by C. J. Duggan
We made our way from where Ballantine had parked in a car park behind a bottle-o. Turning the corner, I was blinded by the bright lights that brought the city streets alive. Making our way down the narrow paths, every now and then our arms brushed against each other. Oh God. I hoped we saw someone from school, someone who would witness me walking down the street, on a school night, with Luke Ballantine. Let their minds go wild with the scandal of it . . . and then I thought of Laura finding out and how that would make her feel. Now my eyes shifted around not in awe, but in paranoia and fear of being spotted by someone we knew.
The road veered off to the right, but Ballantine led me straight ahead. Walking down the path we continued into a large arcade, an expansive sweep of open, flat, concrete flanked by surf shops, eateries, game zones, open bars, and a tattoo parlour that was strangely wedged next to an ice-creamery. There were no rules to follow walking among the crowd, no direct path that would not have you dodging people. The flashing lights from a games arcade, the ear-piercing loud music that blasted out of speakers, and the mumbled voices of all the people jostling around me: I felt like the silver ball in a pinball machine. It was all so overwhelming as I stuck close to Ballantine, who walked along with careless ease, showing he wasn’t fazed in the slightest by his surroundings. If anything, he appeared a bit bored by it all. A typical city boy: not even flinching at the clattering, weaving skateboarders nearby.
I couldn’t believe that it was like this on a week night. The biggest wow factor in Red Hill during the week was the real-life stories about horrific hoarders on TV.
A cluster of boys walking in our direction broke away from their conversation of insults and pushes, the redhead boy spotting us first, before elbowing his acne-skinned mate.
‘What you got there, Ballantine?’ the redhead boy grinned, his beady eyes shifting over me. Their gazes followed us as we walked past them. Ballantine paid them no attention, unlike myself, who caught their mimed hip thrusts and booty slaps, their crude laughter.
I turned to Ballantine. ‘Friends of yours?’
Ballantine seemed almost shy as a line pinched the corner of his mouth. ‘Not exactly; Lance is Lucy’s younger brother.’ He shrugged. ‘You don’t know her.’
My head snapped up, my mind whirling at the mention of her name. ‘Lucy Fell-on-her face?’ I blurted out so fast, and with no edit button.
Ballantine’s head swivelled, his eyes narrowing, causing me to break away from his gaze, cursing my big mouth.
‘What?’ he asked, a small laugh accentuating the word.
‘Oh nothing,’ I said quickly, brushing away my words, my mind shifting to how Lucy and her younger ginger-haired brother looked nothing alike.
I could still feel Ballantine’s curious gaze on me as we continued to walk on. Oh God, what must he think of me? I tried desperately to come up with something to say in order to change the subject and get him thinking about anything other than me bagging out his beloved Lucy. But then it had me thinking, hoping, that Lance would run home and tell Lucy all about the mysterious girl he saw Ballantine walking with down the arcade. A small bubble of approval formed in my chest.
‘Here it is.’ Ballantine’s voice broke me from my thoughts, as he came to a standstill.
I don’t know quite what I’d expected, but of all the grand visions I’d had of the Wipe Out Bar, this was not one of them. We stood in front of a sprawling two-storey corner building, bustling with an alfresco eatery, where families and tourists were dining. Music pumped out from above, causing the beams of the balcony to vibrate. A menu was attached to a giant surfboard next to the entrance. Above it, scrawled in blue letters were the words, ‘The Wipe Out Bar’, on a sign so big and bright, I’m pretty sure it could’ve been seen from space. The building was painted with bright yellow and blue stripes like it was right out of Alice in Wonderland.
‘Wow,’ I managed. ‘I didn’t expect it to be so –’
‘In your face?’
‘Tacky.’
Ballantine burst out laughing, deep and rolling just like that first night outside my window.
‘What?’ I asked.
He shook his head, laughter ebbing as he looked down at me. ‘Lex, you ain’t seen nothing yet.’
My heart soared when he called me that, as no-one called me Lex but him. It was like he had sole rights to the name and it sounded oh so sexy. I wanted him to say it again.
‘Are we going to go in?’ I asked, trying not to seem over-eager.
Ballantine glanced up at the roofline, wincing. ‘You don’t really want to go in, do you?’
‘It’s the place to be,’ I said with a shrug.
Ballantine laughed, small and quick this time. ‘You really still think it’s the place to be?’
‘Never judge a book by its cover,’ I said, sidestepping to the entrance.
‘Lex, wait.’
I stopped. Not because he said my name in that smoky-hot voice of his, but because he grabbed my arm. That instantly stopped me in my tracks and my eyes flicked to where he held me. Skin on skin, burning me like a hot brand. Obviously this wasn’t the first time his hand had been on my body, and to be honest, I don’t know why I was reacting so much, considering what his hand had been doing last night. But, damn if I didn’t enjoy his warm hands on me. Any part of me.
Ballantine followed my gaze, no doubt reading the instant blanch of my cheeks. Still he didn’t let go, he held onto my arm, touching me still as a devilish smirk spread across his beautiful face.
‘This way,’ he said, tilting his head in the opposite direction and pulling me away. I followed. I would follow him anywhere. Just as I could almost feel the heat of his hand seep through to the bone, he dropped my arm, and I felt the edge of disappointment plummet to my stomach as he severed the connection.
I followed close behind him; his eyes were watchful, each step purposeful, as we walked around the corner of the building, to the back.
Where was he taking me?
We walked along the side of the bar, where the budget for painting didn’t seem to extend – the blue and yellow stripes coming to an abrupt and messy halt. Now all that was visible was grey, rendered concrete covered in bold, thick graffiti.
Ballantine took a sharp left, leading us into an alleyway. My breaths were quickening in the effort to keep up with his long, confident strides. Being taken into an alley with a boy like Ballantine was probably most girls’ dream, but there was nothing romantic about our destination. The bitumen underfoot was wet, as if there had been a flash flood or, more likely, someone had taken to it with a hose. We passed a series of skip bins and with them the unmistakeable smell of rotting food. We passed a stray cat chewing on something unidentifiable next to the bins; it made me shudder a little.
Ballantine glanced back. ‘You right?’
I dropped my hand that was shielding my nose from the stench, quickly dismissing the wincing by putting on a forced bright smile. ‘Yeah, totally,’ I said with confidence.
Ballantine’s eyebrows rose as he kept walking down the lane.
Okay, maybe that was a bit OTT, Lexie. Fine would have been more appropriate. Is he going to see how totally lame I actually am? Will I be a disappointment after tonight?
I found myself second-guessing everything that came out of my mouth these days. I’d gone from someone who I liked to think was once pretty apt at stringing together intelligent sentences, to a bumbling idiot, no thanks to the smoking-hot, fine specimen in front of me.
Ballantine came to a stop at a railing; clasping onto it, he turned to me. ‘Ready to enter the snake pit?’ he asked, glancing towards a set of steps that led down to what looked like a basement door, lit by a dim, bug-infested bulb above.
‘This looks like a nightmare,’ I said mainly to myself.
Ballantine’s smile was broad and smoulderingly sexy; I loved that I could make him smile. ‘You still convinced this is the place to be?’ he asked in mock seriousness.
I inhaled. ‘Okay. W
hy is it called the snake pit?’
Ballantine pushed off the railing and brushed past me, but he leant into my ear on his way and whispered, ‘You’ll see.’
Chapter Thirty
My expectations of the Wipe Out Bar had been of jukeboxes, booths, glossy checked tiles, milkshakes and girls wearing rollerskates waiting on tables. But what I saw was definitely not a scene out of Happy Days. I seriously doubted that if Fonzie had bumped his fist on the jukebox that Nirvana would have blasted out from the speakers like it was now.
Before me was a huge room filled with pool tables, the overhanging pendant lights the only thing lighting the space, which smelt of stale beer and smoke – a far cry from the tacky bistro area street side. It seemed that the Wipe Out Bar had many faces and I wondered, was this the one that Ballantine and Boon belonged to? There was no secret door-knock for entering, yet by the way everyone looked up and casually greeted Ballantine with fly-away insults and pats on the back, it was clear he was no stranger to this place. It was even more clear that I was the only girl in sight.
‘You dining in our fine establishment tonight, Master Ballantine?’ yelled one of the pool players as he straightened from his shot, a cigarette pack jammed up his sleeve. ‘Nice place to bring a date,’ he added with a wink.
I expected Ballantine to deny it, to be embarrassed by the insinuation, but he didn’t. Instead, he simply flipped his mate the finger as he grabbed my hand and pulled me deeper into the room, making his way to the back where there was a couch set up along the wall. I wondered if this was where the Kirkland surfers hung out. Okay, so I wasn’t exactly the only girl in the room; there was another who had her arms snaked around some guy on the couch, making it kind of awkward for anyone who wanted to sit there.
Ballantine didn’t move to sit down; instead, he watched me, waiting to see what I wanted to do. I tried not to look at the couple, who were basically dry humping. I blushed crimson, glancing in the opposite direction.
‘Um . . . is there a bathroom nearby?’
‘Sure. Through that door, up the steps to your right.’ He pointed, casually sitting on the arm of the sofa, turning his back on the couple, his attention focused on the nearest pool game; he didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the gyrating that was happening inches from him. What a sheltered life I had led.
‘Back in a minute,’ I said, heading towards the door with the hope that upstairs led to fresh air. The acrid stench of smoke was making me lightheaded and I wanted to do a spot check in the mirror. I wasn’t exactly prepared for bar hopping tonight. I couldn’t believe I was actually at the Wipe Out Bar with Ballantine; I hadn’t a clue how I was going to explain this to Amanda. If she woke up in the night and found I wasn’t there, what would she think?
•
Pushing my way back out of the ladies’ toilets, which were also decorated in a rather tacky nautical, surfing theme, I stood on the carpeted landing and noticed a sign opposite saying ‘Bar’. The thought of a refreshing, cold Coke made me instinctively lick my lips. I didn’t know if it was the dank, smoky basement but I was parched. Maybe if I bought Ballantine a drink it would break the ice somewhat. I pulled out my Roxy wallet, counting enough coinage and a note for a couple of drinks as I quickly made my way in the direction of the main bar.
Now this was more like it. A circular bar divided a massive room lined with booths against the outer windows. There was still a distinct theme of surfing that screamed tourist hotspot, but there was something about the high ceilings and open space that made it seem more appealing than the snake pit. A few patrons were seated at the bar, a couple of men enjoying Oysters Kilpatrick and a beer as they watched a M*A*S*H rerun on one of the big screens. I decided to make my way to the far end of the bar where no-one was sitting, so I wouldn’t get the passive whiff of anyone’s Fisherman’s Basket. Plus, I’d hoped I might get served quicker so I could get back to Ballantine.
I smiled, looking over the plastic laminated drinks menu on the bar, thinking how downstairs the hottest boy in school was waiting for me. He wasn’t the only one waiting for me as I heard a distinct cough from in front of me. My eyes flicked up from the menu to rest on a tall figure, his hip cocked casually against the bar, as his steely stare locked on me curiously.
My lips parted in an inaudible gasp as my focus involuntarily roamed over his arms, which were crossed over his black tee. He looked hotter than sin and madder than hell, and I felt my heart pound heavily in my chest as his heated gaze refused to break away from mine.
‘Thirsty?’ His voice was like a crackle of thunder, the kind that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and had you hiding under a blanket. How could such a simple one-word question be so intimidating? And what kind of business sense was it to hire a barman who would no doubt either scare the customers away, or make the girls gaga over the green of his eyes: eyes that dipped to the cocktail menu I still held in what were now my clammy hands.
I blushed, glancing at the rather lewd names of some of the cocktails and thinking how the party girls would just love to lean over the bar suggestively and ask this hottie for ‘Sex on the Beach’. Yeah, that’s a cocktail. I, for one, would never, ever have enough nerve to ask for anything like that. I was stumbling to voice two Cokes.
‘You got I.D.?’ he asked.
Oh shit.
A student I.D. saying I was seventeen was not going to be looked upon favourably. I went to protest that I was only wanting two Cokes, but then I wondered what the laws were in the city? Was that why Ballantine had brought me in the back entrance? Was it illegal for me to be in a bar underage? I glanced around, failing to see any families or young people in this section and I began to panic. I imagined myself being locked in an interview room, being held captive until my irresponsible aunty and uncle were called to come and collect their disgrace of a niece. I would be shipped home faster than you could say . . .
‘Hey, Dean. How’s it going, mate?’ a man sporting a Hawaiian shirt called out as he came up to the bar to get his beer jug refilled.
Dean?
My eyes widened as I watched tall, dark and deadly nod his head to the patron. A bar girl from the other end moved like lightning to take the jug and refill it without so much as a word from Dean. She was obviously well trained or too fearful to let a customer go thirsty for even a moment.
I swallowed hard. So this was Dean, a name I had heard on numerous occasions. In fact, seeing who Dean was and assuming he was the owner and operator of the Wipe Out Bar made it perfectly clear why you might not want this to be your local. Sure, he was nice to look at but he had the most shocking aura of anyone I had ever met. At a guess Dean was twenty, twenty-one maybe, still young enough to be deemed attractive but old enough to intimidate if needed, the perfect blend for a barman.
He sighed wearily, looking at me with a bored expression, as if his patience, what little he had, was wearing thin. ‘It’s a simple enough question. Do you have any I.D.?’ he repeated.
My mouth gaped. ‘Umm, yes but . . .’ I struggled to say what I wanted; the weight of his stare turning me into a jabbering idiot. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he personally escorted me from his establishment if I didn’t answer his question in the next breath. And just as I became even more flustered and feared that that was exactly what was going to happen, I heard a voice from over my shoulder. ‘She’s with me.’
Chapter Thirty-One
You would probably expect that my heart would flutter, or my knees go weak at the sound of Ballantine’s voice, but when I found myself caught in the crossfire of a serious alpha male stare-off, well, it wasn’t so great.
Dean was the only one who seemed to be amused, his attention fully settled on Ballantine over my shoulder.
‘Who’s the jail bait?’ Dean tilted his head, talking as if I wasn’t even there.
‘Lexie,’ I snapped before Ballantine had a chance to answer for me. Maybe it was Ballantine’s presence or the fact that Dean was being a dick, but I had somehow f
ound my voice and I felt quite good about it, until Dean’s cool gaze rested on me again. I wanted to recoil but I stood my ground, trying not to think about how truly scary he was. Helping me steady myself was the feel of Ballantine’s hand on my lower back.
‘She speaks,’ Dean mused.
Ballantine interrupted by slamming a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter. ‘Just two Cokes, if that’s not too beneath you.’
Dean looked at the note as if it was some kind of squished bug on the counter. He stepped aside. ‘Sherry,’ he called over his shoulder, ‘can you grab the kids a couple of Cokes?’
His eyes washed over us with an air of smug amusement. ‘Excuse me, I have some business to tend to. Check the board for your shift, Ballantine. You’re pulling a double tomorrow night.’
Dean unhooked a set of keys from near the cash register before stalking towards the back of the bar and out of sight. I glared after him, a burst of anger rising in my chest, disbelieving of how arrogant some people could be. I mean, who the hell did he think he was? I was just about to voice that thought when it dawned on me.
Wait a minute.
I turned to face Ballantine. ‘You work here?’
‘Yeah, go figure, huh? Thanks, Sherry.’ Ballantine winked past my shoulder at the girl who had worked with impressive speed to ice a couple of pots, fill them up with Coke, dump them on the bar, and hand Ballantine back his change without spilling so much as a drop.
I shifted, annoyed at the way they seemed so familiar with each other. Did they work together behind the bar? Did they do more than just work together? Oh, hell. I looked over Sherry’s womanly shape with her black, skin-tight jeans and black tank top. Her long black hair lent a rebellious edge to her with the odd matted braid highlighted throughout. She looked so street smart, exotic and fierce the way she worked the bar, owned it. She didn’t even flinch in Dean’s presence, even when he barked orders. I wished I could be that confident.
Ballantine grabbed our Cokes, nodding his head towards one of the empty booths. ‘Might as well kick back in here, now the big bad wolf is gone.’