by Jena Petrie
"Something happened with a guy but we never felt we could broach the subject. Until you introduced it, we couldn't help."
Lauren continued, her tone equally gentle. "So if you told us now that you'd met someone who'd put your fears aside, we'd all celebrate. Mm?"
What caring friends! Tears sprang to Bailey's eyes and she covered her mouth to hide the way her lips pushed together in the tell-tale sign. What she needed was inner strength, not this emotional giveaway that had taken control of her face. "I did," she whispered when she finally managed to speak. "I met him, and he was gorgeous and funny and protective and teasing, and I loved being with him."
"Wow." Lauren relaxed against the sofa. "That's great news."
"Who is he?" Gemma hissed into Bailey's ear as she leaned over and hugged her again.
"Someone I spoke to on Friday." Only two days ago. Seemed like a lot more, they'd done so much since then. "Guess who that was?"
For a moment Lauren studied her glass before looking over at Gemma. "She spoke to her boss but it wouldn't be him, right?"
"Too bald," Gemma agreed as she sauntered back to the sofa and sank down.
"A new colleague, perhaps?"
"No-one would start on a Friday."
"Mm. Guess not." Lauren's lips pushed together as if thinking deeply.
"Not the mayor."
"Too old," Lauren agreed between chewing chips from the packet she'd grabbed off the table.
"And the Prime Minister's a woman, so not her—I hope!" Gemma gave an exaggerated shudder that made Bailey grin. These two were always good at theatrics.
"What about that celebrity guest who was supposed to give a talk at your school Friday afternoon but went to mine instead?" A thoughtful look had appeared in Lauren's eyes as she looked over at Gemma.
"Did you ring her about that after I told you?"
"Yeah, I did. What was his name again?" Lauren's lips pushed together and she looked at the ceiling. "Come on Bailey! Help us out here."
"You mean Connor Freeman, the Olympic gold medallist."
Lauren slapped her knee. "That's right, and from your reaction, your dream interviewee. So, did you meet him? Talk to him?" Suddenly her mouth fell open. "My God, it was him, wasn't it? You went away with him."
"Finally." Bailey chuckled. "Sure spun out the Q & A, you two. Was that for your fun or to wind me up 'cause you sure succeeded with the second. Not that it took me long to cotton on to what you were up to."
Both girls grinned but apparently weren't finished yet.
"But, Bailey." Lauren's head moved sideways like a clock's pendulum. "Are you saying you went away—on your own—with a guy you'd only just met?"
"I did." Even to her, Bailey's giggle sounded like a tipsy school-girl's. "I asked him for an interview to write my very first magazine article. He needed some rest and relaxation before he started back into training tomorrow, so he invited me to join him for the weekend so we could satisfy both our requirements."
"And did you? Satisfy your requirement?"
Smart-arse Gemma. "Oh, yeah. Got heaps of material to work on." Bailey screwed up her nose at her friend. "Did heaps, too. Saw the best things, ate magnificent food—"
"In Sherdon?" Lauren looked sceptical.
"No. Mount Cook." Bailey chuckled as both their mouths fell open.
"Wow." Gemma added.
"Yeah, and we got to know each other. Awesome weekend."
"What the hell were you thinking?" Lauren's tone sounded deadly serious as she sat forward, fingers gripping her knees. "Even I know his reputation."
"I was thinking of this article, and his offer to help." In hindsight it sounded too impulsive and far too risky. Downright stupid, in fact. No wonder the girls were worried.
"Good God, Bailey. That's so not like you but you spent a whole weekend with him? I mean, with him? Lucky girl!" Gemma rolled her eyes in a look of adoration.
"Lucky guy, you mean," Lauren corrected.
"Like I said, separate bedrooms," but Bailey's voice had come out quiet. Why, when she'd needed it strong, powerful, convincing?
"Even so, this puts a different spin on things, doesn't it?" Gemma squished the empty packet in her hand.
"In what way?" Bailey demanded, watching her flatmate tear open another foil packet. "He acted the perfect gentleman. Kept to my rule of a business only weekend and never pushed; not once. Total contrast to the rumours about him." Her hand dived into the packet Gemma offered and grabbed a fistful of crisps.
"As long as he didn't persuade you to move in with him or anything, now your professional job is done," Lauren warned with a frown as she watched Bailey. "God, he didn't, did he?"
"Course not." But regrets clogged her throat and she almost choked on a crisp. "How could I leave you two clowns?"
Gemma dropped the bag on the centre table and folded her arms. "But you are going to write about him?"
"He told me to go ahead but I don't think–"
"Not going to bail now, are you? After getting the perfect interview?" Gemma looked totally shocked at the prospect.
But Bailey's fingers had curled into a tight ball. Gemma wouldn't know she'd used one of Niall's hateful phrases. Her brother's shortened version of her name as a taunt had always brought on an automatic retaliation. "I—"
"Better write it quickly," Lauren advised as she helped herself to the snacks, but her bossy tone did nothing to sooth Bailey's tension.
"Trouble is, I..." She gulped, studied her nails. "Well, after spending a weekend with him it feels too personal, and I'm worried about revealing parts of his private life that he insisted on keeping hidden. Guess I asked too many questions."
"That suggests you've started a relationship," Gemma commented, but there was a question in her voice.
Bailey's head jerked up. "No we didn't. What would be the point when he lives so far away?"
"Tempted, though, aren't you?" Lauren suggested, her tone gentle.
Gemma sipped her wine, watching Bailey over the rim. "Sure you're not hero-worshiping? He is the most gorgeous guy in the New Zealand rowing squad."
"Not hero-worshiping and no, I'm not tempted. Not when my last boyfriend was a sportsman who used me." But Bailey's attempt at denial felt artificial and flat and her excuse, as feeble as a puppet with broken strings.
"This guy's reputation doesn't seem to bother you," Lauren challenged.
"When it's one of the reasons I insisted on separate bedrooms? I don't think you've grasped how seriously I treated this interview, Lauren."
"In that case, damn." Lauren's support went straight to Bailey's heart.
"Bummer." That was Gemma.
"Bugger, you mean. It's stronger." Lauren's schoolteacher reprimand came through loud and clear.
"I'll give you stronger. Crap." Gemma again.
"Shit."
Sounded like a slinging match, only with words.
"F—"
"Fizzlecrackergumdrops," Bailey interrupted, her stomach tightening in anticipation of her friends' response, until they collapsed against the sofa, laughing. "You two are so supportive and I love you to bits but it was time to stop. Anyway, what's the point getting involved with a guy who lives so far away? If I moved, I'd miss you too much." Standing, she prepared to leave the room.
"Aw, what a lovely thing to say." Lauren wrapped Bailey in a hug, then turned to Gemma with her hand out. "You owe me, buddy. Twenty bucks. Come on."
A frown lowered Bailey's eyebrows as she watched. "What's that about?"
"A bet," Gemma explained, pulling the note from her pocket and handing it over. "I bet you'd need at least two glasses of wine before you told about the weekend. Lauren said she could do it with one."
"You what?"
"Don't blame me, girlfriend," Lauren held her hands up in surrender as Gemma laughed. Every time your boss got under your skin we hoped you'd realise you should change jobs and here you were, meeting the most suitable interviewee for a magazine-length article."
"A
nd we also knew Connor had been a long-time hero of yours," Gemma continued.
"Which probably had a lot to do with your taking up the sport."
"Even more than my recommendation," Lauren added.
"So we had our fingers crossed–" To demonstrate, Gemma held up both hands with crossed fingers.
"That you'd got your interview on Friday." Lauren continued. "Honestly, it seemed the only logical thing that could have happened at such short notice and of course we were thrilled for you. Kept hoping you were enjoying his company and he wasn't making the interview too much of an ordeal."
"Not like us, at any rate," Gemma chimed in. "We missed you. Went to our usual haunts but without you to attract the guys, we were a bit lonely. Neither of us got a pick-up, or even a come-on. Pretty boring, really."
Bailey laughed. The idea of her being the prime attraction in the pubs was so far from the truth it sounded hilarious. "Seems I had a better time than you."
"Sure does." Lauren stood. "Now go and unpack while Gemma and I get dinner, even though it's your turn since you've been away the last two nights."
"Okay, okay, but at least you'll be better prepared next time because I'm giving you notice now. I'm going to Sherdon next weekend for action photos of Connor and to finish the interview."
And when she snuck a glance over her shoulder, she couldn't help the smile that spread over her face at the shocked expressions. Had really caught them unawares over that bombshell. Great.
***
"Come on Freeman, concentrate! You're out of time." With the air so still, the coach's voice shot through the megaphone, loud as a cannon.
Hell! Connor fought against the vision of Bailey and jerked on his oars, upsetting the balance of the boat. Shit!
In front of him, Ken adjusted his rhythm, and carried on. More careful now, Connor followed, making sure he matched the stroke's movements this time. His position, that stern seat, but Jeff had changed them around today. Damn crappy idea. Just added to the mounting problems since leaving Bailey.
And now, damn it all—blisters.
What a dumb arse not to have worked at hardening his hands, or started pre-training.
"Ss!" Behind him, Pete hissed the warning and again, Connor jerked to attention.
One kilometre up the lake the grey clouds dropped their bundle in one tremendous dump, dripping water in his eyes, pounding his legs and making the oar handle so slippery he could hardly hold on. Was this what he'd come back for? Had he given up Bailey for this? What a nutcase. One Olympic gold medal should be enough for any guy. And he was aiming for another four?
Insane.
So insane, it had put Bailey off completely.
"Okay. You can turn around," Jeff called at last. "We'll make this a short session today since it's your first time back."
Thank God. Still, Connor grimaced against the sting in his palms. Now that training had started, no sore would heal until the next break and that wasn't for three months, after the national championships.
How could he caress Bailey's face with rough, blistered hands? How could he touch any part of her? She'd hate it. So much, she might even give up on him and any chance of a relationship. Rejection was a bastard, but what could he do?
Right now though, he had to focus on the rowing goal and pretend everything was sweet in his private life for the sake of the crew. Defending their world title next year had to take precedence over everything else.
Finally the session finished. Connor dived under the shower, staying longer than usual because the warm water soothed his aches inside as well as out. God, even his back hurt today. If only Bailey had come. A massage from her soothing fingers would bring him right in no time.
"Well, Free-bee. What was wrong with you out there?" Pete blocked Connor's exit from the showers, his eyes screwed up like slits in a closed venetian blind. "Something else on your mind? Something more important than rowing?"
Ken's taller frame joined them. "Better give you the job of steering the boat, mate. That'll make you concentrate."
Ouch. "Sorry, guys. Been away too long I guess," and Connor turned his palms over, displaying the blisters that had broken long before the crew arrived back at the pontoon. "Must have been distracted, and being wet for so long didn't help."
All three of his crewmates studied his palms with sounds like "Oh," "Poor you," and "Ouch," but there was no sympathy in their tones. Then, as one, their heads lifted and they glared at him.
"Stupid bugger," Ken said from his superior height. "Why haven't you been treating them?"
"Dumb not to," Aaron agreed with a nod.
"I've been doing it the last two weeks," Pete added, his tone more sympathetic than the others'.
"And how many trips around the country have you lot done since you got back from Europe, huh?" Connor asked, filling his tone with disdain. "How many talks have you given? How much time spent on planes, waiting at airports, and how many different beds have you had to try sleeping in? I forgot, okay? Too many other things going on. So quit the flak and start sympathising with this poor bugger in his suffering, huh?" Elbowing them aside, he stalked away, through the outside doors and into brilliant sunshine.
"Well, I'll be damned!" His thoughts escaped out loud as he stopped to gaze at the steam rising from the path. Why the hell hadn't the sun shone while they were on the water?
Back home he looked around the flat, almost bare without Pete's furniture, TV and the magazines inevitably scattered around. Going to be hard getting used to no company.
He slipped his iPod into the dock so the music went through the speakers instead of the headphones but it sounded tinny, off-key and boring. What sort of music did Bailey like? They'd never discussed the subject, yet her likes and dislikes were part of her character and without that information he'd never know her completely.
God, if only her agreement to visit had been for him. For them. Seeing her again couldn't come soon enough.
Skype! They could Skype. Then he could see her, watch every expression on her face as she spoke or listened. He'd see her reactions to his accounts of the training, the jokes the crew shared, these damn blisters. Hearing sympathy in her voice might even reduce the pain.
Except he'd never thought to ask for her Skype name.
Well, okay. He'd ring.
Picking up his cell phone he paused. Damn it all, he'd never got her number either. Nor her email address, even though she'd promised.
Like he'd promised to send that photo.
Connor's body stiffened till he stood soldier-straight. Hell, one weekend together and already he missed her like crazy. Didn't make sense when there was still so much about her to learn. Why hadn't they just sat and talked? Instead, he'd been too damn intent on impressing her, always in the hope she'd like him enough to agree to move into Pete's old room.
Or his.
Selfish bastard.
Plonking onto the old but comfy sofa Pete had left, Connor propped elbows on knees, chin in his hands—until he felt the blisters. Damn!
Couldn't anything go right today? Even a call to her at the newspaper was out, in case of reprisals.
Or in case she'd already been dismissed.
Fingers closed over the blisters and he snapped his teeth and shut his eyes against the pain, seeing only the deep, dark hole of a lonely future.
CHAPTER 7
"Party ti–ime," Pete sang from the doorway as he walked through the French doors into the living room.
Connor looked up from glaring at his silent phone for the millionth time. What the hell was this? Behind Pete and his carton of beer came his partner Michelle, carrying a bowl that she dumped on the table. Following her, Connor's other crewmates walked in. Aaron and his wife Suzy, Ken and his girlfriend Nat. All carrying bottles, dishes and bowls of food that they placed on the table.
Walking along the line, he kissed each woman on the cheek, but God, he'd rather kiss Bailey. "Good to see you lot again."
They returned his greeting with a
friendly hug and Michelle paused before letting go. "You okay?" she asked, too quietly for anyone else to hear.
So Pete—supposedly best mate Pete—had spilled the beans about training this morning. Well, thanks for nothing, mate.
As each woman moved away he studied them more closely than usual.
Yup, Bailey would sure fit in with them easy, dressed in their typical styles. Michelle's bright orange top picked up the same colour in her flowery skirt, made of so much flimsy material it kind of floated around her legs. Suzy, or Sexy Suzy, as Aaron called her, wore a snug low-cut top and long white shorts, while Nat's skin-tight blue jeans and pale flowery top emphasized her tall skinny frame.
How would Bailey dress, if she'd come? A loose top to hide her luscious curves and the well-worn jeans she'd taken to Mt Cook, or something more dressy?
The three women moved into the kitchen and he nodded at the food they'd left on the table. "What's this?"
"Can't you see?" Aaron asked with a smirk as he unpacked bottles of beer and wine. "It's dinner, mate, for all of us. Including you." He handed Connor a beer and helped himself to another. "Cheers."
Michelle appeared with bowls of nibbles and handed around crisps, crackers and dip before returning them to the table. "Help yourselves from now on, guys," she called as she returned to the kitchen.
Connor stared at his mates. "How long have you lot been planning this?"
"Pete's idea," Aaron told him, pushing forward and moving several dishes to make room for the salad dish Suzy held. "He reckoned that because he's the only one who's from Sherdon, it was his job to welcome everyone back."
"Then why aren't we at his place?"
"A surprise for you, the last to arrive. Anyway, don't suppose you've bought any food since you got back."
"Have so."
"You mean you went shopping? In a supermarket? With a list?" Pete sounded like he'd never heard such an improbability.
"I did, but you'd better leave some food so I can have a fry-up for breakfast."
"Yeah?" Ken raised his eyebrows as he looked across the group at Connor. "If you went shopping, why don't you have food?"