“Of course I know …” I silently add now to the end of the sentence. I’ve known since the day in the park, but sometimes, you’re so blinded by your own trees, it’s hard to see the forest. Or however that stupid saying goes. Honestly, who can be stuck in a grove of trees and not see a forest?
“The thing is, you pushing me away hurt,” he says.
“I didn’t mean to … I only did it because I didn’t think I could be … what you needed me to be.” The words come out surprisingly easily. Only once did they get peanut butter-glued to my throat.
“I know,” Michael says, and I grin as I catch him muttering “now” under his breath. We are so very similar and yet so completely different. “And that’s why I’ve made you this.”
He hits a different button on the computer in front of hum and all of a sudden the soft music changes to “Sadie, the Cleaning Lady”, an old John Farnham song that has me bursting into laughter.
“What the hell?”
“Shh!” Michael hisses, and the pictures begin to change.
The first image is me, but not me—it’s my head super-imposed over that of a woman cleaning a bathroom. She’s kitted out in fifties housewife attire, a handkerchief knotted around her crown. Underneath the picture, in bold font, it reads:
You could be a cleaning lady.
“Really?” I fold my arms and give Michael a look, but he only laughs. I have to admit, a small giggle escapes my mouth, too. It’s pretty funny. And he’s freaking hot.
And not mad at me.
Next the image changes, and this time it’s a picture of what I’m fairly sure is supposed to be Frankenstein, pouring some sort of bubbling liquid from one test tube into another. Again, my face has been superimposed over where his ugly mug would be, with the caption below reading:
You could be a mad scientist.
“Michael.” I laugh.
The song reaches the chorus, and the image changes again. This time it’s a picture of my head superimposed onto what looks like someone in a swimsuit pageant, mid-strut down the catwalk in a red bikini.
You could be a swimsuit model.
“Now that one really isn’t a stretch.” Michael winks, and I roll my eyes. But I take a step closer to him. He doesn’t move away. In fact he—he reaches out his hand. His deep brown eyes sparkle and I delicately place my hand in the palm of his.
His hand is warm, and soft, and strong. And safe. Lord, his hand is safe.
The next slide shows up and every bit of control I just exhibited flies from my body as a photo of a woman cradling a newborn baby in her arms comes onto the screen.
You could be a mother.
“Michael.” My voice does that stupid high-pitched thing it does when I’m about to cry and he grabs me, pulling me into his strong arms. I hiccup in a sob, feeling his warmth. It’s nice, here in his arms. I blink back my tears. He stokes my hair.
It hurts, thinking about what I’ve lost.
But I don’t feel like I’ll be lost forever.
You could be a teacher.
Now there’s a shot of a woman writing on a blackboard, her head twisted back to look at the class. Michael gives my hand a little squeeze, and I feel those stupid tears that I swear should have stopped now that all the pregnancy hormones are out of my system, but no. Apparently not.
I quickly form a list of the least emotional things I can think of to try and stem my tears. Ant farms. Science. Dieting. Shirtless men. My eyes still prickle. Damn it. This is Kate’s event. I can’t be a blubbering mess!
Naked Michael.
His body is still deliciously close to mine, and I can feel his chest rise and fall with each breath. One of his strong legs is resting lightly against my thigh. His hand strokes down my arm, and I shiver.
Yep, that did it. The tears are gone.
The final bars of the song start to sound and I take one last look at the screen. This time it’s a photo of Michael and me. It’s after one of the boys’ gigs and—I squint. I’m wearing the clothes I wore the night of the party. The night this whole mess started. His arm is wrapped around my shoulder and he’s kissing me on the cheek, his guitar still slung around his neck.
I’m grinning, and a flash of memory hits me. I remember that moment. He’d just finished playing, and a few girls from another school were all over him, no doubt wondering if he’d work those fingers on them next.
I walk over and casually—well, casually would be putting it nicely—place a small kiss on his cheek.
He looks at me, questions in his eyes, and I smile. “You know, I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time.”
He extends his arm and pulls me close, our hips flush together. I look down at our bodies, pressed tight now. We fit. We fit so well.
“So why haven’t you?” he whispers in my ear.
“With the band, and my going nowhere … I could never be the right girl for you.”
“Stacey, you’re amazing. You know I’ve had a crush on you for as long as I remember.”
“You had a girlfriend!”
“We broke up, but it’s because she wasn’t … she wasn’t you. And I’m not experienced enough to be your guy, but I want to give us a try, Stace. I just need you to show me you want this enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll move heaven and earth to be with you. I’ll fly you to our gigs; hell, I’d freaking propose if that’s what it took.”
I giggle. I do it nervously, because this? This is something I’ve dreamed of for years. Something I never thought would happen. He’s always been in a relationship, and I’ve floated around, ignoring his flirtatious remarks.
Right now though, the look on his face tells me he’s serious. And I couldn’t be happier.
“I’m not, though.” Michael widens his eyes. “I’m just saying that I … I love you, Stacey. And I want you to be my girl.”
“Stace, Michael, get in for a photo!” Kate shouts.
I blink and focus on the screen again. In big, bold letters underneath the image it says:
You could be my girl.
Michael squeezes my hand, looks into my eyes. “I know you’re worried about the distance and everything, but you have to know that we can make this work.” He swallows, and his Adam’s apple moves up and down. “I mean it, Stace. You can be anything.”
Silence stretches between us. My heart races, and uncertainty rushes through me. What about the other girls? What about trying to see each other? Will he have to move to America? Will I—
“Because no matter what, you will always be everything to me.”
It’s as if all my troubles melt. All my worries melt. All of my spinal cord melts, because my legs drop out from under me and I stagger, Michael’s arms lifting me back up. “Will you?”
I look deep into his unblinking eyes.
“Yes,” I breathe, and kiss him. Our lips mesh together, our teeth knocking in our desperation, and I pull back. “Yes, yes, yes.” I punctuate each affirmation with another kiss, and we laugh, this joyous laughter that has me grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.
“Yes?” He giggles, pulling my body so it’s tight against his. I feel his hard chest, his hard length between my legs, and I shudder.
“Yes.” This time the kiss deepens, and I open my mouth to let his tongue collide with mine. It’s tantalising, full of need and lust and desire. I run my hand underneath his shirt and he’s quick to mirror the action with mine. His arm twists and he grips my hipbone, shoving me up against the wall where he cages me in, forcing his body over me, on me, around me.
I breathe, and we’re breathing in the same air. He lifts my hands above my head, holding my wrists in place. He’s really in control—and I like it. I like knowing that this guy can do anything to me. Because I trust him. More than I have anyone ever before. I will no longer have to run.
Michael’s lips lower onto mine I part mine in response, our tongues seeking each other out, finding, exploring. My hands are still trapped above my head, b
ut one of Michael’s runs down the length of my body, then slides around to my front, caressing my breasts. His fingers find my nipple through my clothing and I shudder—yes, shudder—against him.
He releases me from his grip, and this time both his hands run down my body, then slide up underneath my skirt. Heat pools between my legs, and as his fingers graze over my lacy underwear, I try hard not to thrust toward him. It’s as if every nerve ending in my body is alive and on fire, and ready for him to freaking touch me.
“Stacey …” he groans into my mouth, and he slides my underwear to one side. I gasp as his hot skin connects with me, igniting me. My knees are weak again, and I wonder how this one guy, this one guy who I’ve only just—as of ten minutes ago—started dating can turn me on so much? He’s even a virgin, and—
Oh. Yeah.
“Michael, I …” I gasp his name out between kisses. “We have to stop.”
“Do you really want to?” His hand reaches up to caress my breasts again, and I feel my body move toward it, welcoming his embrace. Damn traitorous body.
“Michael.” With a deep breath and willpower I swear, I didn’t know I possessed, I manage to push him away, nudging his hands off me. Instantly, I feel the loss of his touch. I have to do this; for him, and for me. But damn it! Being responsible sucks. “Michael … I want your first time to be special.”
There. I said it. Michael looks at me, his eyes dark, his lips turned down.
“I know that’s weird, but seriously! I do.” I shrug, shaking my head. “Well, ninety per cent of me does, anyway.”
“Who said anything about having sex?” Michael asks, but I can tell from the twinkle in his eye that he’s only joking.
He wraps his hand around the nape of my neck and draws me closer into another kiss. It’s sweet, and it’s hot, and it’s enough. It’s a promise of more.
It gives me reason to look forward to tomorrow, and to smile. Yes, I can still feel the pain throbbing through me when I think of my baby.
But right now, I feel freaking fantastic.
“YOU GO first,” I hiss, and Michael shoots me a questioning look before I push him through the doorway and out into the crowd. The doors have opened, and people are flooding in as if someone’s just called sale in a Sephora store.
He stumbles forward and I smile as he recovers into his usual step, walking up and slapping someone on the back before turning back and winking at me. I can’t help the flush of heat that races from my head to my toes. It was a kiss, a few wandering hands …
I give my shoulders a shake.
Focus, Stacey.
I walk out of the storeroom, my head held high, and I know I look like the cat who just ate the cream because let’s be honest—I kinda did.
I run my hands over the sides of my hair, attempting to push it back in line, but give up when I catch a glimpse of my flushed cheeks in the window that looks out onto the street where crowds of people are still lined up, waiting to enter.
I race over to Kate who stands in the middle of it all, looking like a gluten intolerant chick at a pasta-eating competition.
“This looks amazing.” I grab her elbow, flashing her a grin. I’m so freaking proud of my best friend. How the hell did she pull all this together? “You did it!”
“So, I guess this means you’re okay with me forcing you to spend time with Michael?” Kate scrunches up her nose.
“I guess.” I narrow my eyes. “But don’t let it happen again.” I wink, just as an arm wraps around my waist. I shiver, and fall back into him. I trust him. I know he’s going to catch me.
“It was that easy?” Kate asks, a smirk lining her face. “I just had to get all Parent Trap on you and shut you in a room?”
“Apparently.” Michael squeezes my waist, his fingers way too close to my boobs for public consumption, and I roll my eyes. “He’s really persuasive, okay?”
He nibbles on my ear, and heat flushes my chest and creeps up my neck.
“Oh, guys! Come on. Gross.” Kate shakes her head.
I giggle, and let Michael lead me away, through the crowd of people and back toward the back room.
“You want to make out some more?” I smile. He opens the door and I run my hand sneakily along his waist. Just because we’re not going to have sex doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun.
“Stace, I—”
“Shh,” I whisper as I press him into the storeroom, slamming the door behind him and locking my lips with his. I reach around and pull the zipper of my dress, letting it fall in a pool at my feet as I press my lingerie-clad body against his firm one.
“Stace.” This time he puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me away, then immediately pulls me back close. “Meet Lee.”
I blink. I look over his shoulder and there, standing in the corner of the room, right next to the coffee beans and right next to where we just made out, is Lee freaking Collins, lead singer of the Grammy-award winning band Coal. Aka Michael’s new band.
“Uh … hi.” Lee smiles, but it’s all teeth and no eyes. I jerk my head back and it slams into the door, resulting in me flinging it forward and holding my hand up to apply pressure.
“Ow, ow,” I mutter. I drop to the floor to pick up my dress, but Michael comes with me to try and hide my naked-ish body, instead bashing foreheads with me as we go to stand again.
“Shit—”
“Ow!”
“Let me—” He tries to move behind me to zip up my dress at the same time as I try and turn to give him better access, resulting in this awkward getting dressed dance that would make a nun embarrassed.
Finally, we get our act together, and I run my hands over my thighs, then extend one toward Lee.
“Nice to meet you.” I smile. Should I curtsey? I’m not really sure on the rock royalty rules.
“Nice to meet you, too.” Lee smirks, grasping my hand in his and shaking. I try and pretend like I didn’t have posters of this guy on my schoolbooks last year.
“I arranged for Lee to come here and sing as a surprise for Kate and Johnny,” Michael says. He looks to the floor, and I grab his hand and squeeze it. It’s one of the nicest things he could have done, and I know Kate is gonna love it.
“So this means you sorted things out with her, Michael?” Lee asks, grinning.
“Did you, Michael?” I press my lips together and stifle a laugh.
“Whatever,” Michael nudges my ribs and grins himself. “Yeah, she came ’round.”
“Congrats, man.” Lee slaps him on the shoulder. He takes a step closer to me and offers my arm the same treatment. “You should know, he has not shut up about you since the band joined us on tour. I’m hoping now he’s loved up he won’t be any less hard-working.”
“No,” Michael and I say in unison. We look at each other and grin.
“I mean, you know I’m super stoked for the opportunity to join Coal,” Michael says. He squeezes my hand. “Stace and I will make it work, no matter what.”
“Glad to hear it.” Lee nods.
Michael looks at his watch and swears. “Sorry, guys. I gotta go get this started. Lee, you ready to roll?”
“Sure thing.” Lee smiles.
“Sweet. I’ll see ya from the crowd.” Michael darts out of the room, and I turn to follow but am stopped when a hand grabs my arm.
“Stacey?” Lee asks.
I turn and face possibly the hottest man I’ve ever met. Yet I have no desire to screw him. There’s only one sexy musician I wanna see naked anytime in my future.
“Don’t screw him over.” I blink. What? “He’s a good kid. And dating a guy in a band is hard. Just be in it for the long haul, yeah?”
At least the answer to this question is easy.
“I can be that girl,” I say, and I smile.
Because this is one person I know I want to be.
THE REST of the night passes in a blur. Kate uses the microphone to say a few words, and then Lee takes the stage and sings this amazing song he wrote, dedicated to
Lachlan—“I told him to do that,” Michael whispered—much to Kate’s obvious astonishment.
The awesome thing was, her dad was there through it all, supporting her, holding her. Loving her.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Shae.” I spin around. Only it’s not just Shae. It’s Shae, Mum, Dad, Sean, Sally, Scott and Steve.
“We are so proud of your Kate.” Mum grabs me and pulls me into her bosom where I choke on her Revlon perfume.
“And of you,” Dad interjects. He places one hand on my shoulder.
“Always.” Mum smiles. Tears glisten in her eyes, and in that moment I know this is it. This is what I’ve needed, what I’ve craved from them for so long—and I hope like hell it’s here to stay. I feel like I matter. Like I matter to them.
“And who’s this?” Shae puts her hands on her hips and looks directly at Michael, whose hands are latched around my waist as if he’s afraid I’ll float off at any moment.
And I love it.
There’s nothing bad about it.
“Michael.” He extends his hand and shakes with my brothers and sister. Mum wont accept his offering, however, and brings him in for another hug filled with way too much boob and perfume, and not enough air. I know, because he coughs. Twice.
“My boyfriend,” I add, to make sure there’s no confusion.
“Congratulations,” Steve says.
“Make sure you take care of her, son,” Dad says. He folds his arms across his chest, and even though I know I should be mortified, I’m kinda thrilled. Because he’s acting like a douche. A douche who cares. And I can’t argue with that.
“Rain dance.”
The words ring out through the room, a screeching, masculine cry over the shrill female voices that are humming to the tune of Lee Collins.
My eyes scan the crowd for the one person I am fairly sure who would be the source of the noise.
Eleven Weeks Page 19
