Playing For Fun: Stewart Island Book 6

by Alvarez, Tracey

  They made it to the pillow-topped mattress eventually and spent the rest of the night keeping each other entertained between the sheets. Neither of them had enough energy this morning to cook breakfast.

  “And I seem to recall breakfast at Due South was your idea,” he added.

  Lani bustled by with a loaded breakfast special in each hand and another plate balanced on her forearm. She lifted her chin in acknowledgement, rolling her eyes to the left, where Charlotte Cooper had sat down at the last available table.

  Holly leaned forward once Lani moved out of earshot. “I can’t be held responsible for my bright ideas when I’ve only had two hours sleep the night before.”

  “Two hours, but how many orgasms?” he whispered.

  “Lost count.”

  He smirked, and she stomped on his toe under the table.

  “Hey.” He grinned at her. “Most girlfriends would play footsies with their man.”

  “Most would,” she agreed. “But I’m not most.” She slanted a look sideways.

  Two tables over sat the trio who’d first arrived in his workshop—all of them sending wave after wave of eviscerating glances in Holly and Ford’s direction.

  Holly’s mouth twisted in a grimace before settling into a neutral line. She stabbed her eggs again. “This is just about appearances for your fan-girls, right?” Holly lowered her voice, so only he could hear. “Because we both know I’m not really your girlfriend. I’m just playing the role of your girlfriend until this stupid publicity dies down.”

  “And until you move to Invers.” The words felt wooden in his mouth, and his gut clenched.

  The tines on Holly’s fork screeched on china as she laid the fork down on the plate. Ford stuffed a chunk of hash brown into his mouth to keep his tongue occupied. Otherwise, he’d blurt out that the thought of her leaving was like a nail bomb explosion in his gut. Or the suspicion that his bone-deep weakness, the part of him broken and scarred, already needed Holly way beyond reason. And if he needed her so much, if he allowed that need to bind his hands and drag him kicking and screaming over the edge to falling in love with her…well. That kind of thinking required a padded cell and a cosy white jacket with wrap-around sleeves.

  Ford laid his hand over hers. “It’s okay, babe. We both went into this knowing our expiry date.”

  “Yeah. Eyes wide open.”

  A not-so-delicate throat clearing came from behind him. He broke eye-contact with Holly to see Charlotte sidling up to their table.

  “I hate to interrupt you two lovebirds…” she said.

  “Then don’t.” Holly retrieved her fork and got the same Amazonian warrior gleam in her eyes she’d had gate-crashing the stage the night before. The same gleam she’d had later that evening as she’d whipped the belt from his jeans with single-minded determination.

  Charlotte turned her back on Holly. “I just had a couple of follow-up questions that I didn’t get to ask you last night—you left so abruptly.”

  “I had things to do.”

  Holly squashed the smile from her lips and ate a mouthful of eggs.

  “Yes, well, you were interrupted last night and didn’t answer my questions.” She waved a hand. “Bad timing on my behalf, but I couldn’t find you earlier to ask in private.”

  Like the woman had any intentions of interviewing him in private. After a first-hand experience witnessing her attempt to embarrass Piper on camera the year before, he didn’t trust Charlotte Cooper’s motivations, period.

  “I’m not answering your questions. Not about me and not about my brother.”

  “Off record, then?”

  “Nope.”

  Charlotte pouted, looking more like one of Stewart Island’s blue cod than would be polite to mention. “Come on, Ford. Don’t tell me you want the boring suburban house-husband life with a wife, three kids and a minivan? Your brother is never photographed with the same beautiful woman on his arm more than once.”

  Ford’s hand, which still rested on top of Holly’s, tensed. “What I want is none of your damn business. None of the public’s damn business, either.”

  Charlotte’s mouth curved into a devious smile. “Ford, the forgotten Komeke twin. Always in his brother’s shadow. It’s a shame.” She studied him down the length of her tiny snub nose. “You share all of your brother’s good looks but none of his charisma.” Charlotte angled her head at Holly. “You picked the wrong twin, honey.” Then she sashayed away from their table.

  Unnatural silence surrounded them for a moment, then the other customers returned to their meals.

  Holly slid her hand out from under his, nudged the sauce bottle across the table. “You missed a spot on those sausages.”

  He picked up the bottle, wrapping his fingers around the glass, shoving the anger clogging his throat, down, down into his gut.

  “Eat,” Holly said softly. “Don’t let that bitch ruin our first post-sexual-Olympic breakfast.”

  While he appreciated her attempt at lightening the mood, his blood still throbbed painfully through his veins. But he picked up his knife and fork, sliced off a chunk of sausage, and ate. Even though Del’s carefully seasoned, homemade sausage tasted like ashes in his mouth.

  Seconds ticked away between them as he continued to steadily shovel tasteless food into his mouth, forcing his stomach muscles to relax. A light tap of Holly’s foot on his made him glance up. Once again, the warrior gleam sparkled from her eyes.

  “Just so you know,” she said. “She’s wrong, Ford. About all of it.”

  His temper still burned high enough that he wanted to slam his fist into something—but he nodded his agreement. An argument here would only throw fuel on the fire.

  If he had his stuff together more—like Harl obviously had—Ford would’ve stuck to the “different-women-no-strings” approach his brother had adopted. He’d never have gotten involved with Holly, never risked the heart of a woman he claimed to care for. Never tried to pretend he wasn’t a weak, needy bastard.

  And Charlotte was wrong about Holly picking the wrong twin. Not in the way the reporter implied, but because neither he nor Harley deserved her. Holly deserved a man better than either of the Komeke brothers could ever hope to be.

  * * *

  Writteninthestars.com Daily Horoscope.

  Pisces.

  A friendship is strained, so take care to prioritize that relationship. Be open to opportunities to grow by exploring alternative paths to happiness.

  “Oh, God. Do that again. Ohhhh, yeah…”

  Holly glared up at Shaye, who lay sprawled on Holly’s couch with her oil-covered calf in Holly’s hands.

  “If you don’t quit making sex noises, I’m stopping this massage right now.” She removed her fingers from a particularly knotted muscle in Shaye’s calf.

  “You stop, and I’ll cut you.” Shaye cracked open an eye. “I had to make an official booking to get an hour of your time for a massage-pedi combo, so suck it up.”

  “What official booking? You ambushed me on the way home.” After Holly and Ford’s breakfast, which had disintegrated into an old married couple with nothing to talk about horror show. No wonder they’d both made insincere excuses and gone their separate ways.

  “Semantics.”

  Holly wriggled the footstool she sat on backward and slid her grip down to Shaye’s heel.

  Shaye let out a little sigh. “Why don’t you offer this to all your clients again? You’d make a fortune with the summer crowd after they got done hiking the Rakiura Track.”

  Holly pressed both thumbs into the arch of Shaye’s foot. “Because a dozen casual training sessions with my friend Rutna three years ago doesn’t qualify me as a masseuse.”

  “This is the same Rutna who’s leaving Halo to get ready for her baby in less than two months’ time? The one who’s workstation you’re taking over?”

  Holly’s thumbs paused mid-circle. Shaye kept her eyes closed, her hands laced easily over her stomach.

  Wriggling her toes
, Shaye added, “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out about your nefarious plans?” She asked the question in a tone Holly had heard her use with kitchen underlings when she inquired if they thought the onions were diced fine enough or the stock cooked long enough. Sweet with an edge of stainless steel.

  “Who squealed?” Holly’s stomach flip-flopped, as she already suspected the answer.

  “Ben. Squealed as if he were you spotting a spider.”

  And who was Ben’s BFF? “Ben heard it from Ford, I’m guessing?”

  “Bam! You win the stuffed teddy on the top shelf. But don’t blame the boys—I had to beat the barest details out of Ben with my wooden spoon.” Eyes flashing fire, Shaye jerked her foot off Holly’s lap. “Then I rang MacKenna, who served you up like pork on a platter because she had no idea her little cousin hadn’t told her friends about her moving to goddamn Invercargill.”

  “Nobody but Ford knows,” Holly said. “I haven’t even told Mum and Dad.”

  “That’s meant to make me feel better? That you told the guy you’re banging—”

  Holly opened her mouth and Shaye held up a warning finger.

  “Oh, we’ll get to that, too—you tell him, but you didn’t tell me?”

  “You’ve been busy—with Winnie the Pooh decals for your niece or nephew’s nursery, and planning for a wedding and stuff.”

  “Have I ever not made time for you when you needed me?”

  Holly glanced down at her oil-smeared fingers. “No. You’ve always been there.”

  “We’ve been there for each other, dammit.” Shaye cocked her head. “Wait a minute—you thought I was so far up my own butt focused on babies and weddings that I’d forgotten about you?” Her voice rose a notch. “That I didn’t need you anymore? Is that it? That’s the big fat lie you’ve been telling yourself?”

  “It’s not a lie, Shaye. You don’t need me; you’ve got Del—”

  Shaye jumped to her feet, wobbling a little as the slippery sole of her foot skidded on the wooden floor. “You will not bloody cast me as some vapid, shallow cow who dumps her best friend for a man. Do you want me to jam this oily foot of mine up your ass?” Then she fired another shrivelling glare at Holly. “Oh, wait. No can do because your head is already stuck in there.”

  Holly opened her mouth again, but Shaye—bless that infamous Harland temper—had found her groove.

  “Don’t you dare interrupt. You are in everything but blood my sister. Who crawled into my bed and held me while I cried the night after my father died? Who cleaned up my goddamn puke when I sobbed myself sick? I couldn’t bear anyone else near me those first nightmarish days, except you. You held my hand at Dad’s memorial service. You let me talk for hours when Piper left for Wellington. You’re the one who bugged me until I agreed to enroll at the culinary institute—the first one I showed my acceptance letter to. It was you I ran to when Del first showed up in Oban and steam-rolled into my life. You I rang first from New York when we got engaged—before I even called my mother or sister. How can you think for a moment I don’t need you?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not, fucking, good enough.”

  Shaye using the f-bomb served as an unexpected sucker-punch to the heart. “No. You deserved better. I should’ve told you.”

  “You’re damn right, you should’ve. Whether you’re in Invers or not, wherever you are in the world—I’ll still need you, you twit.”

  “Twit? What are you, ninety?” But relief bubbled through her veins, melting the slick of ice at the fear of losing Shaye.

  “Want me to bitch-slap the smart right out of your ass?” Shaye plopped down on the couch and stuck her feet back on Holly’s footstool, giving Holly a long, evaluating stare. The temper lines crossing Shaye’s brow smoothed, and her lips pursed, as if she were fighting off a smile. “I know why you didn’t tell me about Invers. And I know why you’ve kept your sexy-times with Ford under wraps.”

  “Um, because you’d overreact and likely brain me with the nearest solid object?”

  Shaye leaned farther into the couch and crossed her arms. “Nope. You didn’t tell me because deep down, you don’t know if moving to Invers is what you really want.”

  Holly’s spine stiffened. “Of course I know what I want.”

  “Really, really?” Shaye said. “Because every other major life decision you’ve made up until now—losing your V-card to Daniel Carver, going to train as a hairdresser in Invers, accepting a position at Halo—you’d either ask for my opinion or you’d make a decision and tell me about it immediately afterward.” Shaye waggled a finger at Holly, tutted. “Not this time though, huh? No, this time, you’ve got a bad case of man-addict-o-itis. The Ford strain.”

  “Rubbish.”

  “Really, really? Because that kiss-with-tongue-action last night in the pub? Scorching hot, my friend.” Shaye flapped the neckline of her shirt. “Holy guacamole.”

  Holly frowned. “How the hell did you see that?”

  “Piper’s been bored enough to show Mrs. T. how to use her smartphone camera app.”

  Oh. Dear. God.

  “You and Ford…” Shaye poked Holly’s knee cap with her toe and raised her eyebrows.

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  Holly swallowed with a sandpaper-lined throat. “You’re right. I’m down with a case of man-addict-o-itis.”

  “That good?”

  “Scary good.”

  “Well, hell.” Shaye shook her head then narrowed her eyes. “What happened to the no chemistry, no tingles in your happy place?”

  “Misdirection. Possibly some self-preserving denial, too, because there are multiple tingles. And fireworks. Nuclear detonations, even.”

  “Huh. And the ‘I think I’m in love with Harley’ spiel? You’re not into him, then?”

  Holly shook her head. “Not even a little bit. Harley really was the quintessential schoolgirl crush. It’s all about Ford.”

  “Of course it is. And is it just sexy-fun-time?”

  “It was meant to be.” Holly lifted her friend’s foot back onto her knee and dug her fingers gently into the arch of Shaye’s foot again. “Would be easier if it was.”

  “But that’s not the case.”

  “No. There’s some feels tangled up in there, too. Least on my side. Crap.”

  Shaye sighed as Holly continued working, the silence settling between them no longer loaded with landmines.

  “You remember the day your parents told you they were moving to Christchurch?” Shaye asked.

  “Not likely to forget it.” Holly huffed out a laugh. Oh, she could laugh about it now, but at the time, it’d felt like missing a step in a flight of stairs, losing her balance and only barely managing to catch herself before falling head over ass.

  She tapped Shaye’s ankle. “Swap.”

  Shaye swapped feet. “You went straight to your room and accepted the offer of study from Invers before your mother had even finished clearing the dinner table.”

  “I hated her lasagne. Too dry.” Easier to joke than admit the rollercoaster dive of her gut knowing that even her own parents didn’t want her around—didn’t need her around.

  “You were the ballsiest chick I knew. I was so proud.”

  Holly snorted. “I was eighteen and terrified of being alone.”

  “You were never alone, hon. Just like you aren’t alone now. You need to think about what you really want, and then go for it.”

  The pit in Holly’s stomach hardened into a thorny ball of nerves. “I don’t want to have to choose between Ford and Invers.”

  Shaye shrugged. “So don’t. Figure it out.”

  “What if he really is just fooling around, no strings attached?” Holly’s hand stilled on Shaye’s leg. “I mean, we haven’t talked about how we feel.”

  Shaye burst into wild giggles, her greasy foot slipping out of Holly’s hand. She clutched her stomach and fell sideways on the couch.

  “It’s not funny,” Holly said
.

  “So is funny.” Shaye chortled some more then sat up, wiping her eyes. “You been sniffing the peroxide again?” She shook her head. “Instead of trying to make him talk about feelings, how about shutting up and listening—to what he says and more importantly, what he doesn’t say?”

  “He doesn’t say anything.”

  Shaye once again stuck her foot on Holly’s knee and rakishly wriggled her eyebrows. “Then give the man a chance to show you his feels.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Holly stood in Dixie’s small garage—that hadn’t held a car since George died—and stared at the neatly stacked pile of flattened cardboard boxes, smuggled from the Russell’s recycling pile. She’d brought back three or four boxes a day since she’d first spoken to MacKenna, but so far, she hadn’t packed a single thing.

  Consider that a red-flag sign.

  Holly picked up an armful of cardboard and headed inside. Armed with packing tape and a sharpie, Holly designated the living room as a logical place to start. She selected a medium-sized box and pulled a handful of DVDs off the shelf beside her TV, stacking them in the bottom of the box. The spines stared back at her. Star Trek: The Next Generation—one of Ford’s favourite series. A Buffy the Vampire Slayer boxed set Seasons 1-7—she didn’t even get jealous when Ford noted Sarah Michelle Gellar was in his top five Celebrities I Would Sleep With list. The Indiana Jones movies—because, Harrison Ford, and even her Ford thought Indy was cool.

  Her Ford…

  Holly’s eyes blurred. She shoved the box away from her and stood. Yeah, the packing thing wasn’t gonna happen. Whether it would happen at all was something she still didn’t know. The only thing she did know was she wanted Ford. Right now.

  She picked up her phone, opened messages and typed: Nobody Home.

  The reply bounced back less than ten seconds later.

  Pink Floyd, 1979, album The Wall. I am home, so come over. With a winking emoticon.

  Her fingers hesitated on the screen. I want you to be my friend tonight.

  Always your friend. Come over. There’s pizza and beer.