It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

by Kylie Scott

  The little line between his brows deepened. “About what?”

  “About sex!”

  “I am not talking with you about sex.”

  “But it’s age appropriate now,” I said.

  “To the contrary, we are now far too old for such frivolities.” One corner of his mouth lifted a little. At least I could still make him smile when I wanted to.

  “So last time I was here I was too young, and now I’m too old?”

  “Precisely.” He nodded. “There was a four-minute window about three years ago where such a discussion might have been appropriate. Too bad you missed it.”

  The music changed to Cold Chisel and the table next to us cheered yet again. Someone growled, “Barnesie.”

  “God, I haven’t heard this in years,” I said. “They’re playing all the classics.”

  “What, you only go to hipster cafés?”

  “I have to get my smashed avocado on sourdough somewhere.” I grinned, sucking the gin off the end of my finger, because ladylike.

  Pete’s hand stilled, his gaze intensified. “You know, in some ways you’ve changed. But in others, you’re exactly the same.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I cleared my throat. “I have a theory.”

  “What’s your theory?”

  “That people grow more into themselves over time.”

  Slowly, he nodded. “Makes sense.”

  “Actually, that probably came from my best friend, Hazel,” I said. “She’s a therapist. Sometimes our conversations wander into areas of philosophy and general emotional growth and well-being. Or K-pop. But then BTS is important to everyone.”

  “What the hell is K-pop and . . . BTS?”

  With a groan, I looked to heaven. “How out of touch are you?”

  “Apparently a lot.” He laughed. “Thank God you’re here to tell me what’s what. Why don’t I fetch us another round, and then you can catch me up?”

  I watched his tall form wend its way through the crowd, and into the thick throng of people milling around the bar. The workers from Dad’s business were definitely taking advantage of the free drinks, and good luck to them.

  “Hey.” A thick, heavy voice dragged my attention back to the here and now. A young man stood before me, his eyes bloodshot with pure alcoholic joy. His wiry arm was wrapped around the neck of his somewhat older yet similarly inebriated friend, though it was hard to tell who was holding up whom.

  “I’m Fitzy,” he said. “This’s my mate, Larry. Can you settle a bet for us?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, just a little wary.

  “Larry says that you were the one who booby-trapped Pete, all those years ago when Andrew slugged him.” The guy gesticulated toward me with his half-empty beer.

  “Booby-trapped.” Larry smirked. Who knows how many beers it had taken them to manufacture that pun?

  “Wildly original and hilarious,” I muttered. My shoulders sagged. Maybe it was too much to expect the scandal to have disappeared over the years. Probably I could come back to town in fifty years and there would still be young building-industry types regaling each other with stories of the boss’s daughter who flashed her tits on her eighteenth birthday.

  It was the stuff of legend.

  “But I say it can’t be you, because you have an awesome rack, and no one could complain about copping an eyeful of that.” Beside him, Larry nodded soberly at his friend’s logic, in the way that only the totally wasted can manage. “It’s only natural.”

  “Anyway,” Fitzy continued. “We were figuring that, if they’re good enough to flash for Pete, maybe— Ow!”

  Fitzy’s head bent violently to one side, arching upward to expose his right ear. Standing behind him was Pete, his face thunder. He had the smaller man’s earlobe in his fist, twisting it hard around and upward. Fitzy jolted upright, his drunken legs straining as he tried to raise himself high enough to relieve the pain. But all it did was bring him face-to-face with Pete, his brow creased with anger.

  All of the laughter stopped dead.

  “I think you’ve had enough, Matthew,” Pete growled. Apparently “Fitzy” was just for friends, and Pete did not look friendly.

  Even on his tiptoes, the younger man barely made it to Pete’s height. Beside him, Larry made a run for it, apparently deciding that discretion was the better part of mate-ship.

  “Yes, boss,” Fitzy squeaked, sounding suddenly much soberer. “Sorry, boss.”

  “Apologize to the lady.” Pete swiveled him around by the ear to face me, like a puppet held on a single string.

  “Sorry, miss,” he stammered. “Ma’am.”

  Pete pivoted him back around, so they were once again eye-to-eye. “You do not speak to her again,” he said. “You don’t even fucking look at her. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Maybe if you get out of here fast enough, the whole thing will have slipped my mind by Monday morning.” Pete released him, and he stumbled off into Larry’s arms, one hand nursing his ear.

  “Sorry about that,” Pete said to me.

  “It’s fine.” I could really quite happily go about my night (and life) away from this oh so humorous scene. Bound to happen, but I didn’t need to be a part of it. I rose to my feet, finishing off the remains of my drink. “You do realize I could have handled the situation myself?”

  “He’s an employee and this is a work gathering, to a degree. I’m unfortunately responsible for his behavior.”

  I wasn’t entirely convinced.

  “I know you can look after yourself, Adele.”

  Shit. Even Dad was looking over now. What a prime example for why me being here amongst these people again was such a wondrously bad idea. Even the ones who hadn’t been at my eighteenth had obviously heard about what went down. I was just an embarrassment.

  Pete pressed his hand against the small of my back. “Why don’t we go? We don’t need to be around this.”

  “Might as well.”

  We wove our way through the crowd and over to Dad. “Something happen?” he asked.

  “No. I think the drive has caught up with me,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m ready for bed. ’Night, Shanti. Thanks again for today.”

  She gripped my hand, giving it a squeeze. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You’re driving her home?” Dad asked Pete, standing behind me.

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “Adele, tomorrow I want to hear all of your thoughts on Jeremy,” ordered Shanti.

  I just smiled.

  Dad gave me another probing look. He wasn’t falling for my bullshit at all. Next his gaze shifted to the men at the table. “Time to cut them off, I think. They’ve had more than enough for one night.”

  “Good idea,” said Pete. “See you tomorrow.”

  Via the hand still sitting just above my butt, he directed me toward the exit. He shouldn’t have been touching me. The warmth of his skin sinking through the thin cotton of my top was much too comforting. Thoughts of how his touch would feel in other places came far too easily. Such as his fingers stroking down my arm, sliding between my own fingers to hold tight. Along with more pornographic scenarios that we won’t go into. My imagination could go from sweet to explicit in no time at all when it came to Pete.

  Away from the noise and lights, the night was quiet. A fruit bat flew overhead, a darker shape against the dark sky. The parking lot was still half full at ten o’clock.

  We parted at the back of his vehicle, a reasonably new big double-cab ute. My skin wasn’t tingling because it was where his hand had been. Most likely, it was due to a rash or something. The jeans were helpful for climbing into the passenger seat. In the backseat lay a mess of papers, some tools, and a couple of items of clothing. It smelled of sawdust, a little earth, and a hint of cologne. Maybe coffee too.

  The engine purred to life and Vance Joy was playi
ng on the stereo. I stared out into the night. “I like this song.”

  “Yeah?” he sounded pleased.

  There was something intimate about being in the dark together in such a small enclosed space. Something old and familiar, comfortable and special. Not that the drive home took long. Past a gift shop, a news agency, a chemist, and other such places. Farther out of town, on the way to the highway, there were a couple of pineapple farms. Some paddocks of fruit trees and dams. A lot of the large properties had been sold, however, broken up, and developed into housing estates in the last decade or so. It was sad to see. Dad had bought his block of land about fifteen years ago, off the main road, tucked away from the rush and noise. When Pete started working for Dad, he talked the lady who owned the land nearby into selling since she wasn’t doing anything with it anyway and he loved the area.

  “They’ll forget about it,” he said, pulling into the driveway. “It’s not like all of them haven’t done stuff they regret over the years.”

  “I’m not really worried about it.”

  He parked the car in the garage attached to the side of the house. “Careful getting down.”

  “I’ll be careful getting down.” I smiled. “You don’t need to baby me.”

  “I’m not babying you; I’m looking after you.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  “You dad would kill me if you got a hair out of place on my watch.”

  “Right,” I said. “Well, considering the man actively encouraged me to climb trees and play football, I don’t think he’s all that worried.”

  A low laugh. “If you think I won’t be proving to your father that you’re safe with me until the end of time, you’ve misread the situation.”

  “I seem to do that a lot.” I followed him up the front stairs. “Though I doubt I’ll be around much, so don’t feel you need to dedicate your life to the cause.”

  Keys jangled and he unlocked the door, turning on a light. “You’re really not interested in the job?”

  “Do you want me to be?”

  “Huh.” A wallet and the keys were tossed onto the dining room table. “For all your talk of burnt bridges, you sure do seem to care about what I think.”

  “I wouldn’t even consider it if you don’t want me there—I’m trying to do less of the aggressively inflicting myself upon you these days,” I said. “As a general rule.”

  He leaned his ass against the table, watching me with interest.

  “It just makes sense, right?” I held up my hands. “If having me in your place of work would be an issue for you, make you uncomfortable, then that’s the last thing I want to do. Neither of us would be having a good time in that situation.”

  “True. But I’m out on site most of the time.”

  “Still . . .”

  He crossed his arms, cocked his head. “What if I didn’t have a problem with you coming onboard?”

  “Then I guess I would need to think it over.”

  Nothing from him.

  “Anyway . . . thanks for the lift back. And everything.” Hesitantly, I took a step toward my temporary end of the house. I used to be able to read him much better than this. Figure out his moods, have a vague idea of what was going on inside his head. These days, I had nothing.

  “Right,” he said. “’Night.”

  “Good night.”

  Only he didn’t move and neither did I. Then he grabbed the back of his neck, turned away, and asked, “Feel like a swim?”

  “Ah, sure. Why not?”

  “Great,” he said. “See you down there.”

  Chapter Five

  Eight Years Ago . . .

  “You drove Pete’s truck into a pole?”

  “Reversed it, actually.”

  Apparently the distinction didn’t help. Dad’s face remained heavily lined and unhappy.

  “We were practicing reverse parking and Pete thought it might be better not to do it near other vehicles,” I said. “So we had a trashcan up one end and the pole down the other.”

  “And you hit the pole.”

  “Yes.”

  “Not the trashcan, which would have just fallen over and made a mess, but not damaged anything.”

  “Dad, I didn’t plan this. It was an accident.”

  “She was actually doing pretty well there for a while,” said Pete, sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer. “Then her foot slipped off the clutch and . . . yeah.”

  Dad turned the unhappy look on him.

  “How’s your neck feeling?” I asked.

  Pete just shrugged. “I’ll live. The truck’s tailgate is a fair bit fucked, though.”

  “Language,” grunted Dad.

  “Sorry.”

  I held up my hands. “I need the practice if I’m going to pass the test. I’m seventeen now, you know.”

  “And ready to hit things with vehicles, apparently.”

  Pete snickered and threw back some beer, rubbing at one of his shoulders. He had nice shoulders, thick and strong. I hoped I hadn’t permanently damaged them.

  “You know, that’s really harsh. I feel very unsupported right now,” I said. “Need I remind you, we called and you said it was okay for Pete to give me driving lessons?”

  “I didn’t expect you to hit something and damage his truck on your first lesson.” Dad started to pace. Never a good sign. “Jesus Christ, is this what it’s like to have a teenager?”

  “Been a teenager for a while now—thought you might have noticed,” I said, sitting curled up in the corner of the couch. Not getting teary, because that would be stupid.

  Dad didn’t need to know there had been a sudden mess of crying straight after the crash. The impact probably wouldn’t have seemed like much to an onlooker, but it had jerked our bodies about fiercely. Pete, of course, had been infuriatingly relaxed about the whole thing, though it had been quite a shock to me. But damned if I would show Dad any glimpse of that.

  “Look on the bright side,” I said. “You only have to put up with me for six weeks a year. How many vehicles can I possibly damage in such a short amount of time?”

  “Let’s not find out,” muttered Pete.

  “Sweetheart, you know I don’t mean it like that.”

  “I’m sorry I messed up and interrupted your work,” I said.

  Hands on hips, Dad hung his head, taking several deep breaths. “Okay, I deserved that.”

  Silence.

  “Let me make something very clear to you,” he said, gaze glued to me. “Adele, you are my daughter and I love you. When you called me to say there’d been an accident, you scared the absolute crap out of me.”

  I was not convinced.

  “The thought that I can’t protect you . . . that there are things out in the world that might hurt you.” He sighed. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  I swallowed hard. “Okay.”

  “And this idiot’s probably due a company vehicle anyway.”

  Pete’s sudden smile was beatific. He lifted the beer to me in toast. “Way to go, kid. I knew you’d come through for me in the end.”

  Dad laughed. “If she dents that one, at least the insurance claim will be handled through the business.”

  Funnily enough, Pete stopped smiling at that.

  Thursday Night . . . Now

  By the time I got down to the pool, he was already in the water, happily drifting in the deep end. My eyes took a minute to adjust to the dark, since the lighting was dim. Just enough to be able to get down the steps and everything without falling on your face.

  “Hey,” I said quietly.

  “Hey.”

  I felt more than saw his gaze drift across my face, down the length of my body. My nipples of course loved the attention. Goddamn them.

  This was new and unexpected, even after his maybe checking them out at the bar. Wildly different from the way he used to look at me. Back then, his gaze was more along the lines of pat-on-the-head-cute-puppy fondness. I don’t know. Then again, maybe I was ju
st imagining it all.

  “Jump,” he said.

  “No.”

  His laugh was low and rough and perfect. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.

  “Pete, you of all people should know better than to encourage me to go jumping into things.”

  He made a humming noise. Then strong arms stroked through the water until he reached the edge. “But this isn’t making decisions without thinking them through. This is just for fun. Jump, Adele.”

  Carefully, I stepped into the water, down the stairs. “Not going to happen.”

  “That’s a nice bikini,” he said.

  “Thanks.” I went up to my shoulders. All of the lovely wavy hairdo had been carefully rolled up into a bun. “Don’t splash me. I don’t want to get my hair wet tonight.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  On the edge, he had his bottle of scotch, a bucket of ice, a bottle of gin, and a bottle of tonic water. The man had even sliced up a lemon. Talk about hospitality. “I don’t know if I chose right. Guy at the shop told me this one was the best.”

  I joined him at the side, examining the gin bottle. “Hendrick’s is great. Thank you.”

  “It is? Good.”

  “My liver is never going to survive this trip.”

  He laughed. “I don’t normally drink this much either.”

  “Am I driving you to drink?” I joked.

  “A little, maybe.” He glanced at me, then got busy pouring in the gin and topping it off with tonic water. Last but not least, the slice of lemon. A gin and tonic without a slice of lemon is rubbish and never let anyone tell you differently.

  “I don’t know whether to be honored or offended.”

  “Kid, why don’t we just be?” He exhaled, handing over the drink. “For you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Once he’d poured his very minimal two to three fingers of scotch, no ice, he tapped his glass against mine. “Cheers.”

  “To just being,” I said.

  We both drank, side by side, floating at the edge of the pool. He looked spectacular with his wet hair slicked back, the muscles in his shoulders and arms right there. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs, overexcited over nothing. Because nothing was going on and nothing was going to happen. I mean, of course it wasn’t. Maybe, though, if I was really lucky we’d eventually be sort of friends again. I’d no longer have lost him from my life completely.