by Sandy Smith
Hi. Farmhouse booked for 6:30, if that is still okay. I will meet you there.
Okay, so maybe not a date exactly, but he didn’t completely freak...
Sure. Sounds great.
Before we headed to the airport, it had been a long morning of phone tag with the Australian Federal Police, the organized crime guys in the State Crime Command, and the dog unit. Both Ian and I weren’t one hundred percent confident in the reliability of our information, and I had a feeling it was going to be another wasted morning. Well, maybe not wasted. Ending up with nothing in itself gave us some information, but I certainly wasn’t anticipating the big show the Australian Federal Police were expecting.
Ian glanced at me from the front passenger seat as I looked up from checking my phone Again. I didn’t know why I was bothering. It hadn’t made a sound all morning, other than Tim with a few ideas for Mum’s birthday I was ignoring until after work. And Nicholas probably wasn’t going to contact me anyway. I hadn’t heard from him since the texts a few days ago.
“Whoever he is, I can guarantee his dick isn’t so magical it is worth you being distracted on the job, Ky.”
Ian’s voice was stern, and I nodded.
“Sorry.” I put my phone away.
A noise of disgust came from one of the other guys. I glared, and Grayson looked away. Wise choice.
As predicted, the morning was a waste. Ian took his team to the baggage area, and I led mine to the gates. I ran through what was expected again, since several people on my team were unknown to me. My usual team knew me, even dickhead Grayson, but I didn’t like working with strangers.
Thankfully, the officers I hadn’t met before were professional, listened to my instructions, and slotted in easily with my usual team members. They asked appropriate questions and were happy to follow my lead. Only two of the five passengers we were expecting boarded the connecting flight in Melbourne, and they were detained with absolutely zero fuss while their bags were searched. Ian and I were frustrated but not surprised, and he was finishing up on a phone call when I heard a familiar voice.
Nicholas.
His voice was unmistakable, and I should probably have been a little embarrassed to have a physical reaction from his voice alone. But I wasn’t. I found him in the crowd walking towards the exit. Without thinking, I left Ian with our kits and walked towards him. I could hear him chuckling with whoever he was talking to on the phone.
“Karma is a bitch, just like you, Eric… You’re lucky I love you. You couldn’t live without me.”
Just as I froze, he saw me, and after a brief moment of surprise, he smiled warmly and ended his call. I was still frozen as he reached a hand out to shake mine and asked what I was doing there.
Before I could answer or even get my brain to form a thought, Ian called out, “Ky, let’s go. You have a briefing, and I have shit to do. Your boyfriend will have to wait.”
Nick's eyes widened at the word boyfriend for a moment. Then he stepped back, and my heart sank in my chest. I mean, not that my heart was involved. No way. But Nicholas’s reaction to Ian’s comment still felt like rejection.
“I’ll see you Saturday, I guess,” I muttered and turned to follow Ian.
Eventually, Saturday came around and I headed into the city to meet Nicholas. Getting off the train at Kings Cross, I wandered down to Farmhouse. I had never eaten there, but I had googled it, and it looked amazing. As I neared the doors, I slowed. I was a few minutes early for the 6:30 booking and didn’t want to sit by myself for too long looking like an idiot. The restaurant doors opened, and a voice greeted me. “Hey, are you Ky?”
I turned to the voice as my phone beeped. Ignoring it, I answered the lady in front of me.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
She smiled warmly. “Sorry, Nicholas called to let us know he would be ten minutes late and to make sure you were looked after. Let me show you inside.”
I followed her. The restaurant was far smaller and far simpler than I anticipated, given Nicholas’s tastes in cars and clothes.
After I was left to myself with a drink, I checked my phone and saw a text from Nicholas telling me he’d be late, as well as one from an old university friend reminding me about the touch football season about to start. I fired off a reply agreeing to a get-together with the touch football team and was finishing off a work email when I heard Nicholas greet someone at the door. He was smiling politely and shaking hands with the woman who had shown me to my table. I was surprised to see Nicholas in a spectacular dark suit that looked like it was made just for him.
Were my dark jeans and burgundy button-down too underdressed? I glanced quickly around the restaurant. A few people were dressed up, but more were relatively casual.
My concern melted away when Nicholas approached me. Eyes widening, he murmured softly, “You look amazing. That is definitely your colour,” as he leaned forward and gave me a chaste peck on the cheek. Before we got any further, a man approached the table and leaned forward to pat Nicholas’s shoulder.
“Evening, Mark,” Nicholas said with a small, polite smile.
“I can’t stop, but wanted to say hi,” the man replied. When he glanced at me, Nicholas introduced me.
“Mark, this is a friend of mine, Ky. Ky, this is Mark. This is his restaurant.”
After quick handshakes and greetings, Mark headed off, and Nicholas smiled, “Sorry about the suit—got stuck at work later than I expected. Had a video call to London early this morning, hence the suit, but I thought I would have time to head home. No rest for the wicked, or so my mother always told me. I guess she would know.”
Dinner was spectacular, and the wine was amazing. Nicholas asked me questions all through dinner, about work, about hobbies. Any time I asked a question about him, he started to answer and then turned it into a question about me. The conversation was easy, but shallow. He still smiled when he spoke but it was the cool smile I had seen him give other people, not the unguarded smile I had received a couple of times. I wanted my smile back. I didn’t know any other way to describe it. Maybe he was nervous. Maybe he was just trying to be polite on our first date. Or only date, I suspected.
As we were getting ready to leave, I reached for Nicholas’s hand as I started to thank him for dinner, and he pulled away to cover a small yawn. He was avoiding contact, but subtly enough I would have felt like an idiot calling him on it. As we wandered outside, I was trying to work out if I had read this all wrong. Maybe he really was just tired.
I had nothing to lose at that point, so I asked him if he would be free the next Saturday. When he hesitated, I continued anyway, my heart sinking. “No big deal. Just a music festival over at Manly. Have you heard of Beer and Beats? It’s usually pretty good. I was going to head over in the morning.”
After a pause, Nick answered. “I might have to play it by ear. I’m away for a few days this week in Melbourne, so I’m not sure if I’ll be free Saturday or not. I’ll text you and let you know closer to the day, though.”
I smiled weakly, knowing a brush-off when I heard one. A quick awkward goodbye, and I was heading back to the train station. Alone.
Chapter Seven
Ducking Ian’s right hook, I got two short jabs in and stepped away. I enjoyed sparring with him. Even though he was nearly a decade older than me, you wouldn’t know it by how he could fight. He was fit, strong, and, far more importantly, smart. Very smart. Neither of us had too many volunteers at work willing to spar with us unless we went across to the MMA gym, so we trained together whenever we had the chance. He had been fighting since he was a teenager, and my strength was no match for his experience.
Even though they weren’t soft jabs, he chuckled and stood up straight so I knew we were finished. Thank God for that. I was exhausted. It had been a long week. Nothing big events-wise, but long hours training and assisting with several raids across Sydney and Wollongong.
As we sat on the bike for a cool-down, Ian and I continued to chat about nothing important. My
mind wandered to Nicholas, like it had a thousand times that week, and our date next Saturday. If he showed up, that was. I suspected he was going to bail. We seemed to have got this a little backwards. We’d had sex, but I knew very little about him, exactly what he did, despite asking him loads of questions last week, or even if this was an actual date.
Maybe it should have stayed a club hook-up. I didn’t really have time for more complicated. Simple worked for me. I came across as cold at work, but it kept me in charge. Cold, methodical, and as long as we got the job done, I didn’t have someone looking over my shoulder. I’d never liked anyone else having control. I had enough of having no control to last a lifetime, and I wasn’t that kid now.
Ian getting off his bike brought me back to the present. “So, I hear young Detective Grayson basically saved your life at that Bankstown job last week. You’re getting a bit slow in your old age.”
I frowned at him. “What the fuck?”
His lips twitched, and then he continued.
“Well, the way Brooke was telling the story, after he’d secured the three large guys, he helped you arrest the teenager who was attacking you with a knife.”
“Fucking Grayson. That is not what happened.”
Now that he had gotten the reaction he was trying for, Ian laughed. “Yeah, obviously.”
“That shit better not be in his actual report,” I grumbled, reminding myself to chase up the report. I should have been notified of it by now.
More seriously, he continued. “Listen, is Grayson going to be a problem? I know he is the favoured child, but if he is, then he can go be a problem elsewhere.”
“Hell no,” I answered, shaking my head. “If he is a problem, then he’s a problem we will fix.” I sighed as I slowed my cycling and wiped my face with my hand towel. “If he was bad at his job, then yeah, it would be an issue. The thing that frustrates the hell out of me is he’s good, or at least could be. He’s smart and has really good instincts when interviewing people. He’s just a fucking arsehole.”
Ian nodded and grunted out a goodbye as he headed to the change rooms.
Ten more minutes of mindless stretching, and I headed to the showers too. Shoving my dirty clothes and shoes into my bag, I grabbed my phone and wallet out of my locker to head home. I absently checked the time on my phone, noticing a new text message from Nick.
Hi. Sorry. Swamped at work so probably won’t make it Saturday.
Just because I wasn’t surprised didn’t mean it didn’t suck. I typed a quick reply.
No worries. Maybe another time.
I guessed that was that, then. I wasn’t going to chase someone who wasn’t interested in me, no matter how much I felt something was there. Obviously, I was wrong.
I waited for a minute for a reply, but when I didn’t get one, I assumed he was busy and pocketed the phone before heading home.
I was drifting off to sleep later that night when my phone beeped. It wasn’t the work tone, but I reached for it anyway. I fumbled it before picking it up and unlocking it to see the message.
Private number.
Maybe this would have be best done before the bottle of wine, not after, but fuck it. I like you. I have fun with you. But I don’t see the point of taking this any further when we know we won’t work. Even if I were staying here long-term, we are hardly compatible. But there it is.
I replied before I thought about it too much.
Maybe I haven’t had enough wine for this conversation. WTF does “hardly compatible” mean? If you are in a relationship, just say that. Why string me along? I guess it explains why you haven’t really told me anything about yourself. If you’re not interested, just say that.
WTF are you talking about? I’m not in a relationship. If I was, I wouldn’t be at the fucking club most weeks. Like Sean said, not compatible means two tops don’t make a bottom. Or something like that. Not that it matters, I’m not in Sydney forever. Just setting Eric up. Then I will move on, like always. And being attracted to you isn’t going to do fuck all for me. I can't do relationships. They suck. They are an illusion. But I like you more than I should, so it would be easier to not see you at all than to see you and know it won’t really work going much further.
I clenched my jaw, resisting throwing the phone at the wall. Sounded satisfying, but paying for a new one wouldn’t be, so I took two breaths, deciding whether to bother replying or not. So much baggage lurked in that text I didn’t even have any idea how to unpack it all.
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Are you serious? If sexual positions are the only thing that matter to you, you could have asked. Oh, that’s right. That would take having a grown-up conversation. And since when is anal the only important fucking part of a fucking relationship? I guess you were right about not being compatible. If you aren’t here forever, why not just tell me? I don’t know where your issues with relationships come from, but don’t put that shit on me. I would like to be in a relationship with an actual adult, capable of conversation, you uptight pommy dickwad. duck you!
There, that showed him. I was still glaring at my phone, and I reread what I had sent. Duck you?
Duck you, autocorrect.
Seconds later, my phone rang. And like the mature adult I was, I hit ignore. I put the phone back on the bedside table and rolled over to go back to sleep. After fifteen minutes of staring at the same damn shadow on the wall, I turned back over and listened to the voicemail message. Damn his honey-smooth voice. Like that accent wasn’t enough on its own. And fuck him for sounding even more adorable with a slight slur from the alcohol.
“I’m sorry. And you’re right. Relationships are perhaps not one of my strengths. Not that I mean this is a relationship. I mean, it is something, but I… But I would like… I mean perhaps… Please just call me back. Oh, and the man on the phone at the airport was my best friend, not my… whatever you obviously thought he was. Please call me.”
I didn’t call. I wanted to. That voice could have told me to do anything, and I would have done it. And I hated being told what to do. So I didn’t call.
My phone beeping with a new text message woke me the next morning. I ignored it and wandered to the kitchen to make tea. I intended to go for a run this morning before the festival, but it was already 11:00. I never slept this late. Not that I had really slept much at all anyway. After my tea and a piece of toast, I had a quick shower. As I towelled off, I grabbed my phone to check my earlier message. There were two. One was Tim, telling me they were on their way, and one was from Nick. I hesitated before opening it.
Please call me. I want to come to the festival. I want to see you. I think we need to talk. Please.
While I was reading, another message came in.
I really am sorry about last night. I tend to overthink things. Except texting when drinking apparently. Then I don’t think at all.
And then another.
If I don’t hear back, I will see you there.
I sighed and put the phone down. I needed to think, but my brain was going around like a whirlpool.
Okay, the black shirt looked better on, but it’s what I wear to the club, and I wanted something different. Maybe the blue button-down. No, too dressy. Going back to the wardrobe yet again, I rummaged through hangers. Maybe if I wore the lighter jeans, I could wear that new light blue shirt Mum got me. Fuck, I knew I was overthinking things. I needed another shower—I sweat less in full gear in training scenarios. Finally happy, I looked in the mirror for a minute. Did I need to shave after all? I ended up deciding just to neaten myself up so I didn’t look like I didn’t care. Then I hopped back in the shower for a quick rinse before Mum and Tim got there.
I was pulling the T-shirt over my head when I heard the buzzer. I grabbed the overshirt and threw it on, then hurried over to the intercom. Buzzing Mum and Tim in, I told them I was running a few minutes late. I left the door ajar before running back to throw my towel in the basket, finish making my bed, and throw the discarded shirts on
top of my drawers to put away later.
I ran my hands through my hair one last time, hearing a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called out, glancing up at the door. Mum and Tim wandered in, holding hands. After quick hugs, I washed the breakfast dishes, tossed the milk away in the fridge. and grabbed my keys. We headed down the road to the ferry wharf, right on time for the next ferry. The fresh air on the ferry was exactly what I needed to clear my head.
Tim had already asked me what was wrong on the walk down, and I had claimed ignorance, but when Mum asked too, I glanced at them holding hands, still as much in love as they were when they met sixteen years ago. “How do you guys make it all look so easy?”
When Mum looked confused, I waved in the general direction of their hands and said, “That. Love. Relationships. Whatever. Men fucking suck.”
Mum looked at me with concern and said softly, “Use your words.” She said the same thing to me as a toddler if I was frustrated and for some reason had continued the saying as a way of telling me talking about it was better than bottling it up.
I was lucky. I had always been able to talk to Mum and Tim about anything. Well, almost anything. I had only ever kept one secret from them. So I did. Well, okay, it was an edited version. No graphic details, only the highlights package, ending in showing them the texts. I could tell when they get to the end because Tim laughed and Mum rolled her eyes at me. Tim was still chuckling when I snatched the phone back.
“Fuck you, Tim.”
“Duck you too, Ky. Come on. How is that not funny? You were having a tantrum and finished on such a high note.”
I hung my head. Ugghh. Damn him for always being right.
When we got to the festival, we decided to divide and conquer. Mum headed off to grab food, Tim went to see if there was still a spot along the trees, and I ran across the road and grabbed drinks. After a surprisingly short wait, I had beers for Tim and me and wine coolers for Mum. I was wandering along the tree line when I heard Tim call out to me. I laughed. That right there was why he always chose where we sit. He was up the damn tree with his blanket folded over the branch, softening the seat. I passed him the drinks, and he hung the bag from a branch behind him while I climbed up.
