He laughs, nodding his head in agreement. “It’s awesome.”
Seven
Paige
“Oh look, lover boy’s outside waiting for you again,” Andrea teases as she reconciles the receipts from the till and counts up the day’s takings.
I look up from the pile of stray hairs I'm sweeping, and there he is waiting on exactly the same spot he always is. He’s like a stray puppy: I cut his hair, had a conversation with him, and now we are best friends. I’d find it annoying if I didn’t find him so adorable. It’s a funny thing to think of a grown man—a manly man like Elliott—as adorable. But that’s what he is. It’s like he’s so untouched by the evil in the world that he’s still pure at heart. And despite my reservations, I have to admit I enjoy the five minutes of conversation I have with him at the end of my day. Andrea enjoys it too; she practically molests him with her eyes every time.
“He’s not my lover. His train gets in a little before we close and he likes to say hi since I’m moving into the flat soon. This is his way of getting to know me. Making sure I’m not a crazed serial killer or something, you know, the usual.”
Andrea laughs. “Men who look like Elliot don’t stand around in a train station after a long day at work to hang out with a potential flat mate. If I wasn’t stepping on your toes, I’d so be chasing after that boy. He’s all kinds of delicious.”
“I assure you, Andrea. My toes will not be squashed. Go for it,” I tell her flatly, focussing on attacking a stubborn piece of hair that won’t move out of the grout in the tiles.
The room feels too quiet, and when I look up, she’s watching me with her eyebrows arched high on her forehead. “That broom and I both know you’re into him, Paige, you’re only trying to convince yourself that you aren’t.”
“I don’t date.”
She pushes the cash drawer closed with her hip. “Well, you should.”
Choosing to ignore her comment, I finish sweeping and deposit the small pile in the bin before I move over to wash out the basins.
“You can go home now, Paige. He's waited long enough,” Andrea says, winking at me as she walks the bundled-up cash to the back room to put into the safe.
Collecting my bag and coat from the cupboard, I head out the door, my heart beating annoyingly fast when Elliot and I lock eyes.
“Hi,” I say on a breath.
A smile creeps over his face, and I inwardly shake my head. I don’t believe for a second that he isn’t interested in me. Pity he’s barking up the wrong tree.
“Hey, stranger.” God, he has a pretty smile. “I have an invitation for you.”
“Oh?” I stop a good metre away from him, needing distance.
“We’re having a get together tomorrow night to farewell Petra, and since you’re the new housemate, everyone wanted me to invite you along.”
“OK. Where is it?”
“Not sure. It’s dinner at a restaurant, and they want to go dancing afterwards.”
“Dinner and dancing?” I bite the inside of my lip. “Like, at a club?” I haven’t been inside one for years.
“That’s the plan. I’ll meet you here after work and walk with you to the flat if you like.”
“Is this something you guys do a lot?”
He nods. “There’s been a lot of drinking so far. This is the first time dancing has been included though.”
I don’t drink. And I’ve avoided night clubs like the plague for five years. Too many memories, too many gaps in my memory. I’m not a party girl any more. But I’m also not in Sydney any more. Nobody knows me here. There’s no chance I’m going to run into somebody who remembers what I used to be. I’m just Paige. I’m a blank slate.
“I’ll come,” I say, feeling a strange sense of control as I meet his eyes.
His grin widens. “Excellent. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”
“Tomorrow.” I nod, then I back away, heading for the station entrance.
“Goodbye, Paige,” he calls after me, and my stomach jumps for joy at the sound of my name on his lips. Don’t.
Not even meaning to turn around, I shoot a small smile over my shoulder as I go through the gates. I can feel him watching me. The skin on my back heats and my sides contract, reminding me to be careful. Men have the power to destroy. They offer hope, comfort and companionship. Then they use it to pull you apart piece by piece, to sell you out. I can’t forget that.
* * *
Elliot
Is it wrong that I’ve been counting down the hours and minutes until Petra leaves? I feel shitty about it because I like Petra. She’s a cool chick. I'm just happy because it means Paige is moving into the flat. Now I’ll get to see her for more than five minutes each day.
I know I sound like a lovesick fool who won’t take a hint. She’s got a massive wall up that she doesn’t want to take down. But I also know there are cracks in that wall. During every moment I persist, I see a tiny crack of light when I think she wishes those walls weren’t there. And there’s something inside me that wants to keep chipping away at those cracks until the bricks fall and I find her hidden inside there. It’s crazy. But I have to know her. And I don’t have time to be patient.
It’s only this week that I’ve understood where Naomi’s brazenness came from. Three months is a tiny amount of time when you’re chasing something.
Paige walks out of the salon a little later than normal, but she’s changed into a long-sleeve wraparound dress and a pair of heels. Her hair is straight and shiny, and she’s wearing a tiny amount of makeup, which I really like. I'm not a fan of women with big black lines around their eyes and thick lipstick. It just looks fake to me. Like they’re trying too hard or hiding themselves. I like it when they look like they’re supposed to.
Stopping in front of me, she puts her hands on her hips. “Ready?”
“Wow, you look gorgeous,” I gush. Fuck. I’m an idiot. I actually watch her walls locks in place.
She raises her brow. “You need to stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I hold my hands up, feigning innocence.
“Like you want to eat me,” she replies, completely serious.
“What? You look gorgeous. I paid you a compliment. Friends do that, right?”
She draws a tight breath. “Number one, I have a mirror. I know what I look like. When my hair isn’t styled, I look like a demented witch. When it is styled, I still look like a witch—it’s the eyes—but a well put together witch. Number two, me moving in isn’t going to change anything. You’re not going to find yourself in me, Elliot Roberts.”
I inhale the same way she did; through my nose like I’m trying to keep my cool. “Number One, you’re gorgeous and you know it. Don’t put yourself down, and number two, I like you, Paige Larsen. Deal with it.”
With her eyes narrowed, she studies me for a beat. “I’m not starting anything with you.”
“I can like you and not fuck you, Paige. Last I checked that was called being friends.” I’m not normally this blunt, but it seems the best way to communicate with her.
Regarding me thoughtfully, she nods her head. “As long as we’re clear where we stand,” she says.
“You have made yourself loud and clear, Paige Larsen. And for the record, just because a guy is being nice to you, doesn’t mean he’s trying to get inside your pants.”
“That’s not my experience,” she says, before hooking her bag over her shoulder and walking towards the exit.
“Then you’re not meeting the right kind of men,” I say, as I catch up to walk next to her. I make sure to keep my distance, not wanting to give her the wrong impression. Although, who am I kidding, she has the exact right impression.
Paige
Dinner is at some Indian restaurant. The food is superb, and it gives me a good opportunity to get to know some of the other housemates—especially Naomi, who I’m to share a room with.
I pay as much attention to her as I can, asking lots of questions about her life and complim
enting her at every opportunity. I see the way she’s looking at Elliot, and I don’t want her to see me as someone who’s vying for his attention. I want us to get along.
“What made you become a hairdresser?” she asks.
“I just kind of fell into it. Do you know how hard it is to create your hair colour?” I ask her, steering the conversation so we’re focusing on her and not me.
“Really?” she asks. “I’ve never done anything with it. I was thinking of becoming a red head. You know that nice auburn colour?”
“Oh no, don’t do that. Your hair is amazing,” I tell her. She has light natural-blonde hair a little longer than her shoulders. It’s streaked with different shades of red, brown and caramel. “We try to recreate that natural blonde look for women every day, but it never looks as good as the real thing.” The way she smiles at me she’s exhibiting a new appreciation of her god-given colouring. I think I’ve just made myself a friend.
“You do that a lot, don’t you?” Elliot asks quietly at my side.
“Do what?” I question him, not understanding what he means.
“Deflect.”
Shifting uncomfortably, I meet his eyes. He needs to stop watching me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He leans on the table and speaks in a low voice that only I can hear. “Sure you do. Someone asks you a question, and you give them a cryptic answer that leads to a question about them. You missed your calling as a politician or a journalist, maybe. It’s an impressive skill.”
“Hmmm.” I don’t have anything else to say, so I just smile and wink at him—I have no idea why I winked. It just seemed like the thing to do in that moment—then I turn away and begin a new conversation with Petra.
“Are you looking forward to going home?”
“Yes, and no. I miss my family. But I’m gonna miss these guys too. They’ve become like family and I’ve had so much fun living here. You’re lucky you never have to leave.”
Thank God I never have to go back.
When dinner is over, I try to beg off so I can go back to my hotel—I still don’t want to go to a nightclub—but the others won’t hear of it. “You can’t go home now,” Naomi says, hooking her arm through mine. “The fun part hasn’t even started yet.”
“Thanks, Naomi. But I still have to go back there to pack my things and be out by ten in the morning.”
“That’s easy. You can stay with us on the couch at the flat tonight, and we’ll get Shane to drive you out there and collect your things in the morning. He won’t mind.”
“Naomi, it’s…” I try to protest, but she doesn’t stay long enough to hear, rushing over to Shane and asking if he can help me out in the morning. They both give me a thumbs up and nod their heads, letting me know they have sorted everything. I love how good they are at listening…
Elliot moves in next to me. “Gee, you’d think she’d know you well enough to let you make your own choices, especially after you shared so much information about yourself earlier,” he comments, the sarcasm practically dripping off his words.
“And you know me so much better?” I say in retort.
He shakes his head. “No, I don’t know anything about you.” He walks backwards, watching me for a few steps before turning around and catching up to the other guys as we walk towards the night club.
That was really strange. He’s normally so bubbly and polite and suddenly he has an attitude? Under my skin, I quietly fume. This is exactly why I don’t trust men. They act one way with you when they want something, and the moment they realise they aren’t going to get it, they turn mean. Thanks for reaffirming that viewpoint, Elliot.
Petra and Naomi fall in either side of me and I fix my smiling mask. Reinventing myself is a huge emotional effort.
“You’re going to love this place, Paige,” Petra gushes. “There’s always great music and tons of people. We go and get drunk, and then we dance until we can’t walk anymore.”
“Sounds great.” I force out a laugh, trying to sound enthusiastic. I couldn’t think of anything worse.
“We booked a table on the mezzanine level too,” Naomi adds. “Tonight will be epic, and since you don’t have to worry about going back to your hotel, you get to cut loose with us.”
Reaching back, I run my fingers underneath the neck of my dress and along my shoulder. Keep me strong, I whisper in my mind as I shift my focus forward. You’re different now. Stronger.
Eight
Elliot
At twenty-seven, I’m starting to feel too old for the club scene. But Petra is only twenty, and she loves it. So, her farewell, her choice. But when it’s almost ten o’clock on a Friday night, and we’re standing outside a nightclub in the midst of a bunch of eighteen-year-old girls, shivering their butts off in tiny skirts and way too much makeup, I’m feeling my age. Or maybe it’s just jetlag?
This is her favourite place. It's called Fabric, and as she tells it, there are three different rooms where DJs play all night. It sounds enormous. And really, really loud. Hmm, it’s definitely my age.
The doors open and Petra leads us straight to the front of the cue. She’s booked a table on the mezzanine level for all of us so we can either sit and drink or get down and dance in the sweaty pit of people expected below. Personally, I’d rather not go down there. I’m not much of a dancer unless I’m drinking, and I’ve had so much alcohol this week my liver is threatening divorce. I need to go slow for a night.
Once upstairs, a waitress comes to our table and takes everyone’s drink orders, returning quickly and handing them around. I sip slowly as I watch everyone’s smiling faces, entertained by their attempts to interact with each other over house music that mutes their voices to everyone but the ear they’re yelling in.
Paige stands at the railing, talking to Petra while she holds her drink and looks out over the room. She’s bouncing her knee to the beat which sways her arse and attracts the attention of a few of the guys at another table. I can see them ogling her while they unashamedly and very obviously talk about her. And why wouldn’t they? She doesn’t look anything like a witch as she claims. She has this ethereal quality about her that makes her look like a golden goddess.
“Come and dance,” Naomi says in my ear, leaning on the seat next to me.
I shake my head and show her the beer I’ve barely touched. “Maybe later.”
She gives me a smile, bouncing her shoulder before dragging Petra and Brian with her, leaving Paige at the railing on her own. One of the ogling guys takes that as his cue to try this luck. She smiles at him, and I grit my teeth. Those smiles belong to me. The jealous thought hits me as a growl in my chest, and I have to stop myself from getting up and dragging her away from him. Keep your cool, Elliot. She’s not yours yet.
She shakes her head ‘no’ when he inclines his head to the dance floor. Then he puts his hand on her arm to coax her by force. No, you fucking don’t. That’s where my ability to hang back ends and my protectiveness kicks in. She said no.
As I rise to my feet, Paige’s brow furrows as she looks from him to the hand on her arm and pushes him away from her. I can’t hear her, but her mouth forms, “Fuck off.” And the guy is such an idiot he tries to grab her around the waist and dance with her where they stand. I’m gonna kill him. I don’t care how drunk you are; you don’t touch a girl when she’s saying no to you. This guy just earned a punch to the face, and I don’t give them out often.
Just as I’m about to reach out, Paige pushes the guy away. There’s a fire in her eyes as she flicks her glass, splashing the contents all over the guy’s face. I halt my advance, as in one swift move, she grabs the guy’s shoulders and jams her knee into his crotch, stepping back when he doubles over to brush the back splash from her drink off her dress like this is something she handles every day.
Paige
What a jackass! I said I didn’t want to dance, and I meant it. I hate people touching me when I don’t invite them to. And he just messed with the wrong girl
. Fucker.
Brushing my hands over my dress, I step over the groaning drunkard and come face-to-face with Elliot. He has his mouth wide open, eyeing the crumpled guy I just kneed in the groin.
“I think I’d better leave,” I say close to his ear, needing to yell over the music.
His mouth spreads into a smile. “I think I just fell in love with you,” he says, nodding his head appraisingly.
“Is that all it takes?” I laugh. A real, genuine laugh as I tuck my purse under my arm. “Tell Petra and Naomi goodbye for me?”
“I’ll go with you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need you to. As you can see, I don’t need protecting.”
“I do see that. But you’d be doing me a favour. I’m not into nightclubs, anymore. I've had enough of them. Besides, you’re supposed to be staying with us tonight, and I have the keys.” He pulls them from his pocket and dangles them in front of me.
“Fine, let’s go,” I agree, empathising with his need to get out of this club. I remember a time when the music pumped along with my blood and dancing all night led to fucking until the early morning. But that girl isn’t me anymore, and I have no desire to relive it.
We stop off at the table and interrupt Shane and his girlfriend while they make out, letting them know we’re leaving. Who knows if they’ll remember? They seem pretty smashed right now.
To be on the safe side, Elliot pulls out his phone and texts the others, hoping that at least one of them will check their phone before they leave.
“I feel so old,” Elliot groans as we exit the club, the blissful dullness of night refreshing against our beat-sore ears.
“What are you? Thirty?” I tease.
He frowns a little. “You think I look thirty?”
I laugh and shake my head. How does he do this? My laughter comes easier when I’m with him. “I think you look twenty-five.”
Forever: Beautiful Series, book two Page 6