Sting

by Jennifer Ryder

  Aidan’s living the dream: a beautiful wife, and a home with two kids running around. Could I have that with Willow? Is she the one I’ve been waiting for?

  I’m supposed to limit personal contact with friends and family while on assignment, but this is important. I don’t wanna make a dick of myself by moving ahead purely based on my sister’s advice. I need to know how to play this, and surely he can give me some insight.

  “Hey, man. It’s Ryan.”

  “Ryan,” he says, surprise evident in his high-pitched tone.

  “How are ya?”

  “I’m good, mate. We’re all good. Just working away, you know? What’s happening with you?”

  “Working hard, I tell you. Harder at some things than others.” I huff out a breath as I prepare to hang up my balls and become a girl for the next few minutes.

  “Whaddya mean?”

  I draw in a long breath. Guess I might as well cut to the chase. “So, ah, there’s this chick.”

  He laughs. It’s a deep hearty laugh—just how I suspected he’d react. He knows all too well about the shit I’ve gotten up to with girls. I guess it’s the escapades with Jones on the night of his wedding that he was the most surprised by. I’m not sure how much he knew about Jones and I keeping in touch for the occasional tag team session after that, but there’s no point talking about past times. I’m not interested in that shit anymore. I want more than just bodies in a room. I want something different now. A relationship?

  “A chick, hey, mate? Let me guess. She’s got you by the short and curlies?”

  “I wish she were close enough to grab a good hold of them, man, but we’re not there yet. I’ve never really told another bloke this, but I want what you’ve got. You know, the family. You’re a lucky prick to have Eevie and the kids. Truly. I’m not sure if I’ll be doing this kind of work for much longer, and I don’t know, there’s something about this girl. I can’t let it go.”

  “I am a lucky fucker. I’m the first to admit it. Even when I barely get a wink of sleep, because our little fellas are now scared of monsters in their room. They kick my arse in bed half the night, even when I have to get up and train for the next round, but I thank my lucky stars, mate.” He chuckles, and I can’t help but imagine his two boys running around. “So tell me about her. What’s the story?”

  The problem is, I don’t really know that much about her.

  “She works close by. We’ve been flirting and carrying on ever since I arrived here. It’s the mixed signals that for the life of me, I can’t figure out. I just don’t get chicks sometimes. The way she looks at me I swear she wants to rip my clothes off, it’s just the way she is around me, and the words that come out of her mouth that are total fucking opposites.”

  “I do know one thing when it comes to women, and it’s this: it’s the ones that don’t throw themselves at you that are the ones worth fighting for.”

  “Yeah.” I’m getting that feeling.

  “I’m not an expert on this shit. I don’t know, just play it cool. She probably had a bad break-up or something. If she thinks she can trust you, I’m sure she’ll come around,” he says.

  Trust.

  How do you get someone to trust you—someone who you’re contemplating having a relationship with—when you’re living a lie? For a living, no less.

  How much longer do I wanna work undercover?

  ****

  I walk into Willow’s café the next morning, right on opening, with Cass’s words of advice ringing in my ear.

  “Flat white to go, thanks,” I say with a wink for Blondie for good measure.

  “To go, huh? You mean you’re not having breakfast and lounging around here all day?” Willow says and tilts her head to the side.

  Shit. I told her the other day I’d have breakfast. If I didn’t just get a call from Mick telling me that the accountant had arrived at the docks, I would. Let’s see if I can get out of this gently.

  “Are you gonna sit down and eat with me, Blondie?”

  Her eyes shift nervously. Yeah. She totally wants me to stay.

  “I can’t. You know, customers,” she says with a wave of her hand to the line-up behind me.

  I smile brightly at her. “If you were eating with me, I’d stay, but unfortunately I’ve got some maintenance to do on the boat. Sorry.”

  Her shoulders sag a little. Is she disappointed? That’s gotta be an indication that she’s into me. She tilts her head to the side, but says nothing as she discards old coffee grounds into the metal cylinder beside her.

  “So what do people do around here … for fun, I mean,” I say to break the growing silence between us.

  “I wouldn’t know. I’m too busy working here.”

  “What do you do when you’re not here?”

  “Usually sleep.”

  I try desperately not to imagine her naked, in a tangle of sheets … in my bed. Use your head, Ryan, not your dick.

  “As far as I can tell, the only place of interest around here is this cute little coffee shop. You may have heard of it.”

  A smile tickles at the corner of her soft lips.

  “So you’re telling me you have absolutely no spare time except for work and sleep, and the occasional sandcastle session?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Aha. So you do have time for other things. Tell me.”

  “Working in my garden.”

  “What do you grow?”

  “Usual stuff; herbs, whatever’s in season. Organic always tastes better, and I use whatever I can in the café. The problem is, I can’t keep on top of the weeds, and I tend to miss the right time for planting things because I get tied up here. I wish there were more hours in the day.”

  Here goes. Tactic endorsed by Cass and Aidan. This had better work.

  “Need help?” I suggest.

  She stops what she’s doing and eyes me suspiciously. “You’re offering to help me do gardening?”

  “Sure. I don’t know anyone around here except Mick, and I like to keep busy. All this caffeine in my veins, I need to do something with it.” I shrug my shoulders up and down in a jittery display.

  She laughs out loud. The sound is bloody magic. I made her laugh. Gabby would be proud.

  “I’ll let you know,” she says.

  Mmm. Resistance. I think I’m gonna need Gabby’s help on this one.

  “Hey, I might get one of those chicken pesto rolls to go, too.”

  “Sure, I’ll get Gabs to make one up for you and bring it out in a few minutes.”

  “No dramas.” I pay and then move to one of the bar stools on the far wall.

  A few moments later Gabby approaches with a folded brown paper bag.

  “Here you go, honey,” she says, all smiles.

  “Thanks. Hey, can I ask for your help with something?”

  She purses her bright red lips and gives me the once-over. “Absolutely.”

  “I, ah, wanna do something for Willow, help her with her garden, but—”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” She puts her hand over her heart. Her hazel eyes glaze over.

  I nod. “Deadly.”

  “You barely know my Willow, and you’re willing to do something like that to win her affections?”

  “I’m tryin’ to get to know her.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “Her address.”

  She looks sheepishly towards the coffee machine, and then back at me. She chews on the inside of her cheek and frowns.

  “I could start badgering her for it, day in, day out, and I’m pretty sure she’d give it to me, but chicks like surprises, don’t they?”

  “Honey, what the hell kind of planet did you come from? Because with all this,” she says motioning in a zigzag pattern with her hand in front of my body, “and being all thoughtful, we seriously need to clone you.”

  I smirk at her, and lean in a bit closer. Her strong perfume tickles at my nostrils. “So is that a yes?”

  “Give me
your number and I’ll text it to you. If you want I’ll let you know her movements so you don’t get sprung. If it’s any help, I think Monday she’ll be flat out here.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Oh, lordy, lordy. She is gonna love this!” she whispers loudly.

  She takes a pen from her shirt pocket, tears off a piece of the newspaper on the bench and hands them to me.

  “Here’s hoping,” I say as I write my number down.

  She stashes the paper and pen in her pocket, and then places her hands on my bicep, and squeezes softly.

  “Just be patient with her, Brown-Eyes. She’ll get there. You’re good for her. I see the way she is when you’re around. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she likes you. It’s just been a while.”

  “Thanks, Gabby,” I say.

  “My pleasure.” She winks. “Oh, just one more thing. I don’t know what you’re planning exactly, but whatever you do, don’t plant roses.”

  “O-kay,” I say, lengthening out the word. I wasn’t planning on it.

  “That place had the most spectacular rose garden and she ripped out every last one of them.”

  Well, okay then. I guess she doesn’t like thorns. I get that.

  Gabby turns on her heel and sways her hips as she moves over to a nearby table, and starts up an animated conversation with the couple sitting down.

  Monday is the day.

  Ten minutes later, I receive a text with an address.

  27 Spencer Street. Our girl will be in the café from six until six <3.

  I’ve got a twelve-hour window to work some magic.

  I save the contact to my phone, and text the number back.

  Me: Cheers. Be sure to let me know when she leaves work.

  Gabby: Sure thing, Brown-Eyes.

  I jump in the Ute and head down to the docks. With any luck, the accountant might meet with some acquaintances today.

  CHAPTER TEN

  RYAN

  Sundays are meant for relaxing. Most people get that luxury, but not us. The most action down at the docks is on the weekends. It’s as if they’re taking advantage of the place being busy, which if you ask me, is a pretty smart move. When there’s so much boat movement and people walking around, it’s hard to get a real handle on what they’re up to.

  The accountant only paid a fleeting visit, and from our vantage point we didn’t get a good look at whom he met with. He did, however, take a small navy backpack with him. My guess is it was full of cash. If only we were getting more intel out of the wire-tap we have on him. Clearly, he’s a careful operator.

  As I scan the area throughout the day, I talk to a few of the local fisherman about what they’ve been catching, and compliment a few new faces to the docks on their prized buoyant possessions. The fact that the boat owners are keen to show me around their vessels is a clear indication that they’re not of real interest to us. I hand them a few of our charter business cards and say my goodbyes, taking a good look around on my way over to Mick.

  When I get back on the boat, I check the time on my phone. Four thirty. I guess Blondie has shut up shop by now. What’s she doing, I wonder?

  “Something distracting you, Palmer?”

  “Nothing. It’s just—” Ah, hell. I might as well talk to the bastard. “Five-foot-five and blonde.”

  He chuckles.

  “I’ve got a right hard-on for the cutie in the coffee shop. She’s fuckin’ torturing me, because she must want me, the way she looks at me, but fuck. I don’t know. This backlog of load is fucking messing with my brain. Never had to work so hard.”

  Mick laughs. Prick. “From what I hear, she’s a closed book, that one. You ask too many questions; she shuts down. If I were you, I’d forget her.”

  Mick doesn’t know yet, but he’ll soon find out that no one tells Ryan Clark not to do something. It’s just like waving a red piece of lingerie in the face of a horny bloke. I’m that horny that I’ll soon become a danger to this little seaside community.

  He narrows his eyes at me and scratches his goatie beard.

  “We done here?” I ask.

  “Yeah, Palmer. We’re done. I’m exhausted.”

  “I’m going for a surf,” I say, and step onto the pier.

  “I’ll see you Tuesday morning, then.”

  “Enjoy the day off tomorrow. Re-charge, hotshot.”

  “Will do.”

  Little does he know, I have a shitload on my plate in the morning.

  ****

  For a good half hour I run through the streets close to home, and then drive down to South Beach.

  When I dive under the first wave with my board, the saltwater envelopes me into a calm world, blocking my ears from the squawking seagulls above.

  As I paddle out further, the breeze on my wet skin revives me. After the last few days, the serenity is just what I need.

  Good session completed, I make my way back up the beach towards my car.

  When I see her it stops me in my tracks. Holy fucking hell. My heart tries to escape from my chest by clawing up my throat. It’s beating like crazy.

  White bikini, golden-brown skin, spread out on a large black-and-white striped beach towel. Every muscle is toned to perfection. A straw cowgirl hat is tilted on her head, just enough to cover the dusting of freckles over her button nose. A gold chain clings to her perfect dainty ankle.

  My greedy eyes devour every inch of her. Of course, I linger on those perfect perky tits and admire them in all their beauty. Blood rushes down south. I want in.

  I dig my surfboard into the sand, positioning it to block the sun from kissing her honey skin.

  “Willow?” I growl, my voice deep.

  She sits up on her elbows and taps her hat back on her head with her finger. Her eyes focus on my feet, and then travel slowly up my body. The corner of her mouth tugs into a cheeky smirk as those blue eyes, deep as the bluest sea, meet mine.

  “Ryan,” she says, pronouncing each syllable.

  “Going solo today, I see.” Not a princess in sight.

  “That I am,” she says, and grins. “I’m taking a break from sandcastles this afternoon.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  She looks over each of her shoulders, inspecting the towel. “I don’t think this towel is big enough for the both of us,” she says.

  I cross my arms under my chest. “I think that’s a matter of opinion,” I say, daring to be told differently.

  “I guess it’d be cruel of me to leave you to sit in the hot sand,” she says, and laughs softly. Willow shuffles to the far edge of the towel, stretches her legs out in front of her and sits up.

  “Totally cruel.” I position myself next to her, stretch out, and lean back on my elbows.

  “We keep bumping into each other,” she says, teasing at a loose thread beside her knee.

  “I noticed.”

  She shakes her head, and lets out a long breath. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Course.”

  “What brought you here, you know, to Freo?”

  Work.

  I shrug. “It’s laid-back here, you know?”

  “So you work with Mick, yeah?”

  Where is this going?

  “Yep.”

  “Is working on a boat something you’ve always done? I mean, I’m just trying to understand the attraction. I’m allergic to boats. The slightest swell and I’m hurling over the edge.”

  You and me both, Blondie.

  “I was a mechanic before, and having grown up around boats I decided to do some extra study. I’m partway through my marine mechanic apprenticeship, and when I heard through a friend that Mick was looking for someone I jumped at the chance. Sometimes life gets a bit much and you’ve gotta make a change. And Freo, well, this place is just magic.”

  The sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach reminds me why I’m here. I’ve just lied to her. It’s part and parcel of the job. It is the job. So why am I now struggling with it?

>   Willow is opening up. She’s starting to talk, and I can’t give her anything real in return. Just vague shit, which will hopefully satisfy her curiosity. The problem I’m facing is that I’d happily talk about stuff. Personal stuff. But I can’t do it. I know better. I’m also bound by law not to.

  “Yeah, it is pretty special,” she says and diverts her gaze to the waves crashing to shore. “So how long are you staying for?”

  “Not sure. I’m kind of playing it by ear, but I seem to be finding more reasons to stay.”

  “Like what?” she says, turning her head towards me.

  “Well, for one, friends,” I say, and place my hand over hers, which is flat on the towel beside my hip.

  She frowns, and looks at me as if I’ve pulled a David Copperfield on her and made a plane disappear.

  “Yep. Friends.” I run my thumb over her knuckles.

  She takes in a sharp breath. “Nothing wrong with friends,” she says and sighs.

  I sit up and lean in closer, the warm skin of our shoulders meeting. Taking in a deep breath, I take a good long look at her lips, which I’d bet my life are soft and equally as sweet. Then I consider what I just told her. Friends. I guess I’ll see how this plays out.

  “Not one thing. We’re friends, right?” I ask.

  She swallows hard, and makes this movement with her head, which I’m not absolutely sure if it’s a nod or a shake.

  A hiccup bursts from her mouth.

  “Do I take that as a yes?” I ask through a chuckle.

  Another hiccup. Then she smiles so bright I consider moving in and tasting those lips.

  “Yes, I guess we’re friends,” she says. Well, there goes that thought then. Friends it is. Challenge accepted.

  I tap her freckled nose gently with my index finger. “Well, friend, I hate to leave, but I’ve gotta go.” I squeeze her hand, and then rise to my feet.

  “You’re going?” The disappointment all over her face is as obvious as the late afternoon sun is hot.

  “Yeah, sorry. I’ve got a big day tomorrow, and I’m gonna need all the energy I can get. But don’t worry; I’ll be in for my brew in the morning, Blondie. Nice and early,” I promise.