’t see one in mine.”

  “Well, looks like you’ll be using my bathroom.” His voice rises. A smile touches the corner of his lips.

  “You said there are heaps of other bathrooms in the house?”

  “There is. But mine is the only one on our level.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s up to you which one you use. I don’t mind if you use mine.”

  “Okay.”

  “Go get changed, and I’ll bring you down a towel. You brought bathers, yeah?”

  I nod.

  “We’ll meet back here in five?”

  “Sounds good.”

  ***

  I open the suitcase from where I shoved it in the wardrobe, still fully packed. I dig through my clothes in search of my black tankini and boardshorts. Turns out I no longer have either of these items in my luggage.

  “Chris,” I groan. Not only has he put the vibrator he purchased for me in my bag, but he’s also removed all my bathing suits, bar the yellow bikini I swore to myself I wouldn’t wear. His death will be the first task I complete when I get back to Melbourne.

  I stand inside the closet to change and make sure I’m facing the wall.

  I must not let these cameras see me naked.

  Once I tie the back of the two-piece into place, I make my way into the bedroom and nervously pace back and forward. There’s no mirror in here. What if I look ridiculous?

  I wrap my hands around my naked belly, and cross one thigh in front of the other to hide my curves, curves I couldn’t remove even if I was to exercise. I have a naturally curvaceous frame. Big boobs, wider hips, chunkier thighs … I’ve been like this since I started puberty at twelve years old. How do I cover these unattractive qualities? How does a girl like me impress a guy like Arlie who’s cover model material? I can’t.

  The kiss we shared earlier will be as far as our romance goes. I know this; he probably does, too.

  “Melinda,” Arlie calls with an air of excitement. I freak out. I jump on the spot, then hop from foot to foot in an un-coordinated jig, hightailing it into the wardrobe. I dig through my case and pull out a strappy, casual white dress. I’m quick to rip it over my head before I walk in a circle like a dog chasing its tail in search of the sunglasses I wore on the yacht. I can’t find them. Did I leave them behind?

  I dig through my stuff again, this time in search of the spare pair I know I placed in there. I find the thick black frames and slip them onto my head.

  The white hat Conrad gifted me still lies on the ground near the bedroom door. I dip down and retrieve it on my way out.

  “I’m here,” I puff. I’m flustered. It’s obvious. How do you turn fluster off?

  “Towels, water bottles, and sunscreen.” Arlie nods toward the backpack slung over his shoulder. “Can you think of anything else we’ll need?”

  “No,” I say, shifting my eyes from his bare chest to the waistband of his boardshorts, which hang from his hips in just the right way.

  “Hat. I need a hat.” He turns on his heel and jogs down to his room.

  “Hat, sure, hat,” I mutter to myself feeling self-conscious, nervous, and very intimidated.

  “Ready?” he asks, jogging towards me wearing a black baseball cap which match his boardies.

  “I am,” I lie.

  “I can’t wait to get out in the surf. How about you?”

  “Super excited,” I lie again.

  “Great. After you.” He waves me in front of him.

/>   I place my sunglasses over my eyes and put the hat on my head. I hate the surf. I hate bikinis. I hate Chris right now, but most of all, I hate everything about myself and the way my body continues to betray me.

  Chapter Twenty

  The moment we reach the soft sand, I see the canoe by the water’s edge. It wasn’t there when I arrived on the island, but it is now.

  Headaches: They’re something I rarely experience, but right now, my head pounds excessively, and it makes me feel like throwing up. I’m putting the dull ache which has turned into drumming against my skull down to the champagne I had on the way over here. Champagne and my brain never mix well.

  “Are you okay?” Arlie asks.

  I rub my fingers against my temple. "Hmm.”

  “A headache?”

  “A little one. I’m probably a bit dehydrated.”

  “Do you want to get some paracetamol?”

  “No, no, it’s okay. We’ve already reached the beach. No point turning back.”

  “Do you want to wait a bit before heading out? Wait for the headache to die down?”

  “Yes. Can I just sit here for a bit and drink some water? Do we have time?"

  “Sure. I might go for a swim. Unless you want me to stay with you.”

  “No, you go swim, and when you get out, we’ll get the task over and done with.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Okay,” he says, placing the backpack and his hat beside me. “Be back soon.”

  I nod.

  Every step he takes has the tattoo on his calf drawing my attention. I don’t know what it is about, but I like looking at it. In fact, I love it. It suits him. Maybe I should get a tattoo. What would I get? Where would I even put it?

  Arlie dives under the water and disappears for a moment.

  “It’s lovely,” he yells when he resurfaces.

  I give him a thumbs up before placing two fingertips against my temple and rolling them around in a small circle. I feel sick, and I still can’t figure out if I should get a tattoo or not.

  Water. More water. I’m so thirsty I drink from one of the bottles Arlie packed until my belly is as full as a camel’s would be when taking to the desert. The more I drink, the less pain I experience.

  Note to self: Drink more H20 to prevent future headaches.

  No sooner do I think this than I see Arlie swimming back into shore. I jet my head in every direction, looking for the cameraman I expect to see down by the shoreline—after all, we’ve left the house—but he’s nowhere I can see him.

  It’s strange. Everything about this beach feels bizarre to me at this moment. That is, until I scan the water’s edge and see a man with a camera standing there. Where did he come from?

  Arlie stands. His tanned skin glistens. Good God, he’s gorgeous.

  Arlie runs his hand through his hair, and my eyes glue to his bulging bicep. He must work out a lot to have arms like tree trunks. I watch as he looks towards the camera I’d not long ago spotted myself. I pull the sunglasses down the bridge of my nose, tipping my chin slightly before peering through a small gap. Just because I’ve put limits on where our time together can go doesn’t mean I can’t perv. I’m human, after all.

  Every step Arlie takes has me drooling because he’s the best type of eye candy imaginable. The waistband of his boardies appear, then a little more material creeps out from the water as it sinks farther down the tops of his legs. Yeah, baby, work it, I think, right before I burst into a fit of laughter at the sight of his very defined buffalo. Arlie’s pants have wedged so far up his front, the seam has split his balls into two defined bulges, one on each side.

  I snort, then cough, then fall to my side. The camel toe for men. Who knew it was a thing that happened?

  By the time Arlie reaches me, I’m crying and laughing at the same time.

  “What’s so funny, you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” I continue my laughter not able to look up at him. After a minute or two, I rein in my amusement. “You know how my flying trapeze vibrator is going to make it into every single lounge room across Australia?”

  There’s a slight chuckle coming from above me.

  “Well, now your buffalo is too.”

  “What?” He screeches, causing me to laugh again. “I knew I shouldn’t have packed these fucking shorts because they have a habit of riding my junk.”

  My laughter grows until I’m crying again.

  “Oh, this is really funny to you, isn’t it?”

  I nod.

  A piercing squeal explodes from my mouth when he wraps his arms around my waist, and he lifts me until my pointed toes can’t touch the ground. “Let me go,” I squawk.

  “Yeah, no. Not until you stop laughing at me.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll stop,” I choke out.

  Slowly, my body is lowered until I’m flat-footed and held against his cold chest.

  “You see, I don’t embarrass easy …” His lips are close to mine. His eyes narrow and appear more serious in reflection. “I don’t care if I was sporting a man toe for the world to see.” Arlie steps away.

  “Okay,” I whisper, finding myself mesmerised by the colour change in Arlie’s eyes, so much brighter, darker in colour than they were before he set off for a swim. There’s something about the way his eyes change to different shades of blue and grey under differing circumstances … I find this fascinating. My eyes don’t do such a thing, so why do his?

  “Are you ready to get this task completed yet?”

  “Yes.” I’m all breathy and absent of thought.

  “Good. Get your kit off, and let’s head out.”

  Take my dress off? I’m not taking it off. I’m heading out as I am.

  “What’s wrong?” He must sense my sudden change of heart.

  “Nothing. I’m ready to go.”

  “Okay, rip your dress off, and tuck it in the bag.”

  “No, no. I’m wearing it out.”

  “What?”

  “I’m wearing it. We’re going in a canoe. I’m not going to get wet.”

  “Yes, you will. Trust me, the less you wear, the better. Plus, you’ll need the traction your skin offers to keep you seated securely as we row.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because the canoe is fibreglass, and the material of your dress will have you slip-sliding out of your seat.”

  What the hell? “Okay,” I say, turning my back to Arlie. One deep breath has my hands reaching for the bottom of the material. Another deep breath has me sliding it up my stomach. A hesitant and shaky breath has the dress ripped over my head.

  Then it hits me—if he’s wearing boardshorts, won’t he slip and slide too?

  “Hang on. You’re wearing …” I rip my body around to face Arlie, who has the cheekiest smile lifting his lips.

  “Yellow’s a good colour on you. You shouldn’t believe everything you’re told. Now, let’s go before we’re shark bait.”

  What an arse hat. I totally fell for Arlie's cock-a-bull story.

  ***

  My arms are burning when we come to a stop out in the middle of the sea. The shoreline is only just visible, the island much too far away for my liking. My stomach becomes awash with nerves as I rotate my head and look at the mountains, which appear so close I feel as though I could swim the distance remaining between them and us. We’re not alone out here, though, because there’s a speedboat hovering not far away.

  Arlie points at a microphone attached to the canoe with his outstretched finger.

  “I guess this is how they hear us,” he says, matter-of-factly.

  “Do you keep forgetting there are cameras around and then suddenly remember, like I do?”

  “Yep. I took a step back when I saw old mate on the beach.”

  There’s a moment of silence between us. The only noise I hear is the shutting down of a boat engine.

  “At least the water is calm out here,” Arlie says.

  “Eerily.”
I shiver.

  “Okay, I’m going to say this before you think it.”

  Think what?

  “I’m trying hard not to stare at your boobs right now, but I’m a man, and your boobs are, you know, boobs.”

  A smile touches my lips as my face warms, and I know I’m blushing.

  “Boobs,” he says again, childishly.

  “I get it, and it’s okay.”

  “Good.” And without even blinking, his eyes roam from my face to my tits. “Thank you, God,” he whispers so softly I almost don’t catch it.

  I giggle. It seems we pray in the same way. I’ll mark that in the ‘pro’ column of my time with Arlie Blight. He’s open and honest, and doesn’t hide how he feels. I’ll add that to my list, too. “Do you want to go first with these three truths, or should I?”

  “What would you like?”

  “I’d like you to go first.”

  “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  Arlie crosses his hands over his lap. His vision remains on my bust until he lifts his chin and stares into my eyes.

  “I was once engaged to a woman named Elissa Samuels. It didn’t work out because she cheated on me with my best friend. I haven’t had a serious relationship since. Betrayal is my least favourite word, and I have trust issues because of the situation. It’s one of the reasons I came on the show. The other reason is that by admitting this in front of the whole world, I can’t hide from it anymore. I hope it’ll mean I’m more comfortable with dating again.”

  Holy fuck. That’s a huge fucking truth. “I’m sorry that happened to you. Can I ask some questions about it, or would you prefer not to discuss it any further?”

  His eyes narrow, his lips pinched together, and then he crosses his arms over his chest. I can see he doesn’t want to talk about it. He’s likely hurting, so maybe it’s still raw. “Sure, ask whatever you’d like, but if I don’t want to answer something, can I say pass and you’ll move on?”

  I nod.

  Closing my eyes, I ask myself if it’s best to drop the twenty questions and move on, sparing him any further discomfort, but I want to know. I want to know Arlie Blight, and the good, the bad, and the ugly that comes with him. “How long were you together?” I say, opening my eyes and looking down at my legs tucked to the side.

  “Ten years.”

  “Holy ffff …” I mush my lips together to prevent myself from completing the word. Not in front of my parents.