Revue

by K. M. Golland

  ***

  After speaking to Tom, I’d decided to treat myself to some pampering in the hope it would cheer me up and cure my homesickness. The hotel had a salon, so I’d made an appointment for a pedicure.

  Sitting there in the large black massage chair, feet on a footstool, my toes under a UV lamp that was setting the red shellac on my nails, my phone buzzed, indicating a new message.

  Josh: You hiding?

  I smiled at seeing his name and quickly sent a reply.

  Cori: Nope. Having a pedi in salon.

  As per usual, his reply was instant.

  Josh: Did I tell you I have a foot fetish?

  You just made me hard.

  My face scrunched in disgust.

  Cori: Ew. I don’t think I can have sex with you anymore.

  Josh: Your loss, sweetheart.

  This was the thing with Josh—I could never tell if he was serious or not.

  Cori: You know I’m kidding, right?

  Josh: I’ve ruined you for others.

  Of course I know that.

  When it came to him, I seemed to go through a cycle of emotions—frustration, shock, the urge to be primal, exhilaration then uncertainty. It really was a sequence of head-fuckery, but one I seemed happy enough to ride—for now.

  Cori: You’re so up yourself.

  Josh: I’d rather be up you.

  Cori: I’d rather you in me.

  Josh: This can be arranged.

  Cori: You say where and when.

  Josh: Tennis courts. One hour. Wear runners.

  What? The UV lamp shining above my toes switched off, and I pulled my feet free, twinkling my shiny red nails. Runners? Crap. I’ve just prettied my toes.

  ***

  Soon after arriving at the courts, I found out that I’d been roped into a friendly match of tennis with some of the guys. To be honest, I’d had other activities with Josh in mind, but the idea of playing tennis didn’t really bother me, because I’d played in a weekly competition for six years as a teenager. What was also pleasantly surprising was that the entire cast and crew had been invited for a Barbeque lunch.

  “Elmer, cute little get-up,” Dimps declared, eyeing my tennis outfit of black cotton shorts, a singlet top and aqua Chucks—they were the only runners I’d packed.

  “Stop calling me Elmer.”

  “I think not. It suits you,” he said, handing me a racquet.

  I took it from him and tested its weight with the bobbing of my arm. “It does not suit me. It’s stupid.”

  Josh and Brad were on the court, slogging it out against each other. I actually felt sorry for the ball—they were hitting it that hard.

  “Fault,” Brad called, after failing to hit a return of serve.

  “Fuckin’ bullshit. Open your eyes.” Josh had already moved across to the opposite service line, preparing to serve for the next point.

  “They’re wide open, mate. If the ball was any farther out, it’d be out of the country.”

  Josh bent over and bounced the ball a few times, preparing to serve. “Funny fucker, aren’t you?”

  “You have no idea.”

  Whack!

  Josh served the ball directly at Brad, this time it definitely being a fault. Brad’s eyes flared with anger. Josh, on the other hand, looked satisfied.

  Taking a seat at the picnic table, which was shaded in among a Balinese-styled hut, I gave Patsy, Baz, Lenny and the rest of the guys a small wave. “Wow! They sure take this seriously, don’t they?”

  Noah laughed sardonically. “To do with tennis, it has not. More you, it has.”

  Scrunching my brow, it took me a moment to process his annoying Yoda talk. “What? Me? Why?”

  “Taken, your pussy is.”

  My nose scrunched.

  “Fucked by Bugs, you have be—”

  “Slick,” Matt warned.

  “What?” Amusement dripped from Noah’s face.

  Turning to face me, Matt exhaled a long breath and lowered his voice, speaking inconspicuously behind his beer bottle. “We know Bugs fucked you. And Surfer is not overly happy about it.”

  The colour drained from my face. Josh, you lying son of a bitch.

  “What do you mean he knows Josh fucked me?” I asked, my whisper seething as I searched Matt’s disapproving eyes.

  “Exactly what I said. He knows the two of you are fucking.” Matt took a swig of his beer. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Cori.”

  For starters, what I did and whom I did it with was neither his nor Brad’s business. What I couldn’t understand though, or more aptly, what was churning my insides, was just how quickly Josh had opened his big mouth and announced his victory of fucking me. I couldn’t believe it. He’d played me. It was all lies! I thought he wanted me for me … a lie. I thought what we shared was unique … a lie. I thought … it doesn’t matter what I thought. It was all fucking LIES! I was just another conquest, another notch on his disgusting belt of meaningless fucks.

  Sitting there, the wind having been knocked right out of me, Josh’s voice brought me back to the ugly reality I was in.

  “Who’s up for doubles? Sweetheart? Chief?”

  How dare he call me sweetheart. If he has his way, my heart will be far from sweet by the time he’s finished with it.

  “You up for it?” Matt asked, standing up and offering his hand.

  I ignored it, and stood on my own. I didn’t need glorious looking, arrogant men making me feel inadequate. I was very fucking capable, capable of causing some serious pain to Josh’s balls. Despite what they all thought, I wasn’t some dainty flower with wilted petals. I could still stand tall, proud, and be myself, even after the wind of arseholes blew those petals from me. I could see what Josh was up to. And I could beat him at his own game … or at least the game of tennis. Bring it on, dancing man pricks.

  Marching onto the court, Matt behind me, I took my place beside Brad, choosing to partner him instead of Josh. Josh performed a double take, my decision not going unnoticed.

  “You sure you’re on the right team, Cori?” Brad asked from his position behind me, both of us squatted in readiness for Josh’s serve. His tone of voice held an edge of arsehole and a slither of hurt.

  “I’m on my own team. Always have, always will be.”

  Josh served, flat and hard.

  Ace.

  I turned and walked toward the back of the court, passing Brad as he made his way closer to the net. Eye contact was avoided, because eye contact was not a good idea. At some point, my eye contact—and other forms of contact—had led Brad to believing he had some kind of claim to me.

  He didn’t.

  No one did.

  Men sucked.

  Facing the front of the court again, I squatted and rocked from side to side on the heels of my feet. Josh bounced the ball once, a smirk on his face. Heat surfaced on my skin, and I knew it had absolutely nothing to do with the midday sun beating down. It was him … all him. He set me on fire in every way imaginable and, right now, that way was of heated anger.

  Tossing the ball in the air, he swung his racquet and tapped the ball lightly, sending it practically floating in slow motion toward me. You stupid dipshit. I ran toward the ball and swung my racquet as it bounced at a perfect height for me to slam it back at him.

  Direct hit to the shoulder.

  Hard.

  I held his gaze for a second and nodded in self-appraisal of a target successfully acquired.

  Crickets. You could practically hear them chirping, as the atmosphere was stunned silent, until Noah and Lucas burst into laughter from the sidelines.

  “Dark horse is she.” Noah clapped his hands together and rubbed them, draping them over the back of his head where they rested, fingers laced together. “Good, this ought to be.”

  Brad turned and walked toward me, on his way to taking his position for Josh’s next serve. He was shirtless, as was Josh—but I was trying desperately not to focus on that detail. His brows were drawn, and hi
s mouth opened and then closed, as if to second-guess saying something. Smart move, Surfer, smart move.

  As Josh walked to the other side of his court, he kept glancing in my direction, his face stoic. It didn’t surprise me. This was what he did—he turned off his emotions as he would a leaky tap. I knew him enough now to see his game plan. When things started to escalate into something that could become more than just a meaningless fuck, he’d chase that something away and shut the door. Well, if he wanted to play that game with me, I’d make it the hardest damn door he’d ever have to close.

  Tossing the ball into the air, Josh sent it flying ferociously, once again, toward Brad. This time, though, Brad hit it back. I stayed at the net, ready for the volley, watching closely as the two of them slogged it back and forth. Brad stretched out, reaching for a shot that went wide, just getting his racquet to it and popping the ball up and over to Matt. As Matt waited for the ball to drop low enough to return, I predicted where he’d hit and intercepted the shot, volleying the ball directly at Josh’s groin. He covered his monster just in the nick of time.

  Damn.

  “What the fuck, sweetheart?” he yelled, eyes wide and disbelieving.

  I shrugged and gave him an I-don’t-know-what-you-are-talking-about-when-really-I-know-exactly-what-you’re-talking-about look. I then turned and walked toward the back of the court again.

  “Right! Change teams. Surfer, you and I are swapping.”

  My head snapped back. “No! You can’t do that in the middle of a match.”

  “Yeah, I can.” His strides in my direction picked up, and he hurdled himself over the net with ease.

  Brad stared him down then glanced at me before walking to the other side of the court. Coward!

  “This is just stupid,” I huffed, angrily.

  Josh’s strides in my direction continued until he stopped, toe to toe. “You got an issue you want to talk about, or do you just like slamming furry fuckin’ yellow balls at me?”

  I snarled, narrowing my eyes. “Both.”

  “Then enlighten me. What the fuck is wrong? When I left you last, you were more than satisfied.”

  I growled and turned my back on him, ready to face the serve from Brad. Screw you, arsehole. Actually, no I won’t screw you. Ever. AGAIN!

  Brad served.

  I returned.

  Matt saved.

  Josh volleyed, and we won the point.

  We swapped positions, Josh now behind me, and I rocked, waiting for the ball to be hit into play.

  “Your arse looks fucking delicious in those shorts, sweetheart. I want to stick my tongue in it,” he murmured.

  Oh no, he didn’t. Heat flowed through me at the sound of his suggestive voice, not to mention the idea of what he was, in fact, suggesting. But I ignored him. The days of taking his slimy, salty bait were over.

  The ball was once again served, returned, hit, and a point to us won, making it game over and my turn to serve. I bent over and collected two balls from the back of the court, placing one in my pocket and stepping up to the boundary line ready to serve.

  Josh’s grey, shorts-covered arse taunted me from its position a few metres ahead. Fuck, it looked good, together with his toned, flexed hamstrings and calves. I was seriously in man-leg heaven.

  Swallowing, I diverted my gaze, inwardly grouching as I tossed the ball in the air and swung too soon, serving a fault. Damn it!

  “And we have found Elmer’s weakness … a shitty service game.”

  I glared at Lucas, and was tempted to serve my next ball at his head. But when Josh laughed at his comment, that’s when I knew the ball would have other plans.

  Bouncing, once, twice … three times, I focussed on his arse and then exhaled, tossing the ball gently, and this time, I timed my swing perfectly.

  Whack.

  The ball careened toward Josh’s arse, it’s flight path beautiful. Then … smack! Target acquired.

  “That fucking does it!” Josh yelled, throwing his racquet to the ground. He turned, wearing fury in place of a T-shirt. His eyes were wide, the veins in his neck, prominent. He looked pissed. And a little scary. Pfft … whatevs. He deserved it.

  I stood my ground, attempting to appear unperturbed when, in all honesty, his escalating pissiness was making me nervous, especially since, as he got closer, the more visible it actually was. Oh, crap!

  Before I could get a word out, he squatted and picked me up in a fireman’s hold, tossing me over his shoulder. “Josh! Put me down, you arsehole.”

  “No can do. We need words,” he answered, his voice resolute.

  “Bugs! What are you doing? Put her down.”

  I lifted my head to see Matt standing on the other side of the net with his hand on his head, scratching it and looking anything but impressed. Then I was spun around, finding everyone else in the Balinese hut staring, jaws dropped.

  “Stay out of it, Chief. I’ve got this.”

  “No you haven’t. You haven’t got anything,” I hissed.

  He laughed sadistically. “I’ve got you.”

  “Correction. Did. Don’t anymore.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Josh walked us out of the courted area and down into the hotel’s gardens. White pebbles crushed under his heavy footsteps, and branches of bushes and shrubs passed us by. I grabbed the nearest one, hoping it would stop him.

  Bad idea. All it did was hurt my hand.

  “Ouch, fucker,” I grumbled, rubbing my palm. I was even more pissed now. I’d had enough. “Josh. Stop. This is far enough. Put me down.”

  He halted, and bent. I put my feet on the ground and, once firmly placed, I allowed myself a few seconds to adjust to the vertigo before unleashing holy Hell upon him. “What was that?” I growled, piercing him with my searing fury.

  He stepped toward me and I stepped backwards, as if he were a predator, until my legs hit the trunk of a tree. “You tell me and we’ll both know,” he said, caging me in with his arms.

  “You want to play games? Fine, I’ll play games. Starting with ‘Honesty renders your heart defenceless, and lying fucks with your head. That’s why I choose to remain silent and protect them both instead’.” I crossed my arms over my chest and bit back my sarcastic smile.

  “Now that’s some poetic shit right there. But what the fuck has it got to do with anything, Corinne? When I left you this morning, I was feeling great and thinking, ‘Fuck, that was one of the best nights I’ve had … in a long time’, then I’m met with this … this … scary bitch with a tennis racquet. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

  I pushed him, but he didn’t budge. He never bloody budged. The man was a tank. “Yeah? Well, if you didn’t find it necessary to screw me around and make me think that what you say is actually fucking real, then I wouldn’t have to slam balls into you. Mean what you say or don’t say at all. I’d rather listen to silence than hear a fool, Josh.”

  He pushed off the tree and threw his hands in the air, pacing before me. “What have I said or done that I haven’t meant?”

  “You said you’d try, that you wanted to try at a relationship with me. You asked me to give you a chance. So I did. Then, as soon as I open my legs and let you fuck me, you fucking fuck me over.”

  He paused his continuous steps and ran his hand through his hair. “How the hell did I do that? I’m not following you, sweetheart. Enlighten me.”

  I groaned. “Why do I have to spell everything out?” I asked, staring at him through my lashes, a tear spilling from my eye. “Fine,” I sighed, spelling it out. “You couldn’t even wait twenty-four hours after successfully getting in between my legs before you bragged about your conquest to the rest of the crew, could you?”

  “Is that what you think?” he asked, voice flat, his eyes flicking to my tear as it fell.

  I wiped it away. “How else am I supposed to think? You say one thing and do another. Actions speak louder than words. They always have. They’re empty unless you back them up.”


  He stepped closer, cupped my chin and scoffed as he turned it in his direction. The look in his eyes was far from warm. It was cold, nasty and swimming with vexation. It was a look I couldn’t bare to see and one I wouldn’t allow to affect me.

  “You’re wasting your time if you think you can hurt my feelings,” I said, taking in a steadying breath.

  “Then why are you crying, sweetheart?” he asked, his smile, callous.

  “I’m not. My eyes are urinating, so fuck you!”

  Silence.

  He searched my tear-streaked face for a second, sighed and then dropped his hand from its firm hold on my face. “I didn’t tell anyone that I’d fucked you for fun, if that’s what you’re saying. You were never a conquest, Corinne. When you were ready, I would’ve told them you and I were an ‘us’ or whatever the fuck you wanted ‘us’ to be.” Josh leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. He then walked away.

  What the … hang on … what? Confusion suffocated my thoughts as I tried to process his words. He never said anything? I wasn’t a conquest after all?

  “Wait!” I called out.

  He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

  “I don’t understand. How did everyone find out?”

  Silence.

  “Josh?”

  “Does it even matter?” he asked, before continuing to walk and leaving me standing there, confused as fuck and feeling like a terrible fool.

  ***

  When I eventually returned to the barbeque, Josh was nowhere to be seen. It worried me. I’d jumped to conclusions and assumed the worst of him, something he didn’t take lightly nor had he deserved.

  Turned out Josh had been telling the truth, never parading the entering of my vagina as a conquest. Instead, Brad had found out when he’d visited my room the night before while I was preparing the bath, discovering Josh shirtless and accepting a room service order of wine and dessert. The evidence was self-explanatory, and Brad didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on. I’d also gotten it out of him—after giving him an earful about opening his big mouth, and telling him to stay out of my business—that there’d been some heated words exchanged between him and Josh, and that Josh had told him to back off because I was the first person in a long time who’d made him smile without even trying. And that he’d be damned if Brad was gonna try to weasel in on that.