She had a group of ten newbies practicing standing starts to the sound of on old Peaches and Herb track, Shake your Grove Thing, when she noticed him, but he might’ve been there for a while. He had a newspaper and a coffee, as though he was prepared for a wait. Well good. He could wait forever. She had no intention of talking to him. She couldn’t imagine why he was here, other than to torture her with how goddamn gorgeous he looked, tanned and casual, slightly rumpled as though he’d just come off the beach. He had a pair of aviator sunglasses on top of his head and sat with one arm draped across the seat back.
And he was distracting her girls. She skated to the edge of the track nearest where he’d settled. He looked up from his paper and smiled; healthy white teeth and handsome face. Mischief laser lit in his dark broody eyes. She shouted up at him. “If you’re here to tell me you’re going to keep my secret you can forget it. I’ve decided it’s not worth keeping.”
He put the paper down and leaned forward. The track changed, Devo’s Whip It. There were three rows of seats between them but she was sure she could smell the salt on his skin. “You’re going to tell them?”
“Nope. I’m quitting.”
“No.” He sounded disappointed. “Why?” And crazy inquisitive.
“None of your business.”
“You love it.”
“You wouldn’t have the first idea what I’d love and I’m not talking to you anyway. Go away.”
He picked up the paper. “I’ll wait.”
“I’m busy.”
“I know. I’ll wait.”
He could wait all he wanted it made no difference to her if he wasted his day off. She shrugged and skated back to her class.
One of the cherry poppers said, “Who’s the hunk?”
She shook her head. “No one. Stickyfoot.”
Another said, “Can I have him?” and the group laughed.
Bree shot a look over her shoulder at Ant. He was watching; he smiled that cocky ‘I could run the world’ grin. He was wrecking the peace she’d spent all week trying to create after the argument in the copier room.
She said, “Be my guest. He’s a slimy bastard,” while the track changed to Adam Ant’s Goody Two Shoes.
That got another laugh and started a discussion about drawing straws to have a go at tempting him. Bree knew it was all talk, but it made her unhappy all the same. It was irrational, but she thought she could quite easily scratch the eyes out of any girl who managed to hold Ant’s attention. And that was ridiculous. How did he even know she’d be here? And if he thought she was a lesbian why was he chasing her around? What could he possibly want now she’d comprehensively smashed any notion they could be friends or lovers?
An hour later, the newbies were dropping from exhaustion, so she turned the music off and sent them to Damo for a sit down on the rules and a briefing on insurance before they went home. Ant was still there. He’d switched from the paper to his iPad.
She skated over, stood in front of him with her hands on her hips, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. He didn’t. “Why are you still here?”
He put down the iPad. “I’m waiting for you.” Then he looked her up and down with enough heat in his gaze to make her knee throb. If he thought seduction by eyeball was going to work for him he needed to get out more. She glared back at him, then went to collect her weapons. If he wanted a fight, she was going to bring it. Two minutes later she’d cajoled Damo into giving up his skates and pads by agreeing to clean them for him in time for him to ref next week’s bout. It helped Damo was distracted by the class. She went back to where Ant was watching and threw the gear on the track in front of him. Damo was a big bloke too, the pads would fit, if the skates didn’t that was tough. If Ant wanted to talk he was going to do it on wheels.
“I’m only interested in fresh meat who want to skate derby. You want to talk, you skate.”
“Ah.” He looked amused, then his smile back-flipped. “You’re serious.”
But not stupid. She skated to the other side of the track and stood behind Damo’s class pretending to listen to his drill on safety, but watching Ant retrieve the gear and drag it to the first rise of seating. He studied a skate, then he took off the shoe he wore and tried it on. His foot went in. His head came up and he met her eyes. He very clearly said the words, “Game on.”
He had no trouble sorting the knee and elbow pads out, or the wrist guards. She hadn’t bothered giving him Damo’s helmet, she wasn’t wearing one herself. She didn’t think he’d be doing much more than sitting on his arse. He didn’t try to stand. He donned the gear and waited and made no pretence of not watching her. Bree waited till Damo finished and sent the freshies off for the day. He gave her a knowing shake of his head she probably should’ve paid attention to, as he handed her the door key and made for his car. Then there was just the two of them; one pretend lesbian and one arrogant ingrate, who should’ve known better than to try to take her down on her own turf.
She skated up to him, annoyed to see he didn’t look the least bit worried. He looked relaxed. And annoyingly edible. If he already knew how to skate this was a dumb idea. The last thing she wanted was to have to pit her skills against his in a last person standing competition. One of them would end up in tears and it wouldn’t be Kitty.
She fisted her hands on her hips, frowning at him. “You skate?”
“Skateboard. And not for a long time.”
She tried and failed to keep the smile off her face. He wouldn’t be as hopeless as she thought, but skateboarding and skating were still very different. “Prepare to feel pain.”
He shook his head and held onto the seat to stand. Sitting back down with a thump as one leg shot out in front of him. “Shit!” The floor was fast for obvious reasons. She skated in a circle to stop from laughing at him. When she faced around again he’d gotten to his feet.
“Okay.” He clapped his hands, one sharp sound reverberating in the large quiet space. “So far so good.” He gave her his world domination grin.
Much as she was keen to see him flounder, her trainer’s skills kicked in. He could be badly hurt if he fell. “You’ve really only skateboarded before?”
“Yep. I prefer a wave under my feet.”
She moved closer and held out her hands. This was probably a mistake. “If you pull me down with you I’ll hurt you more than the fall will.”
He hesitated, gave her another head to toe with those know-it-all dark eyes, making her feel self conscious in her shortie hip hugging cut-offs and the skimpy singlet that didn’t meet the waistband of the denim.
“Got it.” He took her hands, but didn’t grab them like a lifeline. He eased his big paws over hers and she knew he’d let go as easily as he held on.
“Keep your knees relaxed. The more bent the better.”
“The lower my centre of gravity, the better.”
“Right. I want to see you go down on one knee.”
He laughed. “So soon?”
She snatched her hands back and he let one go, but gripped the other. She glared at him, but he wasn’t cowered, his eat shit grin stayed in place. “Moron, it’s the safest way to fall. Do it.”
He bent his right leg till his knee touched the track. Then he stood, rock solid, not a wobble. That was his surfing skill coming to the party. “When you feel like you’re going to fall, lean forward, keep your arms tight to your body and go down on your knees.”
“Got it.”
“We’re going to move now. Keep your feet wide, keep your weight forward.” Bree slid back as she said that and Ant leaned forward and slid a foot out to the side, then another until they were moving slowly together. His balance was good, but his eyes were down on his skates. “Look at me not the floor.” His head came up and his eyes arrowed to hers. She felt the intensity of the look all the way to her wheels. She had to cough first to get her throat to work. “Don’t look at me like that.”
He grinned. “Like what? Like you’re the only thing holding me upright?”<
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“Like the cat that got the cream.”
His grin got more shit eating, if that was possible. “That’d be you not me, Kitty.”
“Shut up and concentrate.”
“On you, no problem.”
“On what you’re doing, dickwad. I’m taking my hand away.” She pulled her hand and he let go. They kept moving, Bree going backwards so she could watch him. “Stay low. Keep your knees bent. Eyes up, watch where you’re going.”
He nodded and did as she said. He was doing well, all those hours on a skateboard and a surf board embedded in his muscle memory for balance. She skated over to the DJs turntable and stuck one of the bout half time recordings on. A compilation of classic hits with rhythmic beats. The familiar riff of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck started up. She watched as Ant hit the tracks curved corner and stumbled, his head going down, his arms shooting out for balance like he was on a wave.
“Forward and tuck,” she shouted, skating across to him.
He tucked immediately, but his body weight pulled him forward and he went down on both knees. She glided to a stop in front of him. He sat on his heels. His eyes were down, he was breathing heavily, and a trickle of sweat dribbled from his hairline towards his brow. “Okay, up you get. You’re doing well.”
He lifted his head slowly and Bree felt all the muscles in her legs tighten as his eyes worked their way up her body. “You needn’t bother.”
“I like looking at you.”
“It’s waste of your time.”
“I don’t think so.”
She shook her head. “So damn sure of yourself. Why are you here?”
“You don’t prefer girls do you?”
“What does it matter?”
He brought one foot up and rested. “It doesn’t. I want to be around you anyway.”
AC/DC bled into Queen’s Another One Bites The Dust. She should’ve helped him up. But surely he didn’t mean that. She skated a few steps away from him. He pushed up to stand, knees bent, his hands on his thighs and weight forward. He looked for her, then straightened further and pushed off. He was a moving a little too fast, she shifted to get out of his path, but he reached out with one too long, muscular arm, grabbed her and slammed into her, nearly lifting her off her feet, miraculously not taking them both down.
“I like you, Bree.”
She shoved against him, because he was a dirty, rotten liar and he liked anything with tits. He let go and she was free, but he lost his balance and crashed forward, falling to his side. He sat back with his legs outstretched in front of him and looked up at her. “You make me see things differently. You make me want to be better.”
He had to be mocking her, but he wasn’t smiling any more. She skated around him, forcing him to turn his head left then right to follow her. “You want to be friends, even though there can’t be anything romantic in it.”
“Yeah.”
She took a run at him and jumped his legs. He flinched as she went over the top of him. “I don’t believe you.”
“How can I prove it?”
She lined herself up to jump him again. “You can’t. You’re a player.”
He said, “How does that stop us being friends?” as she jumped his knees. She circled him again, like a shark thinking of swimmer for dinner. “Being my friend entitles you to ridicule me mercilessly about my real and imaginary failings.”
She skated a precise figure eight. “I’ve done that already.”
“See you’ll fit right in.”
Freddy gave way to Jet’s Are You Gonna Be My Girl. Ant tried to get up and got no further than his hands and knees. She body checked his hip and shoved him over. “You know I came on to you.”
He rolled to his butt and leaned back on his hands, legs sprawled in front. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true. I like boys.”
“I know.”
He was so smug. He had no idea how easy it would be to run over his hands and break his fingers. He had no idea how much she was fighting coming on to him again. “How can you know? You thought I liked kissing girls.”
“I figured it out.”
“Don’t make me laugh. You asked Toni.” Because that’s the only way he could know she was here too.
Ant lay down full length on the track, arms wide in a crucifix, a sacrificial shape. “Yep.”
Bugger Toni. It wasn’t the usual thing for a jammer to gun for her own pivot but there was always a first time.
Bree skated around to Ant’s feet. He lifted his head to watch her. “You did come on to me and you liked it.”
She opened her legs around his feet and skated up the outside of his body, till her wheels were level with his ribs. His hands came around to close over her boots, keeping her still. She looked down at him. He was conceited and like the Scissor Sister’s were singing, filthy gorgeous. She could keep being angry with him, but what was the point? It was pretend anger like her pretend lesbianism.
“I did.”
“So what are we going to do now?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “We’re still colleagues.”
He pushed her feet backwards and she thumped down on her knees, straddling his hips, her hands coming to his shoulders. “That’s not a real barrier. How do I know you’re not pretending to like blokes?”
She pushed off his shoulders so she was sitting upright. “You want proof?”
“Something I can analyse.”
She leaned over him and grabbed his chin. Duffy started singing Mercy. He wouldn’t be getting any of that. Over her head she heard the rip of velcro as he got rid of his wrist guards. Then his hands came down on her hips and he pressed her against him. He wasn’t looking for kindness. “Don’t start something you don’t mean to finish, Kitty.”
She traced a finger around his lip and he exhaled with a grunt. Then she sat back upright, her own breath coming sharp and short, and ripped her wrist guards off. She wanted to feel him, have her hands in his hair, touch his bronzed skin and grip the muscled strength in him. He had one hand splayed across her backside, the other roamed her hip, spreading heat, a firestorm in her limbs.
She could still stop this. She could be on her feet and half way across the room before he knew she’d moved. And he couldn’t chase her, but that’s what he’d already done. She’d tried to get rid of him, but he bounced back and now he was waiting to see what she’d do next. Waiting for her to make the decision.
She was happy on her own. But she could love a man like that. Who’d learned to respect. Who knew when to chase and when to wait; when to lead and when to follow.
She gave him one last instruction; one he could work with. “Analyse this.” She took a fistful of his hair and ran her nose along his jaw and up to his ear. He did smell of the sea. She licked around the rind of it and his body jerked under her. He tasted of it too. She was thirsty for more. She nibbled along his bottom lip and he thinned it by laughing, a depth of the ocean sound that came from his broad chest. The first fresh kiss was light, but his lips were so hot they must have scalded her lungs, she was panting and he was pressing her harder to him. He tried to anchor her by bringing his knee up, but forgot he had skates on. He growled in frustration into her open mouth then used his hands as leverage and flipped them, knocking the last remaining conscious breath out of her with a gasp as she landed on her back. Now he bore down on her, but not with near enough pressure. She squirmed to have him closer, crossed her arms behind his head and pulled, then wrapped her legs around his hips, crossing her skates over his butt to hold him.
He learned all about using the toe stops on Damo’s skates to rock his body against hers. “Fuck, I love you like dick.”
His, she was going to like his. There was no way she wasn’t going to sample it and confirm that, but not here. She’d done a million mad and wonderful things on skates but never had sex wearing them, though it was certainly possible, and God, if he kept sucking her collar bone like that, it was probable. It was als
o a very bad idea, though now he had his hand under her shirt, hot fingertips on her stomach, and she had hers under his, digging into the trench of his spine, she couldn’t remember why, and gave in to the onslaught of feeling roaring through her body with the pulse of Ant’s touch and the rhythmic thump of The Knack’s My Sharona.
When she was more than ready to be skin to skin, to negotiate the distance between denim and skates, he rolled them again, bringing her with him and tucking her hard into his side. He was breathing heavily and she rose and fell on his air intake. He nuzzled her forehead. “That was some skating lesson, doll.”
She knew how very gone she was when his deliberately provocative endearment didn’t make her want to vomit. “Don’t call me doll, babe.” She’d been gone on him for weeks now, but scared, so scared of him being another boof-head boy who’d break her heart by serving up the same old macho bullshit every other man she’d ever liked had. She came up on her elbow so she could see his face. The Kinks were singing You Really Got Me.
He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll call you anything you want me to.”
“Did you mean what you said about me making you want to be better?”
He shook his head. “Nah, that was just so I could get in your bite me pants.”
She socked him in the stomach and he gagged, his torso lifting off the track before he collapsed back down. “God, Bree,” he choked out. “I was joking.”
“I know you were. If I’d thought you weren’t I’d have really hurt you.”
He captured her hand as though that would slow her down. She had two knees, two elbows, a killer kick, and she knew how to head-butt if it came to it. But when he brought her palm to his lips, every fight reflex in her body went on holiday.
“How did you get to be such a fighter?” He said it with a kind of wonder in his voice.
“I had a choice, be cute and girly and patronised for the rest of my life or fight. I chose to fight, here and for what I want in my career.” She watched his face carefully, because he might not get this. Might find it odd she didn’t want to be coddled and protected. “And I fight for what I want in my life too, even if it makes me hard to love.”
Desk Jockey Jam Page 11
