Arrogant Aussie

by Masen, Kat

  What the hell is wrong with you?

  This has to stop right now.

  My hands reach for the cold tap, and with one blast, the cold water sends me into shock, a small yelp escaping until I can no longer cope and step out.

  Dressing in a simple white sundress, I have absolutely no plans today, and that, in itself, could be my worst enemy. Sitting on the sofa, sinking beneath the scattered cushions, I grab my phone and see another text message from Sebastian. He’s heading into the city with some colleagues.

  I hate to think Oliver’s right.

  Sebastian has never given me the impression he’s seeing anyone else, let alone paying for sex. Maybe I had heard stories of other men like his brothers, doing so.

  Sebastian is different.

  Yet, at the end of the day, neither one of us defined the rules of being on a break. The decision was quick, my motive to clear my head given that he was raised in the same world as me, he somewhat understood the pressure.

  A break meant just that.

  This was never about seeing other people.

  My eyes close on their own accord—the image of Oliver leaning in so close to me replays, and the way he said ‘if you were mine,’ It’s like a broken record, a forbidden broken record because he should be the last thing on my mind.

  I let out a frustrated groan.

  Staring at the ceiling, it dawns on me that he’s a famous soccer player back in Australia, therefore if I want more, I could rely on my trusty friend, Google.

  I can’t have typed his name any quicker. There are thousands of search results that come back with articles—photographs of him playing soccer and others with him and a woman named Bianca.

  He obviously enjoyed his social life, always surrounded by friends and women. The media appeared relentless—one minute he’s crowned a hero for his gameplay and the next criticized for his mistakes.

  But the images which compel me the most are of his accident.

  I’m glued to the screen, examining the picture with his motorbike against the tree. In one photograph, there’ are emergency services surrounding a body on the ground. Upon reading the article, the body is him. A drunk driver ran a red light, smashing into Oliver flinging him off his bike causing almost fatal injuries.

  According to one news outlet, the way he landed on the grass patch saved his life, though it ended his career.

  The more I read, the more my stomach churns from all the information. I can’t help but pity him, and for everything he’s lost because of someone else’s stupidity.

  I want to walk over, tell him I’m sorry for being such a self-centered bitch when it’s clear he has a heavier weight on his shoulder. But instead, I continue to lay here and stalk him.

  It’s supposed to be only for an hour.

  Then it turns to hours.

  And before I know it, I have read almost every article about Oliver.

  The same time the sun begins to set, I know, somehow, Oliver Madden has crawled under my skin.

  Oliver

  The ceiling fan spins in endless circles, round and round, making it impossible to fall asleep amongst my strewed thoughts.

  The bedsheets begin to irritate me, crawling against my skin in this godawful summer heat. I rip them off and toss them to the floor to remove the unwanted weight almost burying me alive.

  Gabriella’s face spins around in my head—her voice and words, the way her lips part when she’s lost in thought, the arch of her brow when she’s retaliating to my careless words, and the bounce in her hair when she laughs, unknowingly.

  She isn’t like other women. She doesn’t throw herself on me like a pack of hungry wolves. Well, at least it wasn’t her intention on the first night. She made that very clear. And it’s possible her lack of sexual attraction to me is what’s causing my insomnia.

  Face it—she’s the only woman not to want you, and it’s quietly killing you.

  Feeling unwanted is unsettling. My pride is taking a major hit for the first time in my adult life.

  My eyes drift into sleep. My mind endlessly dreaming about her beneath my touch, inside my bed, pinned down, legs spread, succumbing to my commands, and my tongue gliding against her supple skin, inching closer and closer to her sweet spot.

  She begs for more, demanding I turn her around and take her on all fours.

  Harder.

  Harder.

  Until she screams my name.

  The sun peeks through the blinds, brutally waking me.

  It was just a dream.

  The ache inside my boxer shorts is all I can think about.

  Ignore it. Just ignore it, or you’ll make it ten times worse.

  Think about getting kicked in the nuts.

  Granny undies.

  Goats.

  My body relaxes, the tension ridding itself as the images taunt me. Somewhere in this house, Pixy is on alert, waiting for me to slip up. I’ll fall for his so-called charm, lean in, and tell him he’s a good goat until he lashes out marking his territory.

  I rub my face vigorously, wondering what the hell I should do until it dawns on me—I need an excuse to see her, and going for a run will be the perfect excuse. She happily obliged yesterday, so why will today be any different?

  I quickly put on my running gear, head toward the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face.

  Inside the kitchen, Chance is already up concocting his damn raw egg shake.

  “Wanna go for a run, mate?”

  “Um…” I scratch the back of my neck. “Yeah, but I kinda have plans.”

  Chance grins, swallowing the godawful drink he has made in that blender. Who knows what the guy puts in it. The shade of dark green is undesirable, yet he claims it gives him the stamina of a wild stallion.

  Just what I need to hear while staying under his roof.

  “Do plans include a certain female neighbor?”

  I don’t have to say anything, Chance can read me like a book. Bro code at its finest.

  “So, what happened to you and what’s her name?” he asks.

  I dread saying her name. Perhaps it’s the guilt of how I left things off back home. It wasn’t my finest moment, but I was in a dark place, and no good would come of us or any woman who was around me.

  “Bianca.”

  “Ah, yeah, Bianca. How is she?”

  “Good, I guess. I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? Don’t tell me you just left her? You guys were dating for a while. I thought you were going to marry her?”

  I can feel his judgment, but if anyone can understand, it’s Chance. I recall him getting serious with a girl back home but never paid too much attention to his previous relationships.

  “It was too much,” I admit, grabbing a bottle of water out of the fridge, then a protein bar from the cupboard. “The media was hounding me, then targeting Ma and Pa. Then they started going after Bianca. I just thought it would be a good idea if I disappeared to give her some freedom.”

  Offering a deep sigh and thoughtful expression, Chance follows through with a heavy nod. “I get it, mate. If anyone gets it, it’s me. But if you and Gabbie are starting something, you gotta fess up to the truth. Start with a clean slate. No secrets.”

  “We’re not starting something, okay? She’s a cool chick, and I just like playing her. Easy target.”

  “Be careful, that’s what I thought with Aubrey. That shit turns when you least expect it, and then bam…” he makes like an explosion with his hands, “… look at me. I’m the old ball and chain.”

  I laugh, finishing off the protein bar. “Your woman has ears, don’t go mouthing off like that. You’re a lucky man.”

  The bastard knows it, smiling in agreement.

  “Go for your run and be gone for an hour. I need some alone time with my wife.”

  I head out the door, feet firmly on the pavement. I forget about the fact that I am imposing on their home and make the decis
ion not to outstay my welcome and figure out my next move. But it all seems overwhelming for this time of the morning. Once I’ve finished my run, I will try to house hunt, again.

  I bang on Gabriella’s door, noting the time is quarter past six. There’s no answer. So, I bang a second time only to hear a muffled voice behind the door. It opens at a slow and agonizing pace. Wearing only a burgundy silk robe with her hair a frazzled mess, she stands between the crack of the door and arch, her eyes barely open.

  “Yeah.” She yawns.

  Beneath her robe, she’s wearing only a white tank with nothing underneath. My eyes immediately gaze across her chest, mesmerized by the shape of her nipples.

  Holy shit! Control yourself.

  Fuck! Like I needed a hard-on in these thin athletic shorts.

  “Do you always answer the door to strangers with no bra on?”

  Her eyes crack wide open, and in a mad dash, she pulls the robe around her chest attempting to cover what I have so gladly pointed out.

  “Argh, what are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Our run.”

  “Our what?”

  “Run. If you don’t run today, you’ll pay for it tomorrow. Your body will be in enormous pain. So, I’m saving you the girly rant tomorrow and doing you a favor.”

  “You’re doing me a favor by making me run with you again?” she questions, raising her perfectly sculpted brow.

  “Yes. Now can I come in, or should I wait for you to come up with some poor excuse as to why you’re doing something better?”

  Gabriella doesn’t say anything, unlocking the screen door. I follow her inside, watching her bare feet drag against the dark wooden floors. She heads toward the kitchen as if on autopilot, and turns the coffee machine on, then quickly checks her robe again.

  “Coffee?”

  “I’m good, thanks.” I lean against the countertop watching her move around. “What’s with the hair, Gabs?”

  “Please don’t call me that so early in the morning,” she mutters. “I had a rough sleep.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  Her cheeks turn a bright red against her gorgeous skin. Perhaps I’m not the only one taunted by wicked dreams. How delightful.

  “Um… no. Why would you ask?”

  “Because insomnia is my best friend. We go way back. I had a rough night, too.”

  “Oh, I see. Anything I can help with?” she asks, mimicking me.

  A broad smile consumes me, much to my pleasure. “Oh, sweetheart, you can always help me in that department. In fact, your braless attempt at answering the door is a great help.”

  She grunts, moving her mug to the counter. “Asshole.”

  “Have your coffee, grumpy pants, then we’re hitting the pavement.”

  “I’m dying. I’m officially dying.”

  I stop as Gabriella stands still, hands on her knees and out of breath. She’s cute in her little white shorts, pink tank, and skin covered in sweat.

  “You’re not dying. Now hurry up, you’re slowing me down.”

  “I’m… I’m… slowing you down?” She’s barely able to get out her words. “We’ve run from Hermosa to Redondo Beach. How much longer do you want to go?”

  I roll my eyes at her, running for thirty minutes is hardly a trophy-worthy exercise. “Fine, we can take a break.”

  “Uh, no break. I’m ready to catch an Uber back home. I seriously cannot feel my legs.”

  “You cannot feel your legs?”

  “No, they’re dead,” she exaggerates, again.

  I move toward her and scoop her up in my arms. She weighs practically nothing. Squiggling, she attempts to fight out of my tight grip.

  “Put me down. Are you crazy?”

  “Apparently, you can’t feel your legs, so I thought you might need some assistance.”

  With her body close to mine, her chest heaves against my own. I can’t help but allow my eyes to wander until she grabs my face with both hands, directing it back to hers.

  “Eyes up here, mister. And fine, I was exaggerating.” Her tone softens, pouty lips telling me she’s sorry. “Seriously, put me down before I—”

  “Before you what?”

  “Scream. And then everyone’s going to think you’re some sort of kidnapper. You’ll be arrested. Sent to jail. And you will be questioning why every time you bend down to grab a bar of soap, your ass is so damn sore.”

  I laugh at her analogy. “Some mouth on you, Gabs. Prince Charming hear you talk like that?”

  Her body relaxes in my hold.

  “No,” she drags, trying hiding her smile. She drops her legs to the ground as I steady her waist.

  “Okay, you done with the girly whine. I promise, one more mile.”

  “Fine.”

  We take the last mile slow, a painful jog as I like to call it. We make it down to the water, grabbing a smoothie along the way at Sally’s before sitting on the edge of the pier, legs dangling, watching the sunrise.

  “It’s so beautiful here.” Her eyes sparkle as she talks—hazel with speckles of gold reflecting from the light. “I’ve always wanted to live by the ocean.”

  It is beautiful here.

  Different to back home, yet equally as mesmerizing as we both stare into the blue sea. Being beside her feels different than anything I’ve felt before. It’s almost effortless.

  “Where is back home?”

  “Colorado.”

  “Nice. Never been.”

  “Really?” She seems surprised. “It’s beautiful. I mean, it’s not like here, and there are no views of the ocean, but Aspen is gorgeous in the winter.”

  “Sounds like you miss it.”

  She sighs, her shoulders falling as her eyes wander across the sea in front of us. “I miss the place, not the lifestyle. My family is… they’re in politics and very wealthy. With that comes certain expectations.”

  Gabriella has dropped hints, here and there, though never confiding the complete truth. She always appears troubled, aside from moments like a few minutes ago.

  “So, I’m trying to piece the puzzle again. You’re from Colorado. Your family is in politics and very wealthy. You’re ‘on a break.’” Raising my hands, I air quote which seems to irritate her. “And Prince Charming is okay with all this?”

  “Sebastian,” she says, correcting me. “Agreed. You wouldn’t understand… the pressure and all.”

  I let out a long-winded whistle. “If anyone understands, it’s me. I may not be from a family of politicians, but I had every die-hard soccer fanatic and media outlet keep their eyes on me. I got paid each time I scored. Ridiculous amounts of money were thrown at me providing I performed. If that’s not pressure, then I don’t know what is.”

  “And then, what happened?”

  I close my eyes. “I don’t like talking about it.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… pried.”

  “You finished your drink? Maybe we can take it slow on the way back? Wouldn’t want to have you die of a coronary heart attack on the way.”

  She laughs, patting my shoulder. “Sounds good. I wouldn’t be opposed to piggy-backing on that steep hill near home.”

  “Be careful what you wish for. I was in several piggy-back races as a child. I may have even won a local race.”

  “What was the prize?”

  “You didn’t get your face smashed into a pile of mud by the town bully.”

  “Aww.” Her smile is innocent, and her attempt to feel sorry for me is absolutely pathetic. “That’s so cute.”

  “Cute?” I raise my brow at her. “You’re twisted, Gabs. C’mon, get your arse off the ground and let’s do this.”

  I extend my hand, her own reaching for mine. When she’s standing beside me, our gaze locks as something passes between us.

  I don’t know what the hell it is, nor can I explain the way it makes me feel.

  I only know this—Gabriella is a heartbr
eaker.

  And I am directly in her path.

  Gabriella

  We walk slowly back to the house, taking in the seaside scenery which is impossible when you’re running.

  Oliver loves to talk about his childhood—his face lights up every time he mentions his ma and pa back home. I enjoy listening—his upbringing a polar opposite to mine. He was raised on a farm, along with his two younger sisters, Rory and Matilda, then in his teenage years, his family decided to move to Sydney to give him a decent chance at playing professional soccer.

  “So, I guess living on a farm, you probably love being around Pixy?”

  Oliver’s expression changes instantly. He blinks rapidly, shoulders tightening as we walk side by side. “Ah… I kinda had an incident with a goat when I was young.”

  I wait for him to tell me, but seconds pass followed by nothing. It’s obvious I’m going to have to drag it out of him. The guy’s as stubborn as a mule.

  “And?”

  “Promise not to laugh?”

  I cross my heart, already smiling because I know he will make me laugh.

  “You’re already laughing!”

  “I’m not…” I try to keep a straight face, struggling to compose myself. Pursing my lips and biting them together, my smile disappears. “See?”

  With his brow raised, eyeing me dubiously, he rubs his jaw, watching my expression with uncertainty. “Okay, so I was about eight when we had two goats, Sonny and Cher.”

  “You had goats named Sonny and Cher?”

  “My parents were hippies, and you know that era. So, one day at school, this boy, Caleb, was teasing me, calling me a wuss because I had two sisters, so I must be a girl. The actual truth is I had a crush on this girl, Milly, and so did he.” He draws in a deep breath, then continues, “Anyway, he followed me home that day because he lived one property down from us and saw Sonny and Cher. He said that if I weren’t a girl, I needed to take off my red hat and wave it at them to see if they would move.”

  “Oh no, then what happened?”

  Oliver folds his arms across his chest, his gaze flicking upward. “They weren’t bulls, so I was confident nothing would happen, especially because Pa once told me goats couldn’t see red. And I believed him until Sonny rammed me left field and knocked me over.”