Struggle to Forever: a friends to lovers duet

by Lilliana Anderson

  “Then what’s the point?” Kayley asks. “If you don’t think you can make it, why go through the process?”

  I smile and cup my hands around my mug. “Because it means I’m one of the best in the country. They only take two men and two women Australia wide. I haven’t even had the chance to compete at the adult level yet, so if I can qualify for selection that’s pretty special.”

  “So, bragging rights?” Carl confirms, and I laugh.

  “Yeah. Bragging rights.”

  “Cool,” he says.

  “You must be very dedicated,” Albina says, looking me up and down. “There isn’t an ounce of fat on you.” Her scrutiny makes me nervous.

  “Yeah,” I say, pushing away from the table when her eyes clock the raised scars on my forearms. I pull my sleeves down and mumble something about needing to study before the break is over.

  “But we still have ten minutes,” Kayley objects, catching me by the elbow. “Sit and talk to us.”

  “I… I can't. I’m behind on my reading,” I tell them, backing away before dropping my head and making a beeline for the door. I’ve never been good under the examination of others. Never felt as though I fit in the way most other girls do. I'm not a particularly curvaceous woman, built primarily of muscle and sinew which is compounded by all the training I do. Even without it, I’ve always been on the skinny side. A boyish figure, my mother calls it. But these days, with the addition of hundreds of tiny scars on my forearms, a few extra-long ones from reparative surgeries and the big gash on the side of my face, I’m even more self-conscious. I don’t handle being studied well. My scars encourage questions. Questions I don’t feel like answering.

  As I approach the library, I’ve re-buttoned my blouse at the wrists so I can’t accidentally push my sleeves up again and somewhat composed myself. I shouldn’t have freaked out the way I did, but I’ve only just met these people. They need not learn my sad and sorry tale of domestic violence before they’ve had the chance to get to know me as a person. I’m not interested in looking like a victim when I’m anything but.

  All the internal offices have windowed walls so you can see inside at all times, and the library is no different. I can see that someone’s in there before I’ve even made it to the door. I can also see that that someone is Elliot. The man I struggle to form solid sentences around. Great.

  My stupid stomach gets all jittery despite me wishing I didn’t react. But I can’t help it; he’s a beautiful figure to behold—especially from behind.

  He’s got a great arse. And those pants of his are tailored to hug those well-trained glutes perfectly. It’s enough to make a girl sigh out loud. Which I nearly do.

  “Hi there,” I say when I enter the room, letting him know he isn’t alone while also trying to be friendly. “You look busy.” I indicate the thick law volume he has open on top of one of the low shelves.

  “I am,” he says, giving me a cursory glance before returning to his reading.

  Wow. Talk about the cold shoulder. I’d have thought after our interaction in the elevator on Monday he would have at least said ‘hello’ Typical. Seems my original summation of the guy was right: He’s too good looking and he knows it. Makes him the exact kind of guy I should avoid at all costs.

  Brushing off the stagnant feel of our non-eventful conversation, I take my seat and pull my iPad out of my bag, bringing up the reader app with my uni texts inside it. I’m trying to concentrate, but I still see him there, leaning over his book while ignoring me. I mean, couldn’t the guy even manage a smile? A nod? Why give me a cold stare?

  Maybe I imagined the elevator thing on Monday? Maybe we didn’t have a conversation at all? No. That definitely happened. And David saw him as well. Why is this bothering me so much? I frown a little while I’m looking at him, and unluckily for me, he looks up and catches me. Shit. I flit my eyes back to my reading, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. I keep acting like a weird stalker around this guy.

  Needing to look busy, I tap at my screen and highlight random sections of text. I figure if I look interested enough in what I’m doing, he might think I was frowning about my work and not at him.

  Every sound in the room seems amplified. I can hear my heart beating in my ears, and I seem to breathe so loudly it fills the room. Where’s a rock to hide under when you need one?

  I keep my head down, turning pages and pretending to read, highlighting here and there while still focusing on him. In my periphery, I can see him closing the book and sliding it back on the shelf. Good. He’s leaving. Except he isn’t leaving. He’s walking towards me. Why is he walking towards me? I try hard to look too busy to notice—highlight, highlight; thoughtful expression, page turn, highlight.

  “Katrina?” he asks briskly, trying to get my attention from where he’s been waiting next to my desk for the last five seconds.

  I look up with feigned surprise. “Oh, hi. Sorry, I was engrossed in”—I wave my hand at the open text on my iPad—"What can I do for you? Um, Evan?”

  His brow twitches as he pulls his head back when I deliver his name incorrectly, a dirty trick an old foe from high school taught me. She used to call people the wrong name when she wanted them to feel unimportant.

  “Uh… It’s um… Elliot.”

  “Who?”

  “Elliot. Not Evan. My name’s Elliot.” He frowns and clears his throat. “I, um, wanted to ask if you had any microfiche for me.” He points to the pile I collected during my clean up this morning. “Figured since I was here, I’d grab them to save you walking them over to um… my office.” He lifts his hand, rubbing at the back of his stylishly messy hair as he gives me a sheepish grin.

  It takes everything I have not to laugh.

  “They’re all yours,” I reply magnanimously, handing him the pile.

  “Thanks.” Tapping the pile on the inside of his other hand, he turns and heads for the door, pausing before turning back and saying, “See you round, Katrina.”

  I smile at his pointed use of my name and nod in return. The moment he’s out of sight, I put my hand over my mouth, smothering my laugh. I made Mr Hotstuff himself get a little tongue-tied. I guess he isn’t used to women ‘forgetting’ his name. Score one, Katrina.

  Kayley walks in with a conspiratorial grin on her face. “What was that about?” she asks in a low voice.

  “What was what about?”.

  “Don’t play all coy. Elliot just walked out of here with a very confused look on his face. What did you say to the guy?” she asks with her hands on her hips.

  “Nothing. He was looking at a book then asked me for the microfiche some arse left lying all over the place yesterday. I gave them to him. He left. That’s the extent of it.”

  “Yes, but what did you say to each other?”

  “‘Can I have the microfiche?’ ‘Yes, you can’,” I parrot somewhat robotically.

  “Seriously? That’s all?”

  “That’s all.”

  “Hmm, if you say so.” She narrows her eyes. “I just haven’t seen the cool, calm and collected Elliot Roberts look confused over anything before.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Kayley. Maybe he read something confusing in his book.”

  “You’re playing games. I can tell. But, all right, I’ll leave it alone. For now.”

  “For now?” I laugh as I set my iPad down on my desk.

  “You’ll tell me everything, eventually. I just have to be patient.” She grins as she leaves the library, giving me this crazy eyebrow wiggle as she sidles out the door.

  With a huge grin on my face, I slide my iPad back into my bag and tear open a new law book update. My parents always made out that working was akin to being imprisoned. But so far, I’m really enjoying it. Especially the look on Elliot’s face when I called him Evan. I squash down yet another laugh.

  That’ll teach him for being so rude.

  When lunch hits, I change into my running gear and head straight for the Botanic Gardens. It’s the beginning of
August and spring has come to the city of Sydney. The gardens will be beautiful to run through with all the newly blooming flowers and sweet-smelling air. It’ll make a great change from the river run I normally go on at home.

  There’s an excited pep in my step as I jog the short distance between work and the gardens as my warmup. I can already smell the blossoms mixed with the ocean air when I hit the entrance. It’s invigorating.

  I stop to stretch in front of one of those signs that provide information on the plants nearby, using it to balance as I take in my surroundings. People laze about on the grass in their office wear, eating their lunch and enjoying the sun. Others are in the distance doing tai chi, and I see a couple of women with a personal trainer doing burpees and looking unhappy about it. No one likes burpees. Not even me.

  The running track is dotted with people who all have the same idea as I do. And who could blame them with this view? Sydney harbour to my left and gorgeous gardens under my feet. I could get used to this.

  Shaking out my legs, I twist back and forth at the waist as I check my watch for time. Since I have an hour for lunch, I figure I can run for twenty minutes in one direction then turn around with enough time to get back to the office, shower and return to my desk before my time is up. I set a timer.

  “Katrina?” A newly familiar voice breaks into my calm. I turn around and come face-to-face with Elliot. So, now he wants to talk to me.

  “Are you following me, Evan?” I ask with a cheeky lopsided smile on my face. I can’t help myself. He’s making it too easy with his inconsistent personality.

  Elliot laughs. “No. I'm not following you. I workout most days: a run or the gym. I go stir crazy sitting behind a desk all day.” He catches my eyes with a curious glare. “You do know it’s Elliot, right?”

  “I don’t know,” I tease. “There’s this guy who works in my office called Elliot, you see. He’s a bit of an arsehat. Grunts at people when they say hi. He looks a lot like you, actually. And I’m confused because I saw him today, and I thought he was the same friendly guy I was talking to in the lift on Monday. But, no. It was some guy I’m assuming is your evil twin?” I keep a straight face, my hands on my hips.

  He laughs, amused and a little uneasy as he rubs at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I try to keep to myself at work. Don’t enjoy being the subject of office gossip.”

  “Are you often the subject of office gossip?”

  He laughs, but only offers a shrug for an answer. “I’ve been working there a while and find it’s best you keep to yourself around those people. Don’t take offence if I don’t stop to chat.”

  “Those people? How do you know I’m not ‘those people’?”

  “Just a hunch.” He grins. “You running?” He jogs backwards along the path. I take a deep breath as I eye him up and down. He’s wearing running shorts and a quick-dry tank top, giving me a perfect view of how well sculpted his arms and legs are. My head spins a little as those dirty images flash through my mind again. Get a grip, girl. He’s just a guy.

  “Yeah, I’m running.”

  “Come on, then.” He turns the right way around when I fall into step beside him.

  “Are you sure you can be seen with me?” I ask, pressing start on my timer as we pick up the pace.

  “This isn’t the office, and I don’t normally see any of the gossip mongers out running. Productive people run. Layabouts gossip.”

  “They’re productive. It takes a lot of effort sticking your nose in other people’s business. There’s a certain finesse to manipulating a story and making people believe the worst about others for your own entertainment.”

  “You sound like you’re talking from experience.”

  “Let’s just say high school came with some interesting pitfalls.”

  “Is that a nice way of saying the bitchy girls bullied you?”

  A laugh catches me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting him to have a sense of humour. “Bullied. Spread ridiculous stories. Whichever suits.”

  “Ridiculous stories? I’ve gotta hear these.”

  “Maybe another time. I don’t think I’m ready to share my high school embarrassment with you just yet.”

  “How about I tell you something about me to make it easy?”

  “You’re going to tell me something embarrassing about yourself from high school?”

  “Sure. Why not?” He shrugs, his footfalls matching mine. When his arm brushes against me, I have to force myself to focus so my knees don’t buckle. What the hell?

  “I’m waiting for this story.”

  “Give me a minute, I’m trying to think of a good one.”

  “Jesus. How many embarrassing stories can you have?”

  “There are a lot. Believe me. I was a big kid in high school. Bit of a nerd too. Prime bully material.”

  “I never would have pictured that.”

  “Nothing like the stinging welts from a round of pink belly to encourage a guy to pick up the weights.”

  I wince a little. “Ouch. Pink belly is when they hold you down and slap your stomach, right?”

  He nods. “That’s the one. We were getting changed after PE and a group of guys thought it would be funny to pick on the fat kid. I had handprints on my stomach for days.”

  “Harsh.” I have a sudden urge to go back in time and protect teenage Elliot. No one deserves that.

  “Embarrassing enough for you?”

  “Heart breaking, more like it. But it deserves a story in return. Although, my tormentor sounds like an angel in comparison.”

  “All boys' school,” he says, like it’s the explanation to everything.

  “Mine was co-ed. Which is just as well because my best friend in the world is a guy. We’ve known each other since we were nine and the friendship tends to complicate everything else.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, this girl, Cassie had a massive thing for him all the way through high school. We were all friends at first, but when things didn’t work out between her and David, she took it out on me. Spread a rumour that David and I were half-siblings who were sleeping together—which has never happened—but she got everyone calling us the incest twins. Bathroom wall graffiti and all. It sucked.”

  “You must be close if your friendship survived all that.”

  “Yeah. We’ve been through it all. He’s like family, you know?”

  “Just without the incest.”

  I meet his eyes and grin. “Definitely without incest.”

  “OK. So we’ve covered the shittiness of high school. What about since then?”

  “Life since high school?” Uncomfortable memories surface and flash behind my eyes, causing a falter in my step.

  “Whoa. Gotcha,” he says, catching me about the waist before I face plant on the concrete.

  “Thanks.” I turn and push the hair out of my face, realising how close we are as the heat of his body presses against mine.

  “You OK?” He knits his brow, releasing me as I push away and nod.

  “Let’s keep going.”

  My skin tingles everywhere his hands were, causing a war between my mind and body. He’s a guy you can’t have and don’t want, Katrina. Stop being ridiculous. Still, I can’t deny the fact that every time I see Elliot, I somehow imagine him naked… on top of me… underneath me… stop it!

  “Are you in training for something? Or do you run for kicks?” he asks, interrupting my not-so-innocent thoughts.

  “Huh? Oh, I’m a triathlete,” I blurt, hoping he isn’t reading my mind.

  “Ah, explains the good pace.”

  That gets a smile out of me. “Thought you’d have to slow down running with a girl?”

  “I did actually.” He flashes me a smile. He’s gorgeous when he smiles. “You any good at triathlons?”

  “I’m decent. I’ve been competing sprint distance in under nineteens until now. Went to nationals and worlds a couple of times. But I’ve never had to race against the big guns of the
sport. That’s the next goal; to be competitive against them.”

  “Worlds. I’m impressed.”

  I shrug. “Just in my age group. When I make the Elite World Championships, then you can be impressed.”

  “Nah. I think I’ll be impressed right now. I know how competitive top level sport is. I used kayak in my late teens. Qualified for nationals, but never made it to worlds or anything big like that. Anything world level is a massive achievement. Be proud.”

  “I am proud. I guess I’m just feeling behind the eight-ball these days. I had an accident, and it took a bit to recover.” Oh my god. Why did I just say that? “I, uh, came off my bike.” I recover quickly with a lie. “It was pretty bad.”

  “That’s what this scar is?” He touches his own forehead in the same location as my most obvious scar.

  “Yeah. Had a run in with a minivan. Went through their windscreen. Got pretty cut up. Broken ribs, snapped forearm. I look like I’ve had a fight with a lawn mower.” I laugh it off, uncomfortable in my lie, but happier with the narrative. I don’t want Elliot seeing me as the girl with a damaged past. I want him to see me as a fighter.

  I don’t know why that’s so important to me.

  “Well, I’m always up for a lunchtime run if you want a training partner.”

  I smile his way. “I might take you up on that.”

  “What age category are you in now?”

  “If that’s your way of fishing for my age, I’m twenty.”

  “I wasn’t fishing. But that’s good to know.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He laughs and shakes his head. “I have no idea. I guess I’m just glad you’re twenty and not a teenager or something.”

  “Why would it matter if I was a teenager?”

  His laughter becomes a little uneasy. “Because I’d look like a dirty old man hanging around you.”

  “Dirty old man?” I raise my brow in question. “What are you? Thirty?” I tease. He doesn’t look thirty.

  “I’m twenty-five,” he says, giving me a sideways glance. “Do you seriously think I look thirty?”