by Shel Stone
This wasn’t what he’d anticipated when he’d left Melbourne after finishing his degree in Sports and Physicality. He’d been side-tracked by a mate and ended up here, probably earning more than he would if he’d actually made it to London.
With Mrs. Cavendish’s enthusiasm building, pressure culminated and he couldn’t hold back anymore. He came hard with her manicured nails digging into his gluts, swallowing as he suspected she would. He felt utterly powerful in that moment, free of tension and stress. God, he loved this job.
Alice Cavendish rose, straightening her tight, white jeans and then her silky brown hair. She smiled and Cory smiled back. She was so incredibly beautiful, married to a chemicals manufacturer. “You really should come for dinner one night.”
“I’d love to, but you know I can’t. They would fire me if I socialise with members outside the club.” It was a rule he used when he didn’t want things to get complicated. He didn’t mind messing with the ladies at the club, but tried not to meet with them outside. It got too messy too easily. It was also creepier doing it in someone’s house, particularly as their husbands had a tendency of turning up. It was just better keeping it here. There was plenty of opportunity—there was the sauna, the private changing rooms, the gardeners’ shed and the cabana bar after dark. And he preferred the rushed encounters in a hidden corner, over lazy weekends hanging out in some other dude’s bedroom.
He also didn’t want one of these ladies getting too attached to him, thinking they would leave their husbands for him. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he could ever offer one of these women what they were used to, and he certainly wasn’t going to be some woman’s lapdog. This was better. A quick fuck and back on duty. It was always the perfect excuse for getting away—he had to get back to the pool.
“But you’re coming for the tournament this weekend, aren’t you? From what I’ve seen, your back-hand is coming on in leaps and bounds. Jorge’s advice is really bringing up your game.”
“You think so?” Alice said, straightening her glossy hair again.
“Yeah. You haven’t been playing that long, but you have come along nicely.” Alice had joined the club quite recently and had been taking tennis lessons with Jorge. Cory might be laying it on a bit thick, but she was definitely improving. Say what you will about rich women; they worked hard. They worked with ambition, trying to be the best they could. They kept their bodies in perfect shape and their appearance top notch.
“Not sure I’m ready for a tournament,” she said, looking uncertain, her lips pouting with newly applied gloss. Alice’s uncertainty ran deeper than simply fishing for compliments. Rumour had it that Roger Cavendish’s latest girlfriend had made a bit of a nuisance of herself at an event not long ago. Cory figured it must have hit Alice’s confidence—maybe joining this club was a response. Sometimes it was wives figuring they needed to shape up to keep their husbands interested.
“Course you are. They’re fun.” He smiled at her. “I’d be cheering for you.”
A smile spread across her awe-inspiring lips. “I’ll think about it.”
“I’ve got to get back to the pool or they will start asking questions. I’ll see you later.” He leaned forwards and kissed her, feeling her press her tight body to him. Alice wasn’t done with her confidence boost, he suspected, and would probably be back next week. He didn’t mind. If fucking him gave a nice lady like Alice a lift, he was doing a public service.
Breaking the kiss, he gave her a nod then strolled back towards the pool, to climb up the life-guard seat, replacing the mirrored sunglasses he’d taken off earlier. It wasn’t super busy at the moment, but it would increase later in the afternoon when people came for a dip, a drink and a gossip at the end of the day.
No one who came here did so because they didn’t have a pool at home. They came for the company, to be seen and to watch others—some of them even to watch him. The men came in the late afternoon as well, but more to work out, burn energy and to indulge in competition. The gym facilities here were the best in Marbella, and this was the place to be seen—the most expensive athletic club in town.
*
Music was pumping when Cory kicked down the stand for his motorcycle at home. He could hear it from down in the carpark. The boys would want to go out tonight, probably to Shine, the hottest club in town, filled with tourists, local party girls and anyone looking to get laid. It was a meat-market like no other, a veritable smorgasbord of delectable girls.
Swinging his leg over the bike, he pulled his helmet off and placed it down on the tank. It was getting dark, but it wasn’t really cooling down. He took the steps up to their second-floor apartment two at a time, walking to the open front door.
The boys were sitting around drinking Spanish beer, ready to go out. “Cory!” they called out in chorus. Dion threw him a beer, which he caught while putting his bag down by the door.
“What’s up?”
“We thought we’d go to Shine.”
“No kidding.”
“Nathan here’s all antsy to go. He hooked up with a girl last night. What was her name?”
“Chrissy.”
“Mint girl. Nice arse. Works there, apparently. One of the cage girls.”
“Nice,” Cory said with a smile. The cage girls were nice, all of them—hired for their looks really. “Where’s she from?”
“An Aussie. Would you believe it?” It certainly wasn’t a surprise hooking up with Aussie girls, but it was a bit of a cop out, Cory felt. They could have stayed home if they wanted to tap local girls.
Cory walked into the kitchen and pulled out two slices of bread, popping them in the toaster before grabbing a pot and pouring in a tin of beans. If he was going out, he needed to eat. It always put him in a better mood, rather than being distracted by hunger all night. He listened to one of the guys describing how a Porsche had run into a Lamborghini down on the strip today, and how one of the drivers started crying over their baby being injured—and he wasn’t talking about the pissed girlfriend.
Smiling, Cory poured the heated beans on his toast and took the plate to the dining table, which had a chipped veneer and coffee cup stains all over it. They’d found it down the road and decided to rescue it. Let’s face it: none of them were ever going to go furniture shopping beyond the beds and couch. Beyond that, they would make do with beer crates for any furniture they needed, or if something should happen to fall into their laps, like this table.
Wolfing down the beans on toast, Cory downed his beer and went into his room to shower and change. He was going to try to not stay out all night this time. He had to work in the morning, which he preferred to do without a hangover. For being a preference, he should actually do it more often, but the guys wanted to go out, and when he was out, he had fun, lost track of time, scored with some hot girl or was otherwise distracted from the idea of coming home for sleep. Sleep seemed to fall further down the list of priorities, after hanging and fucking.
Stepping into the shower, he washed the day’s salt and sunblock off him, wondering what the night would bring. It was so full of possibilities. It could be an awesome time with the boys, or it could be all wrapped up in some girl’s fine assets. Either one was good.
“You ready to go?” Dion asked when he walked back into the living room, wearing dark jeans and a clean T-shirt.
“I’m ready,” Cory said. “We cabbing or driving?”
“Fuck driving. I don’t like leaving my car in town,” Nathan said.
“With all the fucking sports cars there, who’s going to steal your piece of shit?”
“Hey, don’t knock it. It’s better than your fucking bus pass.”
Chapter 4
SWIRLING HER BRUSH around the rosy blush, Trish Daly eyed her work in the mirror, which was more toned down than when she was working as a dancer at Shine. She reached up and undid the clip that kept her blond hair in place and gave it a good shake to get some body into it. Her tight, blue jeans and crocheted Billabong top were the
perfect Australian beach bunny outfit, straight out of Manly beach. It made her feel closer to home when she wore something typically Australian.
“You ready?” Chrissy shouted from downstairs in the small townhouse. It was newly built and still smelled of the white paint, which covered everything. The house the girls shared—three Aussies and one Kiwi—had four small bedrooms, an open plan lounge and kitchen downstairs. It was perfect for them, in the middle of one of the massive developments further inland, bordered by an average golf-course built to bring in lower-end tourists.
They all worked at Shine, except Hannah, who initially had been a friend of Amber’s and worked as a receptionist in a medical centre.
“Is Adelaide coming?” Trish called down to Chrissy.
“No, she’s working this week.”
Trish raised her eyebrows in surprise. That boat hardly ever went anywhere, but when duty called, Adelaide had to go. Club dancing was pretty good work, but being a steward on one of the big launches came a close second. Adelaide did practically nothing most of the time and got paid for it. On the other hand, at Shine they got free drinks and full-on adoration from a roomful of party freaks. Chrissy had gotten her the job, while Amber had already worked there. There were a few Czech girls too, and a couple of Danes, but they kept to themselves. The culture difference was a little too large to hang out. “Are we going to eat anything?”
“Why?”
Trish shrugged. Chrissy didn’t really do food for fun. What was the point of going for food when they could go drinking? She did have a point, Trish supposed.
Finishing off with a dark pink gloss, she was ready, her blond hair in a sleek pony tail, her eyes bright and blue—like midday surf, her ex back in Manly used to say. She was looking forwards to a night out, when she could relax and not dance. Dancing was all she’d ever wanted to do before taking this job, but now she did it five nights a week. She did love it. It kept her toned and the pay was okay, enough to live on quite comfortably.
Walking down the stairs was a slow process in platform heels, but she joined Chrissy and Amber in the kitchenette, where a glass of wine waited for her.
“Shots?” Amber asked.
“Let’s,” Chrissy answered. “Salt and lemon and the whole nine yards.” She grabbed a lemon out of the fruit basket and started cutting it into slices.
“Tequila it is, then,” Trish said. “To start the night off right.” It was Monday and the first day of their ‘weekend’, except Hannah had to work tomorrow, poor thing. The rest of them were going to have an awesome night, then look forward to a day lazing in bed before getting some sun down on the beach. A tan was part of the job requirements. “That guy going to be there?”
“Nathan,” Chrissy said in a singing voice. “I told him we were going. He said he’d try to come.”
“Have you two been texting every minute of the day?”
“No,” Chrissy said with the higher intonation that said she was lying through her teeth. She rolled her eyes. “He’s so hot.”
“Must be more than hot if you’re bothering to text him every five minutes,” Amber said pointedly.
“He’s pretty sweet, too.”
Amber and Trish gave each other meaningful looks, having been down this road with Chrissy before. Chrissy fell in love—a lot. Nathan was the latest in a long line. At first, he was heavenly and really sexy, then he was inconsiderate and hurtful, finishing with downright immature and a total dick. Then onto the next. As much as Chrissy loved guys, she didn’t really like guys. Once it was revealed that the object of her affection didn’t have the fortitude of a Disney prince, Chrissy was over it.
“Well, don’t bring him back here, because I have to work tomorrow and that headboard of yours is too noisy,” Hannah said as she walked over, and Chrissy bit her lip sheepishly. Truthfully, the whole house could hear how Chrissy’s sessions were progressing.
“Okay, as the conversation is devolving, let’s call a cab,” Trish said and picked through the screens on her phone until she had the cab number. “Un taxi, por favor,” she said and gave her address. Giving directions to cabs and in shops was the extent of her Spanish, but it was all that was needed around here. Most serving the Marbella community spoke English.
“We’re stopping off at José’s?” Amber asked.
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll get a burger there. He does nice burgers.”
“Maybe I should tell Nathan to meet us there,” Chrissy said with uncertainty.
“You don’t need him to hold your hand every minute,” Trish said, but Chrissy was already texting away.
“I just know they’re going to keep me up all night,” Hannah said, shaking her head. “I keep telling myself I need to buy some earplugs, but somehow I forget to do it and then I get stuck for hours listening to Nathan or whatever his name is.” Hannah had the misfortune of having the room next to Chrissy’s.
“We really should set her up with a two-minute wonder,” Amber said with a laugh. “Some guy who’s in and out and gets the job done.”
“Well, if you know of any, we’ll set them up. Better yet, send them my way,” Hannah said.
*
José’s was a beach hut setup in the seventies, with old photos on the wall showing what Marbella was like then, when the hippies were here, before their ideal hideaway was destroyed by wealth and commercialisation. José was originally George, a London insurance broker who threw it all in to live on the beach down in Spain, but he was so Spanish now, and it was hard to remember that he hadn’t actually grown up here. This beach-hut restaurant and bar had been the centre of the community at one point—now it was too rustic for the locals and too out of the way for tourists, stuck between million euro mansions. But José turned up to work every day, long grey hair, weather-beaten face and still tanned as all hell. He’d be a millionaire if he sold this land, but he refused—still ran this bar that barely broke even.
They took one of the long tables with benches along it, taking in the setting sun. The place had railings more than walls and they could see all the way down the beach on both sides. This really was a little gem. The surf broke gently on the beach and at dusk joggers ran along the sand, trying to stay fit in this place where the girls got younger every year.
“Girls,” Minty said, appearing at the table with her notepad and too small pencil.
“Cuatro cervesas, por favor,” Chrissy said in a cringe-worthy accent.
“And a burger,” Amber added.
“One for me, too,” Hannah said. “And maybe some olives and bread for the table.”
“José’s been making this cucumber and mint drink today if you want to try some.”
“Sure,” Trish said. José’s concoctions were often good, if somewhat usual. He smiled from behind the bar as Amber waved to him, sitting with glasses magnifying his eyes, winding invisible string around a stick. “What’s he doing?” Trish asked Minty.
“He’s going fly-fishing in Scotland.”
“Oh.” Trish tried to imagine the strange sight of José fly-fishing, but everyone had a guilty pleasure, she guessed.
“Hey,” a gruff voice said, walking around the table and leaning over to kiss Chrissy. Must be Nathan, then. Another guy followed, wearing a tight t-shirt and jeans, showing off a sculpted body. They both placed motorcycle helmets down at the end of the table. And wanna-be easy riders, too, Trish though, unimpressed.
“This is Cory,” Chrissy said enthusiastically, “Hannah, Trish, Amber.”
A drop dead gorgeous guy raised his chin in greeting—built shoulders, tiny waist and strong thighs. Holy hell, Trish thought. “Drink, anyone?” he said with a smile, revealing white, perfect teeth.
“I’ll have another beer,” Hannah said with a shrug, while the other two shook their heads and he walked away. Trish watched as the guy leaned on the bar, talking to José. Certainly not minding the view, but for some reason, Trish felt resentful of these guys’ presence. The start of the night at José’s h
ad always been a girl thing. They’d never brought guys here before. This was where they chilled and got amped for the night ahead. Now it was being invaded by Mr. Lover and Mr. Cheesy grin. Alright, she had to admit that what’s-his-face had a megawatt grin, almost like he was thinking dirty thoughts.
“So where are you girls from?” he asked when he returned with two tall beers, handing one to Hannah, which she accepted with a “ta”.
“I’m from Auckland, and Amber’s from Perth,” Hannah said, pointing out Amber.
“And you?” Cory said, turning that megawatt smile on Trish.
“Sydney.”
“A Sydney girl, huh?”
“Like I said.”
Cory, ran his finger down the condensation along the bottle, creating a pool of moisture on the table. “Melbourne,” he said. “How long have you been here?”
“About four months.”
“You work at Shine, as well?”
Trish nodded, amazed how easily she was drawn into conversation—even against her will. He just ploughed ahead and effortlessly kept the conversation going.
“You all work at Shine?”
“I don’t,” Hannah said. “I work in a medical clinic.”
“A nurse?” Cory said as if he was impressed.
Hannah blushed and Trish felt like rolling her eyes. Traitor. “Just the receptionist. And what do you do?”
“I’m a lifeguard at the Athletic Club,” he said, stretching out his corded, tanned arms along the back of the bench. Why was he looking so damned comfortable? We’re not completely adoring him. Well, almost, if Hannah wasn’t going all googly-eyed and impressed.
“That must be really demanding,” Hannah said and Trish rolled her eyes.
“Demanding?” Trish cut in and now Hannah really did blush, having been snapped going all dumb-blond flirty. It was a tactic that worked with guys like Cory, making them feel smarter than they were. “Come on, at a place like that, it’s hardly demanding.”
“Perhaps it isn’t the most physically demanding, but it requires constant vigilance. Not a bad job by any stretch. Plus I can use the facilities any time I want and they are state of the art. I studied physicality at uni, so it was always the plan to do something sports related. This job just came along, I guess.”