by C. J. Duggan
‘I’m just saying –’
‘GET THE ICE!’
‘O. KAY!’ I stormed down the stairs, mumbling under my breath each step of the way, and passed the bar, heading towards the kitchen, stomping my way through to the back alcove where the back freezers stocked the bags. I sighed, weary from a disrupted night’s sleep and an overactive imagination, even more so with Amanda’s cryptic words of advice.
Boy from the ’burbs: Ballantine, or boy from the city: Dean. Is that what she meant? If that’s what she was playing at the decision was pretty much made for me. Ballantine, who was keeping radio silence until I ran away with him, or Dean, the bossy slavedriver who starred in my x-rated dreams and pushed my buttons in the best and worst ways.
‘Get the ice,’ I mimicked. Lifting the freezer lid and dragging out a bag, I swung around, stopping as I glanced through the open doorway to the back alley. I stood there for the longest moment, blinking, thinking that if I did that it might clear my vision because clearly my eyes were playing tricks on me. A coldness swept over me. Oh wait; no, that was the freezer door open. I moved to shut it, placing the bag on top of the freezer chest as I slowly made my way out the door to stand outside, where right there before me in all its shiny, undamaged glory was my Tiffany Blue vintage bike. It had been completely repaired, and was leaning on its kickstand. I edged forward to clasp the handlebars with a smile. It was like nothing had ever happened to it and I could have squealed through the sheer elation of the freedom it had brought me.
I couldn’t help but laugh; did we even bloody need ice in the bar? A slow smile drifted across my face as I turned back to the bag of ice; it was then I had a cunning idea. Walking back inside, I grabbed the bag of ice, carrying it out to place into my cane basket, being overly careful not to topple over as I awkwardly mounted my shiny new ride. It took some shaky navigating to get into my stride as I slowly zigzagged my way out of the alley and around the corner.
Pedalling around to the main entrance I carefully stepped off, wheeling my bike through and past a curious line of men who were all perched up at the bar enjoying a pot and a counter meal. Cassie looked at me as if I were mad. Maybe I was, but I didn’t care. I went to stand at the bottom of the staircase, where I rung my bike bell in a series of high-pitched trills.
‘Hey, Romeo,’ I called up the stairs.
Dean was so confusing: one minute he was threatening to fire me, the next he was doing things like this. Just as I was ready to ring my bell again, a tall, lean figure emerged from his office, coming to stand curiously by the bannister, all-knowing and smug as he leant his elbows on the railing and lifted his brows in question.
‘Nice bike,’ he said.
‘It is now,’ I smiled, looking over it and admiring its pristine condition before looking back up at Dean, making sure to look him straight in the eyes. ‘Thanks.’
Something flashed in Dean’s eyes. It was fleeting, but I saw it. His stoic stance broke the instant his mouth pulled to the right, in that cheeky way of his. ‘I wouldn’t get too excited; I fixed it so you can run errands for me,’ he said, trying to keep a straight face.
‘Well, the joke’s on you because I will happily run errands, Mr Saville. In fact, if it takes me away from getting yelled at by you, then all the better.’
I lifted my chin, defiantly kicking out the stand to my bike and lifting the thawing ice out of my basket to take to the bar.
‘Lexie?’ Dean called out.
I spun around meeting his eyes. ‘Yes?’
‘Behave or I’ll send you to pick up something from Red Hill.’
My lips pinched together. I bowed my head and continued to the bar.
Forever the smart-arse.
Chapter Forty-Seven
For so long I’d been adamant that I knew what I wanted, that I knew what made me happy. And my return to Paradise hadn’t been perfect, far from it, but in the days that followed with Aunty Karen and Uncle Peter moving back, school rolling on and work getting better (as in, I still had a job), on paper it looked like I had found my feet, right? But if that were truly the case then why did I feel anything but grounded?
My thumb lingered over the send button, knowing that once it was gone, there would be no turning back. I would be sealing my fate in one way or another. I wasn’t picking a boyfriend as it wasn’t like that; it was about choosing a future, a future that involved a whole lot of leeway from my parents, and I just didn’t know how much more they were willing to give. Despite my being of age, I still wanted their blessing in my choices. I guess I was a bit of an oddball like that. As tender as my heart was, I had known for the longest time what was right, what fit. And to imagine my life with that integral part of me gone was not a future I wanted. Sure, he wasn’t perfect, and communication wasn’t exactly his strong point, but there was something there, an undeniable link between us, one that didn’t seem to dissolve no matter how bad things got.
Staring at the screen, my mind hovered between delete and send.
Delete – go on with my life. Send – and face the unknown. My teeth bit into my bottom lip and my leg jigged nervously as I ran each scenario through my mind, and then with a deep, calming breath I closed my eyes and pressed send.
Time to meet my destiny.
•
Here I was again, standing under a lamppost at the end of my cousin’s street, waiting. Waiting for the boy who might not come.
Like last time, when a silhouette appeared in the distance, I dared not believe that it would be Ballantine, but as the figure neared, as I watched, shading my face from the sun, I smiled as he closed the distance.
‘You got my text?’
It was a stupid thing to ask. Of course he had, why else would he be here? Nerves did strange things.
Ballantine slapped the side of the pole. ‘Yep! Memories.’
‘Good memories … and not so good.’
‘A very poetic choice,’ Ballantine said, leaning against the pole, plunging his hands deep in his pockets. He looked so gorgeous, the dimple puckering when he smiled. ‘I think I felt my heart stop when I got your text.’ He breathed out a laugh. ‘But then I know that it really didn’t, not really. Because it actually stopped the moment I saw the look on your face.’ A sad smile spread across Ballantine’s face.
‘I’m leaving without you, aren’t I.’ He said it as a statement, not a question.
I nodded slowly. ‘As much as I wanted it, I don’t think you wanted it enough.’
‘I always wanted you, Lexie.’
‘You should have fought harder.’
Ballantine turned his head away, looking down the street, silence falling between us, until I broke it.
‘My head says, what are we doing? Let’s go. But then my heart tells me –’
Ballantine held up his hand to stop me. ‘It’s okay, I don’t need to know what your heart says.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.
Ballantine, breathed in, gaining his composure. ‘I’m not. I’ll never be sorry, sorry about the girl from Red Hill who walked into that assembly like a dream.’
‘And now you’re going to chase your dream.’
Ballantine tried to look happy about it, and it made my heart hurt that our exchange was so wooden. He looked pained, but it wasn’t the devastation I had felt when he’d effectively said no to us weeks earlier. That had been agony. He never chased me. He never told me or even asked me to stay. He never wanted me enough.
Ballantine stepped forward, kissing me on the head and pressing his forehead against mine. I wrapped my arms around him, breathing him in and remembering back to the first time I saw this boy, laughing in the dark. He was the sunshine in my summer and I would never forget … Never.
‘Bye, Ballantine.’
He backed away. ‘Bye, Lexie Atkinson.’
•
I checked my phone for the hundredth time.
There was no reply.
The text had read:
Meet me at the Ferris
wheel at 1 pm.
It was now 1.30 and I had been shifting nervously for the past forty-five minutes, watching down the long strip of the pontoon leading into the amusement park, waiting to see him walk down.
But he didn’t arrive.
By 2.15 p.m. I had my answer and all I could do was nod, nod my head and accept that my heart had been wrong, and that this was a mistake. I thought back to the last time we had shared a moment and it was no wonder he wasn’t here. I was such an idiot for thinking it was anything more than what it was. I started to walk away from the Ferris wheel, down the long stretch, leaving the happy screams and fun fair behind, willing my feet forward and feeling the hot tears of humiliation rise within me. Just like the laughter on the wind, I thought I heard my name. Shaking it off, I walked faster, thinking if I just got away from here it would be like it never happened, but then I heard my name again, louder, and coming from behind me. I stopped, then turned around, confused, until I saw the tall figure standing beside the Ferris wheel, dressed in black, flicking his shades up on his head as he strode towards me.
You know that moment when a girl gets swept off her feet and taken away while some kind of romantic anthem plays in the background? Well, this was that kind of moment as Dean closed the distance, meeting me in the middle, coming to stand in front of me, shaking his head.
‘Where have you been?’ he asked, looking at his watch, annoyed.
‘Where have I been? Where have you been?’ I snapped.
‘I’ve been waiting on the other side of the Ferris wheel for the past hour.’
‘Why that side? I meant this side.’
‘Well, you should have said what side. How was I supposed to know?’
‘Everybody knows that’s the side.’
Dean scoffed. ‘Oh, is that right?’
This man infuriated me. Would we ever get through a conversation without arguing? He was staring down at me. His expression wasn’t really one of anger, despite our tone. I wouldn’t call it soft, but it was softer.
‘Why didn’t you text me?’ I asked.
‘Well, I had romantic visions of you running up the boardwalk, and me lifting you above my head in an impromptu Swayze moment, but the mood has been completely killed.’
I smirked. ‘You’re an idiot.’
‘And you’re here.’
‘I am.’
Dean’s eyes were ever watchful, waiting for me to be the first to say it. I stepped forward, lifting my eyes up to his.
‘I have a question for you.’
Dean smirked. ‘Shock horror. What if I don’t answer it?’
‘You have to answer it, only you can answer it.’
‘Okay, intrigued. Go on.’
‘It’s not a hard one.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’
Oh boy, I thought, it was a simple question, it seemed simple in my head, but when Dean looked down at me like he was now, his eyes a pale green in the sun, I suddenly lost all train of thought, and what’s worse, he knew it.
His smile grew broader as I shifted under his ever-intense gaze. I took a steadying breath, one that was strangely enough found in the familiarity of his eyes as I looked up at him.
‘It’s a simple question,’ I repeated.
Dean cocked his brow.
‘Do you want me to stay?’
Something changed in Dean’s expression. The humour fell away, a hardness in his eyes setting as he looked down at me. Maybe it wasn’t a simple question at all. It was certainly one he was thinking over.
I shifted anxiously, taking his silence as a sign for what was to come, and I suddenly wanted to hide from those eyes, readying myself to walk away until, as always, Dean did the unexpected. He lifted his hand to trace a gentle line from the corner of my brow, down my cheek to my chin, lifting my face to him.
‘Yes.’
A smile spread across my face, a reaction I had no control over at such a beautiful word to my ears.
‘Really?’
Dean cupped my cheek, his hand holding the fabric at the back of my shirt as he drew me closer, his lips hovering against mine, a wicked glint in his eyes, his look almost incredulous as he smiled.
‘What do you think?’
And without giving me a chance to answer, Dean kissed me, kissed me so passionately there was no doubt I was home, that I belonged in these arms. As much as he infuriated me, there was never any question he would fight for me. I felt it in his kiss, in his touch, and in the way he was looking at me now.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Humming a joyful little ditty, I made my way down the stairs, fixing my blonde hair up into a high ponytail. I rounded the corner of the bar, fussing and straightening my apron, all ready to start my Friday night shift until I saw the uncertain look on Cassie’s face.
‘What?’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Umm, what does it look like I’m doing?’
‘Well, this is awkward,’ laughed Cassie.
‘What is? What are you talking about?’ My head spun around, watching on as Cassie disappeared out back, only to return with the staff clipboard, chucking it on the bar top.
‘Hate to break it to you, luv, but you’re not on tonight.’
‘What?’ I replied, snatching up the clipboard, my eyes searching over the pages I flicked. ‘That can’t be right, I checked this morning; I’m on all weekend.’
‘Well, not anymore,’ Cassie mused as she folded her arms and cocked her hip against the bar.
I flipped: Friday, Saturday, Sunday … nothing. What the hell?
‘Maybe you’re a kept woman now?’ Cassie nudged me. ‘The boss’s ol’ lady,’ she said, wiggling her brows.
‘Oh, shut up,’ I snapped, pushing the clipboard back at her as I stormed past her, taking the steps two at a time, letting my anger drive me upwards.
Who the hell did he think he was?
I burst through his office door into darkness, flicking the light to reveal an empty room. I backed out, slamming the door and made a determined line down the hall to the door at the very end, twisting the handle and pushing it open, breaking the number one rule of knocking, but I was far too mad for that.
‘Look, Dean, just because –’ I stopped in the middle of a once-again dark room, except this time I squinted, as my eyes adjusted to that of a darkened silhouette by the opened balcony doors. Dean was trying to flick a lighter into life.
Flick-flick-flick
‘Dirty, rotten piece of shit,’ he gritted, shaking the lighter.
Flick-flick-flick.
‘What are you doing?’ I edged closer to him.
‘Bloody hell, Cassie was meant to give me the heads-up when you were coming.’
‘What? Why?’
Dean sighed, chucking the empty lighter across the table. ‘Because I am attempting to be fucking romantic.’ He said the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.
‘Oh …’ My brows rose and I was suddenly glad that we were in the dark so he couldn’t see my attempt not to smile.
‘I have enough tea candles in here to torch the place.’
‘Candles?’
‘Yeah, well, don’t get too excited.’
I grinned. ‘Wow, you’ve got it bad.’
Dean’s head snapped around to me. ‘What?’
I stepped closer to him, so close I could sense the rise and fall of his chest. ‘Cupcakes, now candles. You must be crazy about me,’ I teased.
Dean stayed quiet for a long, drawn-out moment. I really wished that I could see his face, read his eyes – they always told me so much.
‘Maybe,’ he said, his voice low and rich. ‘But at least I don’t talk in my sleep.’
My smile fell away, as the colour drained from my face. ‘W– what?’
Dean moved closer, leaning into me so his lips ghosted against my earlobe. ‘Do you dream of me often?’
I could feel my cheeks flame, mortified by the outing of my dirty little secret. So I did what I had to
do, what I was able to do with the cover of darkness. I laughed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I lied.
Dean pulled back a little. ‘Oh, I think you do.’ I felt his hand slide across my collar bone, touching me so gently as if I might break, which was probably a good thing, seeing how just listening to the way he spoke, so low and sexy, I could feel my resolve ready to shatter at any moment.
I swallowed. ‘Well, I am not telling you about my dream,’ I said, laughing a little nervously. There were just some things that were too mortifying to voice, and my inner deviant was one of them. No. Way.
Standing before the open door of the balcony, the summer breeze that rolled in off the ocean did little to cool the burn of my cheeks. The wind pushed my hair back, the salty air caused my eyes to water. I stood before Dean, waiting for him to answer, to say something smart because I knew he just wouldn’t be able to help himself, so when he raised his hand and gently pushed the hair from my forehead away and said, ‘I don’t want you to tell me,’ I instantly felt my shoulders melt in relief, until Dean lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed it. ‘I want you to show me.’
‘What?’ It came out almost as a yelp, a yelp of terror. I could feel my breaths become heavy and my heart race so fast I swear he could hear it. I tried to think, to come up with something to say, something witty, lighthearted, or pick a fight: I wasn’t fussy. Instead, there were no words, just Dean lacing his fingers with mine as he led me carefully through the dark and to the bed.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
Why was I so nervous? I could feel myself trembling, my mind reeling. We stood near the bed, and just like in my dream Dean moved to tap the light on low, casting a light glow over the room. My breath caught when I looked into Dean’s eyes; gone were the harsh, angry stares and wicked, cheeky glints I was used to. Instead, a rich warmth was there, looking at me like I was some goddess, when I felt anything but. Dean hooked his finger in my shirt and with a sexy smile he pulled me towards him, taking my hot mouth with a deep hunger. My hands wrapped around his neck, urging him into me so greedily I couldn’t believe it myself. My hands then clumsily grabbed at Dean’s shirt; in no uncertain terms I wanted it gone and he read me instantly, pulling the black t-shirt over his head and throwing it aside. I thought this might have helped but it didn’t. Touching his chiselled torso made me swallow. This was definitely not a dream. This was very, very real. Real in the way Dean was unbuttoning my shirt in a long, confident line down to my belly button, peeling it aside to reveal my bra. My chest heaved up and down so rapidly Dean faltered, taking a moment to read my face.
