by C. J. Duggan
What was reflected back at me was not a girl, but a rock lobster; gasping, I pulled my top aside to see the stark contrast of white against red. I was such an idiot. I could already feel a sun-smart lecture coming from my aunty and uncle: a great step in the right direction of being responsible.
I groaned, pulling the door to the bathroom open and walking down the hall to face the music – the music being the animated voices in the kitchen.
Pausing in the doorway, I took in the scene before me: Amanda leaning on the island bench snaring grapes from the fruit basket one after the other, barely drawing breath as she laughed and talked over her day with Aunty Karen, who was busy fussing over dinner. It occurred to me that Amanda didn’t exactly seem heartbroken. This hardly looked like a girl who had just broken up with her boyfriend. When I had left Paradise I couldn’t eat, couldn’t function; I had locked myself away for weeks, and Amanda was looking like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Amanda glanced over in my direction. ‘Oh my God!’
Aunty Karen gasped. ‘Oh, honey, you got a bit of sun today.’
You could say that again, my body was on fire! How long had I been dozing in the sun for?
‘You look like a bit of toast – white underneath with jam on top,’ laughed Amanda.
‘Oh, hon. That’s going to peel for sure,’ winced Aunty Karen.
Great! Just what I needed. I had planned to return to Paradise looking like I had just stepped out of a salon, all windswept and gorgeous, not like a rock lobster with flaking skin. Not hot.
‘Here, slather yourself in this.’ Aunty Karen produced a pump action bottle of coconut moisturiser. ‘This will cool you down and nourish your skin.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, squinting at the label before pumping a white blob into my palm. I wondered if I could bathe in the stuff.
‘Hey, Mum, Lucy is coming over tonight. Can I get the stereo out of storage?’
My head snapped up. ‘Lucy?’ I said, a bit too loudly.
Surely she wasn’t talking about Lucy Fell, arch nemesis, and super-mega bitch to all.
Amanda’s eyes narrowed.
‘Lucy Fell? The one you hate?’ I reiterated.
Amanda shrugged. ‘We hung out at schoolies. She’s so funny. Now there’s a girl who knows how to party.’
I could feel my blood boiling; oh, wait, maybe that was the sunburn? No, it was definitely rage. ‘The same Lucy who deliberately spilt a drink all over me at the Wipe Out Bar?’ I flicked my gaze to Aunty Karen, imploring her to remember exactly who this girl was, but she was too busy inwardly debating between French or Italian dressing for the salad.
I turned my gaze to Amanda. ‘Lucy-fucking-fell-on-her-face?’ I said quietly.
‘Don’t call her that,’ yelled Amanda. ‘You don’t even know her.’
Ha! I didn’t need to know her. Lucy Fell had been part of the trouble between Ballantine and me. I knew they had dated; I wasn’t completely clear on the details but I really didn’t want to know. And now, her and Amanda were BFFs?
‘You really need to get over it,’ sighed Amanda, who slid off her stool, grabbing a salad bowl and heading towards the dinner table ‘She tripped. It was an honest mistake.’
I glared at her back, before turning to Aunty Karen. ‘Really? Lucy Fell?’
‘Oh, honey, maybe you could mend a bridge with Lucy. With Amanda being away maybe the two of you could hang out? It might be really good for you to have someone to do stuff with.’
Was she serious? Never in a million years would I ever be so desperate. Even if I had to bed down in a flea-ridden backpackers with no friends and no money, I would never be friends with Lucy, ever. Had aliens taken over the whole family?
I smiled thinly, rubbing the cool lotion into my heated skin. ‘I’ll be right, I have plenty of friends.’
Aunty Karen smiled at me sadly. ‘Of course you do.’
She turned to the oven to inspect the contents, leaving me to my pump bottle and hateful thoughts.
•
You know the situation is pretty dire when Uncle Peter is the most enthusiastic over your return to Paradise. He raised his eyebrows in surprise to see me sitting at the kitchen table. ‘I forgot you were coming back,’ he said.
Gee, thanks.
‘Your dinner’s in the microwave,’ called out Aunty Karen from Gus’s room.
I watched as Uncle Peter walked over and pressed the microwave, flinging the door open to find a steamed piece of lemon pepper fish and salad. He looked confused, trying to fathom how he was going to microwave salad. He grabbed the plate and simply walked out of the kitchen. ‘I’ll be in my study,’ he called out, and that was my grand reunion with Uncle Peter.
Aunty Karen was continuing her obsessive-compulsive efforts to make the house a show home, and Amanda was lounging on the couch watching TV like a zombie until the doorbell rang and she leapt up and stepped over the coffee table. ‘I’ll get it.’
In she walked like a nightmare, all blonde, perky and sun-kissed. Lucy was laughing about something and suddenly stopped when her eyes landed on me. Yes, I was burnt and shiny with lotion: I wanted to die.
‘Oh, hey, Lexie, isn’t it?’ she asked, as if she wasn’t quite sure if she remembered my name. Bitch.
I gave a small salute and a pained smile.
‘So is she going away with you?’ Lucy directed her words solely to Amanda.
‘No,’ Amanda scoffed.
Lucy’s big saucer eyes flicked back to me. ‘So what are you doing here?’ she asked with interest.
‘I’m finishing Year Twelve.’
‘Where are you going to stay then?’
‘I’m working it out.’
‘What, so you have no place to go?’ she asked, mock shocked.
‘It’s only my first day back.’
‘Still, what if you can’t find somewhere to stay?’
Each question only added to my anxiety.
‘Don’t worry, I will.’
‘Oh, I’m not worried,’ she laughed, ‘but I sure would be if I were you.’
I scowled at her.
‘You really should have worked it out months ago. My cousin rents and she says the rental prices in Paradise City are astronomical and all the share houses are snapped up in the peak season; you’re not going to find anywhere on such short notice, like, no way.’
‘Come on, let’s go to my room,’ Amanda said.
Lucy shrugged, giving me a smug smile. ‘Good luck.’
I watched them leave, hating her more than ever, hating her for pointing out the painful obvious facts about my ill-planned return. I had a little over two weeks before my eighteenth, and that was all the time my parents were giving me to find a job and a place to stay before I got shipped straight back home with an express stamp on my forehead.
Peak season in Paradise City. What had I been thinking?
Chapter Five
I was on fire.
My breath shallow, rapid, my teeth indenting my bottom lip as soft, barely contained whimpers pierced through the dimly lit room. My hands grabbed at the sheets, hanging on for dear life as I rode the waves of crippling pleasure – a familiar, heart-pounding pleasure I had almost forgotten was possible.
Ballantine.
His clever mouth trailed a maddening path over my heated skin; attempting to soothe the burn with gentle kisses that only made me burn all the more.
Daring to unanchor myself, I let go of the sheets and gently touched Ballantine’s cheek, my fingers moving to divide the folds of his thick, dark hair as he hovered over me, blocking out what little light there was. Looking into his beautiful face, a boyish grin curving the corner of his mouth, I smiled. I was home or was it heaven or Paradise? Whatever this place was called, I was there.
I cupped his face. I knew that one kiss would bring him back to me, bring it all back like he was never gone. His hot mouth crushed against mine, needy and hungry, his tongue delving to taste me, his hands sliding to feel me, all of me,
lower, lower, lower.
More. I wanted more.
And he gave it to me. My head fell back, my eyes closed as my body lifted, begging for more and yet knowing it wouldn’t be enough; would it ever be enough? I blinked away the insanity, focusing on the here and now as Ballantine’s strong grip scooped around the back of my neck, and brought me closer.
No, this isn’t a dream, I won’t let it be.
I pushed him back so I could take control. I felt his hot skin burn against mine, the hardness pressing against my thigh as he ground against me, liking this sudden change – me over him now. He urged me on with whispered words of encouragement and deepened kisses that were bringing me to the edge of madness. I grabbed his hand, slowly guiding it to set his hot palm against my chest, wanting him to feel the erratic pounding of my heart. He held it there as I lovingly trailed my fingers from the back of his hand down his arm. I traced my nails over his tanned skin, over the light dusting of hair on his forearm, bleached by the sun. The tip of my finger followed the intricate swirl of ink curving all the way up along his bicep, up and up towards his shoulder. I blinked, confused, following the trail with my finger, sliding over the smooth, hot skin I couldn’t bring myself to tear my eyes away from.
Ballantine doesn’t have tattoos …
I froze, lifting my hand away quickly as if in response to an electric shock, but I was too slow. My wrist was snaked by an iron grip and my widened gaze flicked down to lock with a pair of green-brown eyes, unmistakeable green-brown eyes.
Dean.
My mind reeled; my rampant thoughts fought against the reality of straddling him, a dream that turned into a nightmare within the blink of an eye. My insides twisted and anger bubbled underneath my skin and yet I did nothing. Nothing when he smiled that infuriating smile, nothing when he oh so slowly sat up, nothing when his eyes, mere inches from mine, ticked over my face with great amusement. Nothing. It was like I had no voice, no will of my own, and then to add to this impossible moment of madness … he kissed me.
Dean fucking Saville kissed me.
And oh how he kissed.
Slow and deep. My spine, rigid a moment before, melted into his touch and what was the brink of a nightmare seemed to morph into something very different, something wrong, very wrong and yet so bloody good. I gasped as he playfully nipped at my earlobe, his hot tongue teasing the sensitive spot as he whispered, ‘I knew you’d be back.’
And before I could answer … he kicked me.
Ooomph.
Wait. What?
‘Ouch.’ I stirred, feeling the pain near my shin pulse and then subside as I rubbed and blinked the sleep from my eyes. What the … ugh.
I peeled myself to sit upright, taking in the sleeping – make that drooling – form of my cousin Amanda next to me. Smacking her lips together and rubbing her nose with the back of her hand, she twisted around, scrunching the covers around her shoulders in a giant cocoon. I dodged her flailing limbs and glared down at her. Only when she made those deep, nasally breaths of sleep did I settle back down again, ripping my half of the blanket from her and clutching the covers to my chin. I was wide awake, a permanent frown etched on my brow as I inhaled deeply.
It was just a dream, Lexie, it was just a dream. A sexy, sexy dream.
I glanced sideways at my snoring cousin and cringed.
Awkward.
•
After a sleepless night enduring a kicking cousin, sexy yet disturbing nightmares, and the continuous burn of my skin, not to mention the worries of the world churning around and around in my head, I woke with a headache but also a steely determination to make things work. I slammed a stack of résumés on the kitchen table; they were the first things I’d printed off and packed. I had thought myself so smart and prepared but, yeah, it was now clear it was going to take a little more than that.
I scoured the local paper for rental properties, mainly in the rooms-to-let section, and my heart sank; even for a one-bedroom or house share, the prices were ridiculous. I bet my parents already knew this and wouldn’t they be delighted? Everyone seemed to be rather in the know about the realities of the world except me. I’d had such tunnel vision in wanting to get back here to Ballantine I hadn’t really thought about the logistics of it all. A shift or two at Macca’s was not going to cover the rent, that was for sure.
I was seriously screwed. I thudded my head to the table. With my forehead pressed against the cool glass, a thought struck me. I straightened. ‘Aunty Karen,’ I called out, scooping my résumés together.
The clicking of her heels announced her arrival. ‘What is it?’
‘Can I please get dropped off down Arcadia Lane?’
‘I suppose. Why?’
I grabbed for my satchel, wincing as I looped the strap over my head to sit on my sunburnt shoulder. ‘Dad always said the best way to get your foot in the door is to pound the pavement. You never know who’s going to quit a job from one day to the next,’ I said excitedly.
‘Oh, okay, then. Do you have any ideas what you might like to do?’
I shrugged. ‘I have no idea, but if I have to work three jobs, I will.’
Aunty Karen smiled. ‘Look at you, so determined. I wish Amanda would get herself a job, her life seems to be one giant party; needless to say, getting her out of Paradise might calm her down a bit.’
I paused. ‘I haven’t asked because I didn’t want to bring it up, but how is Amanda going since, you know, her and Boon broke up?’
‘Oh, she’s fine,’ Aunty Karen answered. ‘Amanda broke up with him, she said she didn’t want to be heavily committed to someone, which I think is a very grown-up decision to make.’
Amanda broke up with Boon? What the hell?
‘Oh, good. I just thought, you know, that she would have been a little bit upset by it, I mean she really liked Boon.’
‘Oh, you know Amanda, out with the old and in with the new.’ Aunty Karen laughed it off.
I’d only been here twenty-four hours and I was already over these people!
Aunty Karen grabbed her keys. ‘You ready?’
I straightened my spine, leading the way out the open door. ‘Ready,’ I said with a nod of finality. Let’s do this. The sooner I could sleep in my own bed without Amanda and get away from snarky passive-aggressive Lucy, the better.
•
I placed my résumé on shop counter after shop counter, smiling and generally just being my usual charming self. Some staff seemed interested; others gave you the feeling that as soon as you were out of sight your résumé was going straight in the bin. I had started the day enthusiastically but by the time I was down to my very last résumés, I wasn’t feeling so great. I hadn’t been picky either. From surf shops to ice-cream parlours, alternative tie-dye hippy shops with nose-piercing accessories and collectable bongs to McDonald’s and cafés: I really couldn’t afford to be choosy. I’d clean toilets if I had to. My parents had said they’d provide some cash to help with my expenses, but I still needed a job to cover my rent.
I collapsed onto a bench in the shade, rubbing the damp skin at the base of my neck, fanning myself with my last five résumés. My eyes shifted lazily across the swarm of people walking along the arcade, spending up in tacky tourist merchandise shops and fending off kids who were begging to go into Timezone to pump all the last of their parents’ change into video games. Even though all of these things were more familiar to me than the first time I’d arrived in Paradise, I still felt like an alien entity. I glanced along the boardwalk, where my eyes rested on an ever-familiar landmark.
The Wipe Out Bar.
It was a place I swore I would never step back into. Bad things happened there; well, to me, anyway. Owned and run by Ballantine’s ogre-ish but hot older brother, it was a place I didn’t need to be. But my traitorous heart started to pound against my chest with the very memory of the last time I was there with Ballantine, a time when we promised to be together. I had to push away the thought, thinking of Ballantine would do m
e no good, it seemed to lead to me envisioning him laughing and hooking up with some beach babe in Bali.
Ugh, I felt sick.
I squinted against the sun. Maybe I should pop in for a cold drink, I was dying of dehydration.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I got up, carefully weaving through the crowd, my heart drumming faster with every step I took closer to the imposing, double-storey building on the corner of Arcadia Lane. I came to a stop, loitering near the front. The place was looking as tacky and shabby as ever.
A girl with a sweet smile, holding a menu out front, turned to me. ‘Will you be looking for some lunch then?’ she asked with a strong Irish lilt to her voice.
Ha! Dean was no fool. Stick the exotic eye candy with the charming accent out front to lure the customers in. Exploitation, much?
‘Ah, no, thanks, I might just go in and see the drinks menu.’
‘Sure thing. The drinks menu is above and on the bar,’ she added helpfully as if this was my first time.
I smiled. ‘Thanks.’ I walked in and thought, she really did have a lovely accent. It was by far the warmest welcome I had ever had at the Wipe Out Bar. Perhaps it would feel like a different place now?
But as I walked into the main bar I caught sight of the same inflatable shark ‘Hank’, wedged in the nets hanging from the ceiling in the bistro area. So, yep, nothing had changed. Although the usual bar wench, Sherry, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a young peroxide-haired chick dressed in the customary black uniform was behind the bar looking all biker-mole attractive. Seriously, did Dean hire anyone ugly?
I slid onto a bar stool, grateful that the dull lighting would make me look less like a sundried tomato.
‘You ’right?’ nodded the bleached blonde.
‘Just a Coke, thanks,’ I said, digging into my satchel and finding my Roxy purse, casually glimpsing up at the second storey, wondering if Dean was lingering anywhere, maybe in his Bond villain chair looking over the monitors watching my every move. Nearly two months had passed, two whole months without a word, and still my thoughts immediately returned to the very place Ballantine and I had sat together, on that first night. We had gone from secret liaisons in the middle of the night, stolen thrilling moments by day, to nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I knew what people were thinking when they gave me their sympathetic looks: ‘Maybe it was just a summer fling.’
