by Alam, Donna
‘You’ve got the space for a feckin’ picnic down there, after all that deforestation. I see the man bites, but how’s his Aussie kiss?’
‘His what?’
‘You know, same as a French kiss only down under?’
‘That’s really bad.’ I shoot her a withering look, sensing she’s not yet done.
‘Should I ask how his lip service is instead?’
‘I’d prefer you not to ask at all.’
‘That’s not very charitable, is it? Spare a thought for those less fortunate in the sexy-times department. Is it my fault I’m reduced to living vicariously ‘cos I’m getting none?’
Usually, the only trouble Niamh has with men is blowing them . . . off. Not that she suffers from lock-jaw or anything, as far as I know. Gorgeous and redheaded, men are usually drawn to the lilting tones of her accent, without realising if she’s ever had any use for the Blarney Stone, it was likely to whack some unsuspecting bloke’s head into it. Surely she can’t be losing her touch?
‘Still no luck with Rob?’
‘Rob who?’ Mildly miffed, she plonks herself on the bed.
‘Buff bloke? Deep tan.’ I arch one brow. ‘Looks a bit like he’s been on the ‘roids.’
‘On the what?’
‘ ‘Roids. Steroids. Buff, like, real big.’ I make Popeye arms, even with my absence of guns. ‘Ring any bells?’ I ask, raising one, taunting brow.
‘Ah, him,’ she says, continuing with her veneer of indifference. ‘I wouldn’t ride that fecker into battle.’
‘You wouldn’t what?’
‘You know, ride him.’ Overtly rocking her hips, she gestures with her arms.
‘Oh, root him,’ I answer, using the Australian slang for sex. ‘You wouldn’t root him!’
‘That’s a God-awful euphemism,’ she says with a sniff. ‘Root is the thing that grows on the bottom of old veg, or maybe something you should do for your sports team.’
‘You barrack for your team in my neck of the woods. If you root for your team in Australia, you’d end up in a wheelchair.’
‘Sicko,’ she retorts sharply.
‘What’s got into you?’
‘Nothing.’ She sighs and folds her arms. ‘Nothing without batteries, anyway.’
Perching my bum on the edge of the bed, I ignore the unwanted insight. ‘I don’t understand. What do you think the problem is? He’s obviously into you, so why hasn’t he . . .’ Put out? Or put it in?
Her folded arms rise and fall with an accompanying sigh. ‘He told me over the phone he wants us to be “friends,” ’ she adds, doing that inverted-comma-air-finger-thing. ‘So I’ve decided he can kiss my fine Irish arse.’
I arch one eyebrow again and quickly catch the action, annoyed by the frequency of this developing habit. Imitation may be the most sincere form of flattery but, sod it, I have enough bad habits of my own.
With an even deeper sigh, she throws her back flat against the mattress. ‘Truth is, he’s been avoiding me since that night. You know, when Matt . . .’ Her mouth twists in distaste and I nod; my first fantastic night with Kai and her not so incredible dealings with vomit on new shoes. Seems like an age ago. ‘I think I might have come across as a bit rabid after that.’
‘Could he playing hard to get?’
‘He could be I suppose, though that’d be a new one on me.’
‘I find it hard to believe he doesn’t fancy you all of a sudden, especially after the way he was at the club.’ The arm touching, the stroking. Though that was mainly Niamh, but he seemed to enjoy being the recipient. ‘See how today goes before you totally write him off. Let’s see if we can inspire a bit of summer loving. We’ve sun, sea . . . well, pool, and sangria.’
‘How’s that going to help, get him drunk and take advantage? I’m not sure I’m that desperate just yet.’
Ignoring her, I carry on. ‘And you’re a total hottie in that bikini, if he doesn’t see it, he’s definitely peeking out from behind the wardrobe door.’ Making vague circles with my hands, I add, ‘Just look at those Irish charms.’
‘I think you’ll find the usual term is closet. And I’m pretty sure he’s not a bum-sex aficionado.’ She makes no effort to hide her belligerence. ‘And, what, am I feckin’ cereal now?’
But at least she’s smiling. A small smile but it’s there.
‘Maybe I need to add vodka to the sangria ‘cos you won’t dazzle him with that attitude. Fine, don’t be your sparklingly witty self, if you can manage to contain your effervescence.’ I slap her leg for emphasis and pull her reluctant form up by the arm. ‘What about you force his hands, flirt with someone else? You could flirt with Matt.’
‘I might be shooting myself in the foot there, they are roommates after all. Second, Matt has a thing for you, not that it’ll do him any good now that Kai’s mad for you. And three, your sangria’s shite, vodka or no. I’ve told you, adding food to cheap wine doesn’t make it palatable.’
‘Piss off, I didn’t use the cardboard stuff this time!’ My indignant tone trails off in a mumble. ‘And let’s not count my chickens just yet.’
Kai has me tied in knots both in the literal and figurative sense, but who knows where this will go. Declarations have so far been limited to lust, like and a lexis of control . . . which kind of turns me on . . . which I’m not going to think about right now.
‘Wine soup is not nice, eejit,’ she laughs, almost begrudgingly. ‘And how many times have you seen Kai now? I dunno about chickens, but I’m pretty sure he gets first dibs on your eggs.’
‘Eww. And yes, okay, I’ve seen a fair bit of him.’
‘I’ll just bet you have, dirty girly. Up close and personal, too. Come on, tell Auntie Niamh all about it!’
I try my best to ignore her innuendo but smile in spite of this. ‘I do think he’s great but he’s so . . . God, I don’t know!’ I roll my eyes heavenward, not ready to tell her about my kicking him out the other night.
‘Broodingly handsome? Spectacularly ripped? Abso-fucking loaded? And best of all, he kicked that shite Shane to the curb, so he gets heaps of points for that from me. Cop on, chick, you’re complaining your diamond shoes are too tight. Next you’ll be moaning you’ve no space in your wallet for all the fifties tumbling out.’
‘You’ve changed your tune, what happened to stay away from the strange Arab man, Kate?’ I waggle my fingers mockingly to compliment my mysterious, not to mention highly amusing, tone. Well, I think it’s funny. ‘Keep your knickers on,’ I continue. ‘Don’t put out!’
‘Yeah, well, I can’t go giving advice if I can’t pull my own shit together, can I?’
‘Pig’s arse! Who are you and what’ve you done with my despotic fiend, I mean friend?’ I nudge her shoulder with mine. Maybe she’s ill? Maybe it’s something in the water? An unsure Niamh is just wrong.
‘I just like Rob. Like, really like him and I can’t believe I’ve frightened him off!’ A vicious burst of air pushes past her lips. ‘And if I can’t sort out my own love life, I should for sure stay out of yours.’ Shoulders slumped, she stares unseeingly at her hands when her spine suddenly straightens, as though a seed of thought has just taken roots. Her eyes find mine and she studies me through a narrowed gaze. Feeling the full force of her scrutiny, my eyes slide away. ‘Why do I get the feelin’ you’re hiding something?’
Her intuition may be spot on, but I’m not going there. I can’t tell her I kicked him out, let alone why. And then tell her I changed my mind? Nope, not happening.
Give her enough rope and I’m not sure who she’ll hang.
‘It’s not that skanky fuck-pal is it? She’s not sniffing around still?’
And there is still the small additional matter of that.
‘It’s all good,’ I answer with a watery smile. ‘Fine.’
She smiles, sort of sadistically, pulling me into her shoulder. ‘Get him to confirm that, will I?’
‘What happened to not interfering?’ I pull away with a frown. Though sorry
is the fool who crosses this woman, I’m not sure who I’d put my money on between her and Kai.
‘Don’t worry. I won’t eat the head ‘offa him. Much.’
The glint in her eye tells me I should probably keep them apart. I don’t want her extolling my virtues, Dublin style. It’s distraction time.
‘I suppose there’s one benefit about today. For you, I mean.’
‘Yeah, what’s that?’ She pouts into the mirror above my dresser, readjusting her braid.
‘You’ll probably get to see if Rob’s worth the trouble. All that flesh on display,’ I add in a wistful tone.
‘Anyone with eyes can see he’s ripped, Kate, even in his clothes.’
‘Yeah, but budgie smugglers don’t leave much to the imagination though, do they?’ I make a triangle with forefingers and thumbs at crotch level, suggestive of the tiny swim shorts. ‘Steroids can have a detrimental effect on a man’s bits, you know.’
‘You’re becoming a massive perve, you know that.’ She laughs. ‘See where good sex gets you?’
‘Hey, you can’t help but look when a guy wears DT’s.’
‘DT’s?’
‘Dick-togs. They’re just so revealing.’
‘No worries there, I’ve already had a peek at the goods.’ She laughs again, this time covering her eyes with a hand, almost as though hiding from the admission. ‘Seriously though, if he turns up in Speedos today, I’m defo movin’ on!’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Out by the pool, my neighbours have been busy laying plates of nibbles and coolers of beer under the cabana. Placing my own jug of sangria on the table, I discretely readjust the sarong over my half masticated bum, and grab a beer from the esky or cooler or whatever it’s called here. With the intentions of taunting Niamh from a safe distance, I take a wedge of lime from a baggy and stuff it into the bottle-neck with a grin.
Food and booze—suck it, Niamh!
It’s pretty hot still, the air heavy with a moisture that clings to my bare skin as I follow Niamh to a table of girls, turning when a deep voice calls my name. Matt saunters across the tiles, casual in loud board shorts and a tee, his blonde hair tussled in a way you know there has to be product involved.
‘Hey, Matt.’ Taking me by surprise, he wraps me in a tight hug. I’m immobile in his embrace for a beat, bangle-covered arms suspended awkwardly in the air before I settle on an ineffectual one-handed pat on his back, the other still holding my beer.
‘You look great.’ He holds me by the shoulders, his warm, brown eyes fixed on mine. But at least he isn’t staring at my boobs.
‘Thanks.’ I grimace awkwardly, glancing away. ‘I’ve been meaning to apologise about my dummy-chuck the other day. Sorry,’ I add, with a small shrug.
‘Yeah, sure . . . I think.’ His words trail off in a confused sounding chuckle.
‘My outburst? Bawling at you then bailing. In the car?’ I was a little abrupt when he’d asked if I’d like to go for a drink, but then again, he was a bit rude about Kai. ‘And I never really said thanks for the drinks and the distraction after my mum . . . well, her call.’ Self-conscious and entirely uncomfortable, I step away, swallowing a mouthful of my rapidly warming beer.
‘Any time,’ he answers. ‘No worries, right?’
His mimicry of my accent makes me smile. I’m relieved and grateful at his efforts to ease my discomfort. He’s a nice guy, if a little bit overprotective, though God knows why he feels the need to be. I’m glad we can be friends, now I’ve set him straight. Told him I’m seeing Kai.
‘Hey, I see you’re not just a martini girl?’ He eyes my bottle, gaze remaining at my mouth when the bottle does not. ‘Listen, Kate—’
The remainder of his sentence goes unheard as I’m lifted from the ground and swung around by—
‘Kai!’
His eyes burn bright for a moment before he kisses me thoroughly, his hands on my bare back. Overt PDA’s are usually a total turn-off—I’m normally the one muttering ‘get a room’—but I respond to him almost on instinct, melting into him and rising on my toes to better reach his mouth. Thoughts disappear in an instant, discomfort ebbing away at his touch. I’m insensible to our surroundings until he literally sets me back on my heels, turning me. Arms draped around my waist, he rests his chin on my shoulder from behind. I’m all heaving boobs and jelly legs from his swoon-worthy kiss and I wonder if he can feel me tremble.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispers into my hair.
His intimate admission thrills me, but as Matt coughs, my wits return from love central, discomfort colouring my face. In the efforts to re-establish a sense of decorum, I decide official introductions are in order, even though each man is aware of the other, in a slightly uncomfortable way.
‘Kai, this is Matt, my neighbour. Matt, this is Kai, my . . .’ Friend? No, we’ve already established that isn’t appropriate. The man I’m trying not to love? Nope, that cat’s staying in the bag and I’ll drown it if necessary. What about my current pash? Squeeze? The man who fucks both my body and mind?
‘Boyfriend,’ Kai finishes succinct, stepping around me and offering a hand to Matt as the other lies at my hip, possessive still.
Did I miss that announcement somehow? Maybe he whispered it to me while I was asleep?
Matt looks sceptical for a beat, and why wouldn’t he be, especially as I look surprised myself. ‘I thought you said—’ With an intake of breath, he seems to swallow something that looks suspiciously like anger before starting again. ‘Have you known each other long?’
Another tricky one to answer. I purse my lips against telling him we’ve been together since his drunken advances pushed me into Kai’s arms.
Standing by my side, Kai glances back at me with entirely too innocent eyes.
‘Strange, I can’t remember a time before.’ Vomit inducing? Not at all. His tone is so rich and buttery, it practically melts along my neck. Wrapping both arms once more around me, he rubs his cheek against my hair. ‘Did I hear someone’s making martinis?’
I wonder what the Arabic for ah, shit is?’
‘Not today,’ Matt answers, slightly amused as he gestures to the bottle still in my hand. ‘I made Kate martinis last week. I was just saying I didn’t realise she was a beer girl, too.’
‘That’s Kate,’ Kai drawls, placing his lips at my temple. No, not that one, even if I do love it when he worships there. ‘She’s just full of surprises. I think I remember the day. I should probably thank you, if you had a hand in that. Dirty martinis for a very . . . dirty . . . girl.’
I’d like to say his words draw off into a whisper, but no. Whatever shade is redder than scarlet, I suspect I’m it. I squirm with discomfort as Kai’s arms tighten on my waist.
‘There you are!’ Thank God for red-headed Irish mercenaries, I mean mercies. Niamh’s voice travels across the pool to where we stand, the pair sizing each other up like bulls in a field. I suppose that makes me the prize heifer they both want to mount.
‘You two have met before, yeah?’ Niamh places her hand on Matt’s shoulder as she draws him slightly away. ‘Ah, but you haven’t a drink, man! Come on, I’ll show you the way to the grog. Better still, I’m sure Jen was looking for you.’ Her voice falls away but not before I catch, ‘Did I ever mention that woman would get up on a stiff breeze?’
‘What’s funny?’ Kai asks, a frown marring his just seconds ago smiling face.
‘She’s telling Matt Jen’s got the hots for him, that she’s a sure thing, but I think it got lost in translation.’ Forgetting his behaviour for the moment, I take his hand and move towards the cabana housing the drinks.
‘So Matt’s the martini man. I’d assumed you’d been drinking with Niamh when I’d called. I dropped you at the mall to see her, wasn’t that right?’
I nod in agreement. ‘You know what they say about assume,’ I reply lightly, handing him a bottle of Bud. ‘I had a drink with Matt in the afternoon, in between seeing Niamh and your call. I’ve told you, he’
s a mate.’
Sort of. Please let’s not go there again.
He studies the bottle, the condensation building on the outside and I begin to think he’s not a beer kind of guy after all. ‘He’s been upgraded from neighbour I see.’
‘Neighbour, mate.’ I shrug. ‘Pretty much the same.’
‘He’s very male, for a friend, don’t you think?’
‘You still think men and women can’t be friends?’ My tone is more than a little exasperated. This preoccupation with Matt is becoming a bit much.
‘A stretch in my experience,’ he says, frowning at his beer. Peeling the corner of the label from the bottle, he adds evenly as he raises his head, ‘You’re sure there’s nothing going on I should know about?’
And now it’s my time to frown. I was sure once the pair had met, Kai would see Matt’s no threat. That I’m not interested.
He places the untasted drink on the table, and his tone may still be bland but his expression is not. It catches me off guard, but not as much as his next words.
‘You’re quite sure you haven’t fucked?’
‘What exactly are you trying to say? That I sleep around?’
‘That you were pretty buzzed when I called.’
‘And alone. Do you think I’ve got no self-control?’
‘I’m saying you had been drinking.’ His voice is as dark as his gaze, his hands fastening around my forearms, my stupid bangles rattling.
‘As it happens, I’m quite able to restrain myself, thanks.’ My words are caustic as a sudden thought dawns. ‘I get it. I see what this is. Because I fucked you, right? You think I went back to your hotel room—our first night—because I was drunk?’
‘I don’t take advantage of drunken girls.’ He says nothing else, releasing me as though I burn to touch.
‘No? Well, for your information, drink had nothing to do with it—any of it.’ I reach out, grasping a handful of his shirt, not caring how this looks to those looking on. ‘I went with you because I couldn’t get you out of my head. I went because no matter how hard I tried to convince myself otherwise, I wanted you.’ As I release the fabric, his hand covers mine, his eyes reflecting my own anger and showing no hint of anything else. ‘And as for Matt, I was never interested in being that kind of friend to you. I certainly won’t be it for him.’