“And be safe.”
“Always.”
After I hung up, I headed out to get something for dinner, settling on a takeaway hamburger. As I sat on the beach enjoying the food, I longed for home. For fish and chips from a local takeaway at a table overlooking King’s Beach, or a family BBQ at Bondi with Eden, Morgan, and Maxie together with our horde.
I stopped eating and started picking at my food as I thought of them. What was I doing, agreeing to meet with Beau again? Hadn’t it been just weeks ago that I’d told Max that the almost five years between us was too much, and yet I was chasing after a guy with a similar—bigger—age gap.
Only, it felt different.
After all, I was an adult, not on the cusp of entering adolescence. I was comfortable with my sexuality and ready to make the decision to have sex, even if I wanted to wait until I could experience it with someone who mattered to me.
The thoughts turned over in my head for far too long, and the burger was well past cold when I started picking at it again. I took a couple more bites before giving up. Standing, I brushed the sand off my arse and then found a bin for my rubbish.
It didn’t matter too much, I decided. After all, Beau had said himself that he was saving himself for marriage, and I wasn’t thinking about that with the guy. Well, I was, but only in my fantasies. I was able to distinguish between that and reality. It was a bit of fun, a chance to flirt a little with a hot guy. Besides, he’d suggested we meet in a public place, so I could trust him . . .
Couldn’t I?
There was still one day before our date, and in the meantime, I had my trip to the Daytona International Speedway to take my mind off it.
“ANGEL, I’M DYING.”
I groaned to emphasise my point.
I’d woken up too early for my day at the track with the worst stomach cramps. Within half an hour, the cramps had progressed to full-blown hurling, leaving me hunched over the toilet. Over and over, I lost the contents of my stomach until there was nothing left but bile to gag around.
Despite the agony twisting through my insides, I’d managed to crawl to my phone and call Angel. Mum had long ago ingrained in me to let someone know when I was sick. The medications I’d been on my entire life, which included an immunosuppressant, could easily make something as simple as the flu a deadly situation. I’d spent many nights in hospital under observation. Ultimately, it was always better to be safe than sorry.
“That better just be your dramatic butt way of saying you’re sick because if you die on my watch, your parents will kill me, and I am far too young to go yet.”
I moaned in response to her sass.
“Shit, girlie, are you being serious?”
“I think I had some bad—” The rest of my sentence cut off as I brought up the contents of my stomach again.
“Oh, Pheebs, are you going to be okay?” Angel asked when I crawled back to the phone and groaned to let her know I was there again.
“No. I told you, I’m going to die.”
“Let’s try it again without the dramatics. Are you going to be okay?”
I rested my forehead against the cold tiles. “Probably, but can you check in on me just in case?”
“Of course.”
I told her where I was staying and my room number in case I couldn’t get to my mobile phone. “If I don’t answer, I’m dead.”
She chuckled. “It sounds like you’re going to be fine. Put on some TV and try to take your mind off it.”
I grunted at her lack of empathy. The truth was, I wasn’t good when I was sick. I hated being ill and became a pain in the arse to everyone around me. Mum, Dad, and Angel had all borne the brunt of it often enough to be mostly immune. Dad always joked that it was when I stopped complaining that he started to worry.
Taking some tablets for the pain, I crawled back into the hotel bed—relieved I wasn’t due to check out that morning like I would have been if not for the race I wanted to go to.
Once I’d buried myself under the blankets, I turned on the TV to listen to the race I was missing. The one event I’d specifically wanted to get to on my trip. It wasn’t fair, but it was Murphy’s Law.
As often as I could, I snuck peeks around the blankets to watch the race, but each time I did, it was nothing but a reminder of what I was missing. Because I’d been around the track since I was little, I knew the thrill of the race was always so much better live and in person. Regardless of when or where, there was always a buzz that filled the crowd; an undercurrent of excitement that we were all present to witness something magical. History was made in the blink of an eye during a race.
And I was stuck in bed, watching snippets on TV.
The announcer called out the current placings, but the names meant nothing to me. I didn’t generally follow the sport. The meet would’ve been my first experience with it. And I was missing it because of some dodgy food.
There was a knock on the door. “Room service.”
With a groan, I tossed my blankets off and padded over to open the door. I was in nothing but my boy-leg undies and a tank—without a bra underneath—and my hair was crazy, but it didn’t matter. I was too sick to care.
“I think you’ve got the wrong room,” I murmured through the small opening I’d made before moving to close the door again.
“No, miss, although I was told you might say that. We had an external phone call with an urgent request to deliver these items to you.”
There was a bottle of water, a can of Sprite with a glass, some dry crackers, and a teddy bear.
“Thank you,” I said, managing a weak smile at the guy. I opened the door wider to let him bring the cart in. He put the tray down on the small table in the room and then just lingered. For a moment, I stared at him, blinking, wondering what the fuck he wanted. Then I remembered.
“Shit. You want a tip, don’t you?”
The “duh” look he gave me wasn’t entirely appropriate for someone in the hospitality industry, and if I hadn’t felt like crap, I might have given him a piece of my mind. Instead, I hunted for the bag I’d packed the night before when I’d thought I’d need my purse and money for the trip to the raceway. When I found it, I bent over to grab my purse from inside. I stood back up and caught the tail end of the glance he’d given my arse.
“Here’s your tip.” I shoved a five-dollar note at him so hard that he had little choice but to move back toward the door. “And I’ll give you another for nothing. Ogle my arse again and I’ll kick yours into next week.”
He held his hands up as he walked out the door. Punk. He was just lucky Dad wasn’t there. He’d kick the arse of anyone who objectified me like that. It made it hard sometimes when Mum started talking about ideas for promotional activities after my eighteenth. After all, a significant portion of them would require me to get my tits out a little—at least in a bra or bikini. Dad hated the idea. Mum was indifferent to it, and I was willing to do whatever I needed to in order to build my profile, get sponsors on board and money in the bank. None of the shoots were really any different from the catalogues and calendars I’d already been in. They just required a little more of a sexed-up attitude.
Trying to force the idiot bellhop out of my mind, I moved to the tray of goodies Angel had sent. Leaving the Sprite open so it would go flat, I had a few sips of the water and, when I kept that down, a tentative bite of the crackers. Then I grabbed the teddy bear and my phone and headed back to the blanket fort I’d constructed. I sent Angel a text thanking her for the care package. I didn’t mention the porter though. After all, it wasn’t her fault her generosity had come in the arms of a jerk.
AT SOME point, I must have drifted off because I jolted awake to the sound of applause. Apparently some guy named Miller had come first, followed by another guy named Hargrave. When the reporter cut to the winner, I buried my head under my pillow. His accent was just like Beau’s, which reminded me that our date was the next day.
If I survived that long.
Ignoring the TV, I got up to have the glass of now-flat lemonade. I took slow sips to ensure it didn’t send my stomach back into purge mode. When I was certain everything was staying down, I took my medication.
After checking in with Angel again, letting her know I was marginally better, I sent Beau a text, telling him I was heading to bed so wouldn’t be available to talk but that I was looking forward to catching up the next day. The word “date” felt too formal—too much—to put in writing.
I didn’t wait for a reply before crawling back into bed to sleep.
BY THE TIME I woke the next morning, I felt a little less like death. At the very least, the tremors that raced around my body and coursed through my stomach no longer had anything to do with food poisoning. By the time I blasted down to Orlando on my bike, my whole body shook, my mouth was dry, and I couldn’t suck down enough oxygen no matter how hard I tried. But none of that was due to my sudden illness the previous day.
What am I doing?
I pulled my bike into a park and killed the engine. Glancing around the car park, I wondered if he was already there. Would I even know it was him? I had an image in my head, but was that really what he looked like? We’d had a few short hours in the dark, and that was weeks earlier. Surely my mind had inflated the mental image I’d had of him in the time since?
Closing my eyes for a second, I pictured the face I remembered. The square jaw, proud chin, and dash of stubble. The lopsided dimples and slow, easy smile. My breathing sped as I let it fill my mind. He couldn’t be quite as handsome as I remembered, could he?
Opening my eyes, I double-checked the little bag I’d packed for the day. My hand sanitiser, medication, and sunscreen were all still where they had been the last three times I’d checked. I was halfway through checking my passport and travel documents were still safely tucked away when the sound of a throat being cleared nearby made me jump.
I glanced up and met a pair of sunnies covering what I recalled were a fantastic pair of eyes. A baseball cap shaded his face, but it was the one I remembered. A nervous smile spread over my face as I realised I’d been wrong, so wrong, about my imagination overinflating his attractiveness in my memory. The opposite was true. He was far better looking than I recalled. All man—tall and broad—and standing a good three feet away from me looking awkward as fuck.
It was almost as if he were trying to reconcile what he saw with his own mental image, just like I was. I wondered how the reality stacked up for him. My hand found my ponytail and my teeth grazed my lip.
As I met his gaze, and the cautious expression in the set of his mouth, I understood his awkwardness. On one hand, the conversations between us had become familiar and fairly sexual in the short time we’d known each other, and yet we’d only seen each other once before. For all intents and purposes, we were strangers.
“Hi,” he said. One corner of his mouth lifted into a shy smile.
“Um, hi.” I moved closer to him. “What’s with the shades?”
“Uh, late night. Celebratin’ with some friends.”
A pang of jealousy struck me, but I pushed it aside. What right did I have to be jealous, after all? I didn’t have any claim on him. We were nothing more than casual acquaintances, and there was no guarantee we’d progress from there.
He lifted his shades, revealing a slightly bloodshot but otherwise perfect set of eyes. Just like I remembered, but had started to doubt, they started as a dark chocolate near the irises before dancing to amber by the edge.
I wondered what I should do next. What was the best way to greet the person I was slightly infatuated with but didn’t really know? Kiss him? Shake hands? Hug?
He reached out and grasped both of my hands gently in his own. For a moment, his gaze dropped to my lips, and I wondered if he were having the same internal debate.
“You ready for this?” he asked.
Did he mean the theme park or whatever we had brewing between us? Because the answer to one was yes, but as for the other, I had no freaking clue.
He chuckled as if he understood my nerves. Maybe he did.
I blew out a breath and nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”
One of his hands entwined with one of mine, and he led me in the direction of the gates. As we walked, he tugged the brim on his hat down and slipped his shades back over his eyes.
“So—”
“How’d—”
We’d both spoken at the same time. I chuckled and looked away, playing with the ends of my ponytail as I tried to fight the butterflies that had overtaken my stomach.
“What happened to the brazen girl I’ve been speakin’ to?”
I glanced up at him before dropping my eyes away again. “She’s in here, just a little more reserved when she can see the reaction her words have.”
Turning to me, he offered me a cheeky grin. “Part of me wants to kiss ya to get the awkwardness outta the way.”
I laughed. “I don’t think I’d complain about that.”
He brushed his knuckles over the corner of my mouth. My eyelids fluttered closed at the sensation the light touch sent rushing through me. He moved closer until his mouth was just centimetres from mine and I could feel his breath brushing over my lips.
“Hmm, but the other part has a better idea.”
Damn it! I sighed and opened my eyes again. With his eyes hidden by the dark wraparound sunnies he wore, it was impossible to see what he might be thinking.
“Much as I hate disappointin’ ya, darlin’, I do love that you’re disappointed.”
“Ugh, you would.”
“There’s a hint of the spark that has me burnin’ for ya. When that’s back in full, then we’ll talk about kissin’.”
“I could just kiss you,” I said, my brow raised in challenge.
“Ya could indeed.” He grabbed my hand again and we headed for the gate. “But you’ll only do that when the spark is back anyway. Don’t ya think?”
My gaze trailed to his lips before lifting back to meet his eyes. “Maybe.”
“Shall we?” he asked before leading me to the park.
FOR THE better part of the morning, we’d dragged each other from thrill ride to thrill ride, roller coaster to roller coaster. Despite our ready grins and easy laughter, there was still something stopping us from being completely comfortable around each other. The atmosphere between us was stilted. Awkward. Almost as if we were on a first date.
Even as I had the thought, the truth of it echoed through me. We were effectively on our first date. Beau had even paid. For everything—despite my protests.
Well, if it was a first date, there was little I could do but relax and enjoy it.
“Follow me,” Beau said as he led me toward the Ferris wheel with a smile on his face.
His expression hinted at a devious plan, and I guessed it at once.
I glanced up at the slow-moving ride and swallowed hard.
“What’s the matter?” He reached over and brushed my cheek with his fingertips, drawing my eyes to him. As the day had worn on, and he’d gotten some coffee into him, he’d stowed his sunnies into the collar of his shirt, but still left his baseball hat pulled over his face. He only took that off as we joined the line for the Ferris wheel.
“I can’t help thinking that of all the rides in the park, this one might be the scariest.”
His gaze was soft as he took in my concern. “Ya got a thang about heights?”
I shook my head. “Expectations.”
“Expectations?”
“Yeah. A slow ride. Romantic. Locked away in private together. Anything could happen, right?”
He looked sheepish as he gave a little chuckle. “Heh, so ya guessed at my plans then?”
“Sneaking in a kiss on the Ferris wheel has to be about as clichéd as it comes. Which sounds exactly like what I know about you.” I nudged him with my shoulder.
He hummed, and I thought he was going to turn away, or try to deny his plan. He didn’t though, because an instant later, one of
his hands was just below my ponytail and his lips were on mine. A moan of delight left me long before my mind caught up with what was happening. I relaxed into his kiss. Warm and tender, demanding and gentle; just like I remembered.
Fuck.
I could get lost in him so easily.
My breath caught as his kiss blazed through me like a match dropped into the tinder set by my hormones. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back. My mind screamed “more!” and my heart pounded against my ribcage.
The person behind us in line made a sound of disgust, and we broke apart with a chuckle.
“There,” he said. “No ’spectations left no more.”
“Oh, there’s still expectations,” I replied with a wink as I moved forward with the line. “Only now, the bar’s set a little higher.”
“And there she is.” He stared into my eyes with such a blistering intensity that I swallowed and lost my breath again. “Welcome back.”
“I—uh—I’ve been here all morning.”
“Maybe, but now ya got a look in your eye to match the conversations we’ve had. Ya ain’t like other girls.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Really? You might have to explain yourself a li’l more on that one, darlin’.”
“Hmm, I think that sort of information is reserved for a second date at least.”
“Ah, so this is a date?”
“Maybe.” My lips twitched with a grin. We moved forward with the line, getting dangerously close to the front of the queue.
“But wouldn’t that make it our second?” he challenged.
“Well, no, because our first meeting wasn’t a date. We just met.”
“We met in the bar, but then we went out together. Don’t that make it a date?”
“I guess. If you want to get technical.”
“Darlin’, I ain’t nothing if not technical.”
“Well, then, I guess it’s information reserved for a third date.”
He laughed. “I’ll get one of those out of you before you go home if I have anything to say about it.”
Phase (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #1) Page 12
