“What is your problem!” she shrieks at me one day, jabbing me in the chest while I’m washing and polishing my recently purchased racing kayak. She’s fifteen now, and I’m eighteen. She’s more beautiful than ever. I’m still looking at something I shouldn’t be looking at, at all.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I throw the sponge that I was soaping the hull with, in the bucket, acting nonchalant as I reach down for the hose.
She beats me to it.
“Don’t ignore me.” She holds the hose behind her back and glares at me.
“I’m not ignoring you. I’m simply washing my boat.”
She continues to keep a hold of the hose. “Explain to me why I just got dumped? Explain to me why he said some tattooed thug told him, he’d castrate him if he touched me?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeat, holding my hand out for the hose.
“You’re denying it was you?”
I shrug my shoulders and keep my hand out steady. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”
“The wrong guy with a Day of the Dead tattoo all up his right arm, and a lip and eyebrow piercing?”
I pull my piercing into my mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I reach out for the hose, and this look crosses her face that speaks of sheer frustration. She actually stomps her foot.
“Well, maybe this will help you remember!” She pulls the trigger on the hose and douses me with ice cold water.
I let out a yelp, as it hits me in the chest and hold my hands up to unsuccessfully block the blast. Then I reach out and grab the handle, trying to wrestle it from her hands. The water sprays up between us, and she squeals as it drenches her as well. For a moment, we fight over it, and our yelps turn into laughter. Then all of a sudden we stop. She releases the trigger, and we’re staring into each other’s eyes. My arm is around her waist, and hers is pressed up against my chest–we’re both still holding the hose.
Something passes in the air between us, and we’re both breathing quickly. I’m stupidly thinking about crossing that line that was the whole reason for our problems in the first place. Why does she have to be so…so…
I close my eyes and clear my throat, releasing her and removing the hose easily from her hand. “He wasn’t right for you,” I state, before turning away and hosing the suds off my kayak. In my periphery, I see her standing there for a while before she turns away and walks off without another word.
I throw the hose on the ground. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Chapter 6
Dakota
I quit trying to date boys my own age from school. Not only did Brad warn them away from me, but they were only interested in one thing, and it was one thing I wasn’t willing to give – at least not to them. I feel ready – I mean, I’m sixteen now, so I’m old enough to go all the way if I want to. And I don’t think it’s that big of a deal. Many of the girls at school have already given up their V-cards and they seem happy about it. They seem more grown up too–like having that carnal knowledge is some sort of key to adulthood.
But I guess I’m not like them. I don’t want to be with just anyone. I want my first time to be with one person in particular. But, I’m not sure that’s ever going to happen. I’m not sure if he still sees me that way, or if he’s just super protective of me because he still sees me as a kid.
It’s probably the latter of the two, because he’s always got some girl following him around. He’s finished his apprenticeship now, and his work has become more demanding, so he isn’t at training as much as he used to be. But, when he is, I catch him looking at me, and I wonder if maybe those feelings are still there for him like they are for me.
For me, they never went away. How is it possible to feel so in love with someone you hardly talk to? I don’t know why I do. I just feel it so strong in my chest every time I look at him, and every time he meets my eyes, my stomach flips, and my heart pounds. I know I’m probably too young to really know what love is, but that feeling hasn’t lessened a bit in three years. In fact, it’s grown more intense–that has to mean something, surely…
It takes a lot of talking to myself in the mirror to convince myself to go to him. But, when Brad’s Aunt Sara dies, I want to go to him. I want to comfort him and let him know I’m there for him.
Taking a deep breath, I smooth my hands down the front of my dress and lift my hand up to knock, praying that some blonde bimbo doesn’t answer the door in her underwear. I’d die if that happened.
“Cody. What are you doing here?” Brad frowns, when he answers the door. I’m flooded with relief. Then my eyes travel down his bare chest to the V shaped muscle that seems to point below the waist of his pants.
I look up to meet his blue eyes. “I’m sorry about your aunt. She was a nice lady.”
He looks down and nods. “Yes, she was. The funeral was last week.”
“I know. I was there. I wanted to come up to you, but I wasn’t sure…” I stop talking and press my lips together, the tension mounting in the air beaten us, making this moment uncomfortable.
We stand there for a moment without saying a word then he inhales sharply and looks back up. “Thanks.”
He moves to close the door, but I put my hand on it to stop him. “I’m sixteen now,” I blurt out. It’s a stupid thing to say but my brain has gone dead. All I can think about is having him kiss me and hold me, and what it would be like sucking on his lip ring and…I’m a terrible person.
He shakes his head as if trying to wake from a dream. But, I know he feels what I do. I feel sure of it. “I told you. It doesn’t matter. I’m too old for you, Cody.”
“Will you be too old for me when I’m twenty-three? You’ll be twenty-six–will that be too old then as well?”
He shrugs, his expression pained, and his voice quiet–sorry. “It’d be different then.”
“How? It’s still three years. When I’m twenty-seven and you’re thirty, it will still be three years. Why does that matter when we’ve already waited three years? How long do I have to wait, Brad? I’m in love with you now. I’ve been in love with you all along. And I think you love me too.”
He steps back from the door, shaking his head. “I don’t,” he says. But his voice shakes, and I know he’s lying. I step after him and place my hand on the door so he can’t close it and refuse this conversation.
“Don’t lie to me!” I yell. “I see the way you look at me. I see this pain in your eyes when you’re close enough to touch me, and those girls you keep dating, you’re with them but you’re looking at me. Don’t lie to me and say it’s not true. You’ve just spent three years protecting my virtue and getting in my way and being a general pain in my arse. And you did it all because you love me.”
“No. That was because…”
“Don’t, Brad. Don’t say you did it for my father. You did it because you couldn’t stand the idea of any other boy spending time with me. You did it because, as my protector, it meant that you were the only boy who could safely be near me.”
He closes his eyes. “Stop,” he growls.
I step closer and get in his face. “Or what? You’ll pretend there’s nothing between us for another three years? Just admit it–tell me you love me!”
“It’s true,” he whispers, and when he opens his eyes, I see a struggle cross his features. The air between us crackles then all of a sudden, he’s kissing me. Hard. And it’s everything I ever dreamed it would be. It’s a kiss that has me pressed against the wall, moaning and whimpering as I try to touch all of him at once. It’s a kiss that goes further than either of us intended it to go. It’s a kiss we can’t seem to stop–one that’s filled with every bit of longing and want that’s been between us since that first moment we fell for each other. It’s a kiss that turns me into a woman. A kiss that’s supposed to be our beginning. But instead, it’s the beginning of our end…
Chapter 7
Present day
Brad
I hit the bell in the kitchen. “Order up!” I yell, shaking my head as the wait staff is being ridiculously slow tonight. It’s Saturday night, and as per usual, Quay is booked out.
Quay, is a restaurant on the water at Circular Quay in Sydney, and is one of the hottest gastronomical destinations in town. However, we didn’t get that reputation by being slow with our table service.
I hit the bell again, and a couple of servers finally appear. I give them a burst regarding my dissatisfaction then tell them to hurry up and get the food out.
“Where the hell is Ruby?” I growl, wondering where our head waitress is. It’s her job to make sure the floor is running smoothly. She should be here. I turn around to the kitchen staff and bark out a few orders, before I remove my cap and apron and venture out to the floor in search of her.
When I appear, there are a few hushed comments. I don’t normally walk out on the floor as the head chef–I’m generally too busy in the kitchen. But when I do, the patrons are always very curious about me, because I’m regularly featured in the food section of the country’s newspapers and magazines.
I intercept one server on her way back to the kitchen. “Where’s Ruby?” I ask.
She looks at me, and her eyes move as if she’s keeping something from me.
“Tell me,” I insist.
“She…she’s outside.”
Frowning, I shake my head then walk back into the kitchen so, I can exit through the employee’s door in search of her. When I find her, she appears to be arguing with some guy who’s dressed in baggy jeans and a wife beater singlet. He has more tattoos than I do; they’re all over his arms and across what I can see of his chest, as well as up his neck and on his hands.
“Ruby,” I call out as I approach.
She glances over at me, her flame red hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, her makeup minimal as she wears her uniform of a white blouse, black vest, black skirt and apron. “I have to go. I’m at work,” I hear her tell him.
He grabs her arm roughly, and I see his fingers biting into her flesh as he says something close to her ear. She nods then turns around, snatching her arm back.
Releasing his grasp, he looks over at me and shrugs his shoulders. “Sorry, big boss man. I was just trying to spend some time with my girl on her break.”
I place my hands on my hips, not liking this guy one bit. I wonder what a nice girl like Ruby sees in this dickwad. “Her break is over.”
Holding the door open, I wait for her to walk inside. She wipes her finger below her eye when she thinks I can’t see her. But, I do, and it makes my stomach sink as a result. Ruby has been working here since I started nearly three years ago. I consider her a good friend, and I don’t like seeing some guy treat her like shit.
“I’m sorry,” she says once we’re inside. “I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.”
I nod, feeling conflicted about speaking up about the uneasy feeling I got about that guy. “Ruby, wait.”
She turns and tilts her head to the side in question.
“I know this isn’t my place to say anything since I’m your boss and all. But, as your friend, I don’t like what I saw out there tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I won’t let my private life interfere with work again.”
“No. It’s not that–well… it is. But it’s more than that, it’s…” I let out my breath. “Is he treating you alright?”
She frowns and her eyes shift sideways. “You’re right. It isn’t your place to say anything. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to work.”
***
Dakota
“Table seventeen wants a serving of cheese fries to share, and table twenty is just about ready for their bill,” I tell Ronnie, the seventeen-year-old girl who’s taking over from me. I stand in front of the touch screen, so I can print out my end of shift paperwork and sign everything over to her.
“It’s busy tonight,” she comments, looking out at the full dining room at the Sydney Kayaking Club. “Your dad must be happy.”
“I don’t think he’ll ever be happy.” I joke of my father who owns this club, and while he loves mixing his business with his love of sport, this hasn’t been an easy road for our family over the years, as we pretty much live and breathe this club and all of its ups and downs. At times, it’s been my salvation, and at other times, it’s been my burden.
Ronnie laughs, knowing the grumpy, but endearing man that is my father, very well. “I’m sure he’ll crack a small smile when he sees tonight’s numbers.”
Finishing with the print out, I untie my apron and send Ronnie on her way, as I look out at the busy room. Ronnie is right. Dad will be happy about tonight’s takings. He’s been knee deep in renovations over the past twelve months, and now that the restaurant has reopened, along with the newly refurbished function rooms and bar area, we’ve had a wonderful response, with the dining room busy every night.
Sydney Kayaking Club, fronts the water along Lane Cove River and consists of a club building, and a boat shed which houses all of the kayaks and training facilities for our kayakers. We’re one of the biggest exclusive kayaking clubs in the state, but even then we have trouble keeping our doors open, and our equipment up to date. Dad has re-mortgaged everything we own to give this place a facelift, so he’s really holding his breath, waiting to see how our proceeds go long-term, so we can turn the business around again.
I push my way into the office to count out my receipts. “Hey mum,” I say in greeting, as I drop my things on the table and begin counting. She’s working back of house tonight.
She looks up from her work and holds her hand out to me. “You look exhausted,” she states, concern in her brown eyes.
“It’s busy tonight. My feet are killing me.” I hand her my receipts. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go through them?”
She shakes her head. “It’s fine. Go home to Riley. Get some rest.” Pressing her lips together in a tired smile, she begins to sift through the receipts.
I lean down and press a kiss of gratitude to her cheek. “Thanks mum.”
“Oh, before you go. Do you have the list for the fundraiser?”
I stop in my tracks, my heart thudding in my chest, because this fundraiser has been my greatest dread since coming to work here full time. We do them every year but this year is his year. This is the year I might have to finally face my past. Every day, I’ve been watching the RSVP notifications come in, and so far, his name isn’t there. It’s a mixture of sadness and relief–I’m not sure which one yet….
“Almost. I’ll update it tomorrow and give it to you.”
“No problem. I’ll see you later.”
Chapter 8
Brad
“Can I talk to you?” I ask Ruby, once the restaurant is closed, and most of the staff have left for the night. Quite often, it’s just she and I left behind, doing the last of the paperwork and inventory for the night. Although more often than not, I’m the last one to leave, as I stay behind experimenting with new dishes. But tonight, I want to talk, because I can’t get the image of that guy grabbing her out of my mind. After being raised by a woman who escaped an abusive marriage, any sort of violence toward women is an abhorrence that I can't abide.
“Sure. Is something wrong?” she asks, sliding the cash drawers into the safe in the office. She keeps her back toward me as she speaks.
“About earlier,” I start.
She spins around. “Listen, I know what you saw, and I get that you’re concerned because you’ve known me for so long and all that. But everything is fine. I promise.”
I step toward her. “You’re right. I am worried about you. And in the three years I’ve known you, never once have you dropped the ball while at work. Then the first time you do, I go outside and find some guy grabbing you by the arm. Look at your arm, Ruby–the marks are still there.”
She glances down and rubs her hand over the faint bruises appearing on her skin.
“Is he always like
that with you?”
Her eyes rise to meet mine. “No. This is just a mistake–I…I pulled back too hard…”
“Ruby. If he’s hurting you…” I start, stepping forward again, but she holds up her hands.
“Don’t Brad. Please. Remember that you’re my boss. We don’t get to be too personal.” She closes the safe and picks up her things, telling me goodbye as she pushes past me out the door.
For a moment, I close my eyes, her words biting at me as I remember giving her the colleague speech about a year ago, when she made her interest known to me. We’d kissed one night after work. I don’t even know how it happened, or who instigated it, but it happened, and immediately, I regretted it. We’re colleagues. I’m her boss. Any sort of relationship between us would have been inappropriate. I’d thought she was fine with it–fine with me. But after that comment, obviously not…
***
“So you really think this guy is hurting her?” Elliot asks, as we paddle side by side through the water on our surfboards at Bondi Beach early the next morning. The sun is only just starting to light up the sky, and we share the water with a few other dawn surfers.
Over the years we’ve kept in touch, and these days, instead of being the overweight teen, he’s the fittest looking guy I know. He stands an inch taller than me and keeps his light brown hair cropped short against his head. He works as a personal trainer, and makes good use of his access to the gym, so he's also a hell of a lot broader than me too. I'm lean like a sprinter or a cyclist, but Elliot is verging on body builder size.
A Beautiful Taste Page 3
