Mrs Lockwood from unit seven lived above us, and when she was doing her daily aerobics routine, the pictures on the wall got a workout as well. One had even jumped off with enthusiasm, it was so excited.
And then there was Mr and Mrs Brown from unit three who lived below us. They were elderly and had an extra-loud telephone ringtone. And I meant extra loud. The first time I’d heard it, I’d thought it was the local fire-brigade siren. Other than that, there was the echo of Henry’s scooter as he left for work, apartment doors slamming, and the ding of the elevator, which was just outside our door.
Turning into my room, I pushed both of my suitcases into the corner and flopped onto my bed, taking out my phone and noticing messages from Brad, H, Mary from work, and Cori. I clicked on Mary’s first.
Mary: You back yet?
Looks like the legal shit is getting sorted out.
We should be back on stage in a couple of weeks.
It was the best news ever. Just what I needed to hear.
Em: Literally just walked in the door.
That’s great news. Rehearsals still on Monday?
Mary: Welcome back.
Yep. Sure are. See you then.
Next, I opened Cori’s message.
Cori: COME BACK!
Hope your flight was good.
Oh, and thought you might like this.
I scrolled down to find that she’d attached the photo of Brad, the one she took at Dreamworld when he’d stepped off the Flowrider and performed his sexy flick-of-the-hair manoeuvre.
I smiled.
My vagina smiled.
My vagina remembered he was miles away.
My vagina pouted.
I pouted.
But damn he looked fine. Really freakin’ fine. Fine with a capital lick of my lips. Mm … his tasty chest and delectable cock and—ugh! It was going to be a long four weeks.
Pressing ‘save image to phone’, I sent it to my photos folder and then assigned it to his profile before responding to Cori.
Em: I LOVE you.
I LOVE LOVE you.
I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE you.
She replied instantly.
Cori: Did you drink on the plane?
High altitudes and alcohol are not good, ya know?
Actually, they’re freakin’ awesome.
Good on you.
I laugh-snorted.
Em: You’re such a pisshead.
How’s my Brad? Has he moved on yet?
Rolling off the bed and to my feet, I headed into our kitchen, a quaint space albeit newly refurbished with modern décor: white walls and cabinets, grey Caesarstone bench-tops, and modern appliances. And like the rest of our little home, Cori and I loved it. It was perfect for the two us.
Opening the fridge, I scrunched my nose when I realised we had no fresh food. Crap! I’d have to head to the grocery store down the road before it got too dark. I didn’t like walking the streets of St Kilda alone after sunset. It wasn’t safe. Not for a young woman such as myself.
I groaned. The sound of Brad’s message tone instantly distracted me from my pending food dash, so I opened it.
Brad: Your Brad is missing you.
And no, he hasn’t moved on.
Cori, you little blabbing bitch-face.
I felt she deserved a message before I replied to Brad.
Em: Blabbermouth.
I pressed send and then responded to Brad.
Em: I miss you, too.
And I should hope you haven’t moved on.
At least give it twenty-four hours, yeah?
He responded instantly.
Brad: You’re kidding, right?
To be honest, I wasn’t sure. Of course I didn’t want him to move on, but I couldn’t honestly say that I thought he wouldn’t at some stage.
About to respond, he beat me to it.
Brad: Please tell me you’re fucking kidding.
Em: Hey! Calm your farm.
Okay, I was kidding.
But I want you to know
that if the distance thing
becomes too hard for you,
I’ll understand.
Brad: Seriously, pixie, if you were here,
I’d fucking spank your arse right now.
And what’s ‘my farm’?
The skin of my arse tingled at the thought of him marking it.
Em: Ha! Too bad for you,
and lucky for me.
And your farm is your reproductive organ.
Calm it.
Brad: The spank is on raincheck.
And I can’t calm it right now.
We’re having dinner.
Brad: Maybe I can …
if I just slip my hand under the table.
Oh my God! I quickly swapped messages and wrote to Cori.
Em: Did Brad just slip his hand under the table?
Her reply was quick.
Cori: Yes. Why?
Cori: Oh! Ew. Never mind.
Cori: You do realise we are eating, right?
I couldn’t help but laugh. That naughty, surfer sex god. Hm … I wonder if he’ll let me play with him? The thought of sexting Brad was exciting, yet it also stirred a pool of guilt within me. And it shouldn’t have really, because he of all people should be the one I sexted without regard.
Biting my lip, I sent him a mild test. I couldn’t help myself.
Em: I know your hand is under the table, Mr.
So tell me, what are you doing with it?
My foot jittered.
I waited.
My finger tapped my chin.
I waited more.
Finally, my phone beeped again.
Brad: I’m calming.
Em: How so?
Brad: By harvesting.
Whaaaa? Okay, so the sexting was not going quite as planned.
Em: Harvesting? As in farm harvesting?
Brad: Yes. I’m harvesting seed from my farm.
Oh my God! I cracked up laughing and nearly dropped the phone. Talk about sexting fail. He was going to need a lot of guidance.
Em: Right! Gotcha. Lol.
How’s that working out for you?
Brad: It’s not. The seed hasn’t sprouted.
And Cori keeps giving me weird looks.
Em: That’s because she noticed you
put your hand under the table.
She wanted to know why.
Brad: What did you tell her?
Em: Nothing. But come on,
how long can one have an itch?
My phone sounded again, this time with a message from Cori.
Cori: Brad just waved at me
… with two hands. Why?
Why is he waving at me?
My smile stretched my face and lit up my eyes, but I wasn’t ignorant to the fact that sadness gripped my insides.
I missed them, and I missed being there with them.
Suddenly, my phone chimed like a freakin’ doorbell, sounding numerous dings and beeps. I clicked on the message inbox and found one message from Brad, and three from unknown senders.
Brad: Point taken.
I just waved at her.
She shouldn’t suspect anything.
Unknown: Your number, I have.
Fun, this could be.
Oh, hell! My bet was on Cori being responsible for Noah now having my number. And my bet was that I would one day strangle her for it.
Unknown 2: Em, it’s Dimps.
I’m eating molluscs.
I face-palmed and was almost scared to open the third unknown message, but I did it anyway, because curiosity killed the cat. And the cat couldn’t die if it was enquiring about itself, right? And anyway, fuck the cat. I was a dog person.
Unknown 3: Why did you leave me, pretty girl?
I have nothing to look at now.
Right. The third one had me baffled. Who the hell was it? Josh? No. Matt? I doubted it. Baz? Maybe but I hoped not.
Staring out of the kitchen window while pondering th
e mystery message-sender, another message came through.
Unknown 3: Btw, it’s Patsy.
Thought you should know.
I dropped my head to my hands and smiled but then realised the sun was setting and that I needed to get to the shop and back before it was too late. So, killing all birds—and cats—with one stone, I sent a group message.
Em: Appreciate the love, all,
but you will have to cope without me.
Oh, and Cori …
I just might sleep in your bed tonight.
And you know what that means.
I pressed send, grabbed my keys and purse, and headed out the door.
***
The local Aldi was a five-minute walk away. It wasn’t a bad or strenuous journey, but it was one I didn’t fancy doing after dark, as St Kilda was known in parts to be a sex-worker district of Melbourne, regardless of prostitution being illegal. And although the local authorities had done a lot in recent years to clean up the streets, they were fighting a battle they would never entirely win.
Wanting to get in and out of the store quickly, I raced around and grabbed some OJ, milk, bananas, bread, fruit-and-nut chocolate, and Vegemite—because we were running low, and it was un-Australian to run out of Vegemite.
Just as I was about to place the last item in my bag on the conveyor belt and pay the checkout operator, I dropped the Vegemite jar, said jar rolling and stopping by the foot of the guy behind me.
“Crap!” I bent down and went to pick it up, but he beat me to it. “Oh, here, I’ll get it,” I said, noticing the wrist brace he was wearing. “You don’t want to injure your hand any more than you already have.” I smiled and took it from him. “But thank you.”
“Not a problem.” He stretched his fingers after letting go. “Cons of riding a motorbike for too long,” he advised, explaining his injury.
I scrunched my face in sympathy and leaned over to pick up a can of baked beans he had on the conveyer belt behind my items. “This is a good exercise for wrist strain,” I explained, demonstrating a wrist curl manoeuvrer. “I suffer it sometimes because of work. Do that four times a day and in bouts of twenty. It should help.”
He chuckled, amusement lighting his hazel eyes. “Thanks. I will lift baked beans until it’s all better.”
“Hey, don’t knock them. They’re very good for you.”
“And very bad.”
Laughing, I handed the can to him. “This is true.”
“That will be fifteen dollars and twenty-eight cents,” the cashier said to me.
I handed her a twenty and gathered my bag, accepting the change and putting it in my pocket.
“Thank you.” I smiled at her, as well as the sore-wrist guy, and headed home.
When I stepped out into the moderate evening air, I was glad to see there was still light in the sky. I wasn’t about to dawdle though, so I picked up my pace, rounding the corner just as a Harley-Davidson roared past. The loud rev of the engine vibrated right through me, making me jump and nearly drop my groceries.
“Shit-fuck. Stupid thing,” I cursed, continuing along the street and watching the bike pull into our apartment block. You’ve got to be kidding me. Which dumbarse bought a bike? I had a sneaking suspicion it was the loser from apartment two, the pothead who no doubt had a marijuana crop growing in his spare room.
Huffing, I stomped up the path between the two majestic palm trees that featured in the courtyard entrance of the building, keeping my eyes peeled to see whom the motorbike belonged to. Perhaps it was just a visitor, but then why not park in the designated visitor area? Time would soon tell, and when it did, I’d make a voodoo doll of the culprit.
Rounding the corner near the elevator, I smacked straight into a leather jacket-clad, denim jeans-wearing wall. “Damn it.” I looked up, annoyed, finding it was the same wall my jar of Vegemite had rolled into at Aldi. “You,” I said, my tone both surprised and accusatory.
His hands found my shoulders, steadying me. “Yes, me. Although, I’m not you. You’re you.”
“You’re the baked beans guy from Aldi.”
“No, I’m Mike. And I’m guessing you have a name other than that of the Vegemite girl from Aldi?”
I couldn’t help but giggle and step back. “Yes. I’m Em. Sooo …” I glanced over his shoulder, “… you visiting someone here?”
“No. I live here,” he answered with a knowing smile, one that left a cocky but rather handsome imprint on his face. “Moved in at the beginning of the week.”
“Oh!” I blushed. Fuck! Why’d I blush? I’m not supposed to blush. “Well, welcome.”
Bidding him farewell with an awkward nod, I stepped around him and attempted to elbow the elevator call-button.
“Here. Allow me.” Mike pushed the button and glanced down, his older but mysterious eyes roaming my body. It made me feel a little nervous, but not because he was older. He was very attractive—in a silver-fox kind of way—so it wasn’t that. No. I think that maybe it was the mysterious edge of danger he wore extremely well.
The ding of the elevator sounded, breaking our mutual assessment of each other.
“You need a hand taking those to your place?” he asked, pointing to my groceries while he held the door open with his arm.
I shook my head and stepped into the elevator. “No thanks. I’m fine.”
“Not a problem. Nice to meet you, Em.”
“Same.” I blushed again, and forced a smiled until the doors closed and I was safe.
Safe from baked bean Mike.
And safe from myself.
***
Later that night, after unpacking and making myself a quick toasted cheese-sandwich, I sat down to get in a few hours of work, opting to tackle my holiday washing in the morning. The onsite laundry was on level one, not far from creepy Charles’s apartment, and I didn’t fancy venturing there without Cori as back up.
Switching on my laptop, I waited for it to load so that I could log onto the interface. The bastard thing was so slow. Aggravating. I really did need to invest in a new one. It did, however, allow me to multitask, so I grabbed my phone to answer H’s message while I waited.
When I clicked on the envelope icon, I noticed a few responses to the group text I’d sent, but ignored them, heading straight to H. It had been more than twenty-four hours since responding, which was, in hindsight, a long time for us.
Mr Happy: You home yet?
Despite our recent tiff, I couldn’t deny that I appreciated his concern for me. One thing he’d always had the ability to do was make me feel safe. It was uncanny.
Em: I am now.
Just sat down to work.
It’s been a busy week,
so I need to get in some hours.
I logged on to SexyTexts and was just about to start typing when he responded.
Mr Happy: I won’t keep you then.
Glad you’re home safe.
His abrupt response and willingness to leave me be took me by surprise. This type of behaviour was unchartered territory where he was concerned. But I couldn’t complain. I’d requested it to be this way. I would have to get used to it.
Em: Thank you. xo
Talk soon.
He didn’t respond, so I stretched my fingers out before me, clicked my neck from side to side, and prepared for a sexting session to end all sexting sessions.
Lady N: Evening. Where are all my men?
I want satisfaction.
Who wants to give it to me?
As per usual, it didn’t take long for the hits to come rolling in.
Legopener: I’ll give you what you need.
Just tell me what.
L always wanted me to do the legwork, pun unintended.
Lady N: L, you should know what I want by now.
Cumsalot: I’ll give you a face full of cum.
Is that what you want?
Oh yes, C, a jizz facial is what every respectable woman wants. Dickwad.
Lady N: C, yes.
Then I can lick it all off.
Kinkmaster: Be my sub and I’ll satisfy you.
Kinkmaster had been quite regular during the last few sessions, and even though he had a tendency to call me names I didn’t like, he was filling my hip pocket. So reluctantly, I was willing to give him the honour of being K. My other K, King of Cocks, had gone AWOL.
Lady N: K, must I refer to you as sir?
Kinkmaster: Yes. And use your manners.
I prefer a polite whore.
Oh, here we go. I’m a whore tonight. Well, you’re nothing but a useless choad.
Lady N: I’m sorry, sir.
Please forgive me.
Please forgive me for planting my foot firmly up your disgusting arse if I ever see you face-to-face.
Mr Happy: Good evening, love.
You know only I can give you satisfaction.
I sucked in a short breath and jumped ever-so-slightly in my seat. Seeing H’s sext on the screen threw my heart and mind into a whirling battle of right and wrong. But was it wrong to sext him on the interface? I wasn’t sure that it was. Then again, was this just continuing what I’d asked be stopped for both our sake’s? Damn it, H. Why do you do this to me?
Reveal (A Wild Nights Novel) Page 23