Ringer

by C. J. Duggan

  My heart sunk with an edge of disappointment; I wanted to ask but didn’t need to.

  “Where’s Ringer? Lunch is ready,” she said, carrying a casserole dish to the table where the boys sat.

  “Ah, he’s just freshening up,” he said, before making his way towards the table. “G’day, you must be Max’s mates, welcome.” Dad beamed, shaking their hands and exchanging information on the best fishing destination in Geraldine, and the grand tour he would give them after lunch … and did they fancy a beer, blah, blah, blah. I smiled to myself, setting down a basket of bread rolls. Dad was lost in the throes of man talk, poor fella he was, absolutely starved of such conversation with a house full of women; he was definitely making up for lost time. I moved to gather some napkins from the buffet near the door. That’s when I heard it open and a figure stood in my peripheral vision.

  “Well, bloody hell. Look what the cat dragged in,” said Sean, laughing.

  My eyes lifted to see Ringer standing in the doorway, shaking his head at his mates with an incredulous grin; it was the kind that exposed his devilish dimple in his cheek. Oh shit, that man is delicious.

  “There goes the neighbourhood.” He laughed, flicking his gaze towards me.

  I twisted a napkin in my hand, daring not to move as his eyes locked with mine. Heated. His look pierced my heart which pounded erratically, and I could barely think, paralysed by his presence. I didn’t know if I should stay, go, smile, laugh, glare. But in one mere moment, I didn’t need to do anything, because as he neared me, brushing past me, his muscled chest grazing my shoulders at the buffet, I turned my head, lifting my eyes to his to catch his warm smile that made me melt as he winked at me.

  My lips tilted, and delight surged inside me at such a simple gesture. It was such a Ringer thing to do, and the fact he acknowledged me and wasn’t weird caused my entire inner turmoil to thaw.

  It wasn’t a look filled with regret, it was full of fire and cheek and I all but wanted to reach out, stop him, and tell him I had no regrets either. Heat flooded my cheeks as I watched him round the table, rubbing Stan’s hair and back-slapping his mates. It was like a fire had been lit inside him, seeing his friends again. Watching their boyish exchange and taunts caused strange stirrings in my stomach; it made him, dare I say, more attractive to me, witnessing him in a more natural environment.

  I was shunted from my thoughts by an elbow to my side as Moira passed me. “Stop staring,” she said smugly, sticking out her tongue.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  RINGER

  I desperately wanted to talk to Miranda.

  But with the change in circumstances, I could see there was no way that was going to happen.

  Sean sat next to me at the dining table, piling a mass of potato salad on his plate.

  Speaking lowly, he said, “So why didn’t you tell us you were heading here?”

  I shrugged. “It was just a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

  “Well, has being away knocked the chip off your shoulder?” He looked at me poignantly.

  I could have said what chip? But both he and I knew exactly what he was talking about.

  I worked on buttering my roll. “The change has done me good,” I admitted.

  I could tell Sean was eyeing me with interest, the cogs turning in his big head. “Well, I have to admit,” he said, “the view is pretty nice.”

  My eyes instinctively flicked up to where Miranda sat opposite, listening intently to Stan, who was no doubt boring her to death with fishing stories going by his hand gestures. My mouth curved as I refocused on my dinner roll.

  Sean chuckled. “You old dog.” He broke into his own roll, and buttered it violently, glancing up at Miranda. “Have you gone there?”

  It was a cryptic question, but one I understood perfectly. “No,” I lied.

  Sean just smirked, as if he wasn’t buying it for a second.

  “So did you catch up with Bluey last night?” Steve addressed me from the head of the table.

  “Ah, no, I didn’t run into him.” I flinched.

  But it wasn’t at the question, it was the unexpected sensation of a foot sliding up my calf.

  What the?

  “Really? I doubt that you could have missed his big ugly mug, the Commercial isn’t that big.” Steve laughed.

  I smiled in good humour, shifting awkwardly in my seat as the foot slid higher. I glanced across the table; Miranda was nodding earnestly and hanging onto every one of Stan’s words. I had great pleasure in casually flicking out my serviette and dropping it in my lap. I watched the impressive lines of her poker face, until I grabbed her bare foot with my hand. She never flinched. She was good, very good.

  Until I ran my thumb tauntingly along the pad of her foot, only then did I see her brows rise as she squirmed slightly in her seat.

  “Ringer?”

  My head snapped around to Penny.

  “Can you please pass the salt?” she said with a smile.

  “Oh, yeah, sure.”

  I pulled Miranda’s foot into my groin, clamping it in place with my thighs as I reached for the salt and passed it to her mum. It’s where it stayed for the rest of the meal, until she announced to the table that she had to be excused. And after a long moment, and then a rather obvious look from her that as good as said ‘let’s go’, a slightly flushed Miranda got up from the table and walked out of the room.

  I took a moment to process what had just happened. Seeing as last night ended with a murderous death stare and a door in the face, the foot sliding up my leg as a peace offering was … unexpected. What was more unexpected was how my heart raced, and my dick hardened by such a subtle touch, how I had … revelled in it.

  Fuck, I was in trouble. It was more than what was in my pants telling me what I wanted; no, this was far worse. It was what my head was telling me.

  I had known it the moment she slammed the door, the moment the panic surged inside me thinking about her leaving Moira. It was more than just a midnight liaison I was interested in, and the moment her dainty little foot slid slowly up my leg, I knew it. The relief of her not being mad at me, not despising me was palpable. But I needed to know for certain, make sure she wasn’t just fucking with me.

  Amidst the chaos of the after-lunch clean up where everyone chipped in to help clear the table, I took the opportunity to break away and wander down the hall where Miranda had disappeared. I made it halfway down the hall until the door at the left swung open and Miranda appeared, stopping short in front of me. Gone was the calm poker face from the dinner table; instead, her slightly pinked cheeks deepened and her eyes were wide.

  “I see we’re not neighbours anymore.”

  “No,” she said, glancing down.

  “Was it because of last night?”

  Her eyes flicked up, alarm creasing her face. “No! No, I mean, I didn’t have a choice. Your friends are staying the night and it was where Mum wanted to put them.”

  A smile broke slowly, more in amusement at myself for knowing that what I felt was a sense of relief. Relief that she hadn’t left in her car, or moved away from me to avoid me, and most of all, I was endlessly amused at what an absolute fucking goner I was when it came to this girl. I wanted nothing more than to step forward, crush my mouth against hers and never let her go. I felt the edge of disappointment flare that I couldn’t do it. The fact that my mates were staying the night, and that her family was leaving in the morning, because if I knew one thing for certain: when I had a chance to get Miranda alone, there would be nothing cool, calm, nor collected about it, and that scared the hell out of me as much as it excited me. I didn’t want to need someone, to desire them, and when I was just about to pull myself away, she stepped forward, closing the distance between us.

  “What are you thinking?”

  My eyes bored into hers; I wanted her to know that everything I said was what I meant. “That I am not a person who likes to leave things unfinished.”

  Her brow curved. “Oh?”


  I nodded. “I’m very thorough like that.”

  “Even with the likes of Bluey threatening your nether regions?”

  My mouth gaped.

  How did she know about that?

  I cleared my throat, shifting on my feet at the memory of what he would do to me.

  But as I looked at the bemused lines of her innocent face I couldn’t help but break into a knowing grin.

  “Some things are worth the risk.”

  “Really?” she asked. I watched the delicate movement of her tongue run along her bottom lip.

  I swallowed. “Really. Whatever it takes to get the job done.”

  “Well, Moira Station is in good hands then.” She laughed, sliding past me in the hall. I reached for her elbow, stopping her in her tracks; all amusement drained from her façade and her eyes flicked from her arm to my face.

  “Your car’s fixed,” I said in all seriousness.

  “I know.” She blinked, her thick lashes framing the all-consuming depths of her eyes that flicked over my face.

  I could feel my jaw clench; I couldn’t force any light-hearted stance about the silence that settled over us. I was so entranced by the intensity of our exchange, I didn’t realise I was circling a slow, caressing motion into her skin until her hand moved over the top of mine, tracing the back of my hand with her fingertips. I swallowed deeply, drumming up enough nerve to work up the courage to say the one word that held more weight than anything.

  Stay.

  And whether it was the silence, or my touch, or the fact she may have somehow read my mind, Miranda broke into a slow, beautiful smile.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Miranda

  The house was silent.

  And my advantage was I knew every single creak in the house, I had snuck out of it often enough. So the fact that I found my way outside, creeping across the drive undetected at eleven o’clock at night was no brilliant feat. The only unnerving thing about my movements was the direction I was headed in. I skimmed my way against the side of the building, slowly edging around. Grabbing the corner of the verandah post, I swung around quickly, ready to catapult myself up the decked stairs until I slammed into a chest, hard. My scream was quickly muffled by a hand, my heart racing at a hundred miles an hour.

  “Miranda?”

  The hand slowly fell away allowing me to step back before lashing out and whacking Ringer across the arm.

  “What are you doing? You scared the crap out of me,” I whispered angrily.

  “What am I doing? What are you doing?” he whispered back.

  My mouth gaped, as I stumbled at the question.

  Sneaking into your room to jump your bones.

  No, I didn’t think voicing that would be wise, and I don’t think I needed to. There was enough moonlight filtering down from the sky that Ringer’s smug stance was not lost on me. He crossed his arms across his chest and leant casually on the banister to the stairs.

  “You were coming to see me,” he said cockily.

  “Pfft, you are so full of yourself.”

  “Deny it,” he said, stepping forward, edging me back to where I had come from. I walked back until my back hit the wall of the hut.

  “Tell me you’re not here for me and I will dissolve into the night,” he whispered against my temple.

  I smiled, slow and wicked. “Admit that you were sneaking out to see me, and I might just kiss you like there’s no tomorrow.”

  Ringer braced his hands against the wall on either side of my face, caging me in with his biceps. “I admit nothing.”

  My smile fell from my face. “Well, that’s a shame then …”

  “Because regardless of why I’m here, or you’re here, it’s not going to stop me from wanting to kiss you,” he said, running his thumb gently along my cheek, causing me to shiver at the sensation.

  I lifted my eyes, looking beyond my lashes at his heated stare.

  “Go on, then,” I breathed.

  And with no invitation beyond that needed, he closed the distance and claimed my lips, slowly, deeply, thoroughly. My hands fisted into the fabric of the back of his shirt, drawing him closer to me, a sound of approval escaped my lips as he crushed me against the weatherboard wall. He cupped my face, tilting my head gently to gain better access to my mouth. This felt right: no guarded uncertainty or misunderstanding that this was both what we wanted. Ringer’s hand skimmed down my neck and slid down, cupping my breast; his touch burned through my top. I leaned into him, encouraging him to touch me; I knew from last night what his clever hands were capable of.

  Hooking his thumb into the collar of my shirt, he slowly peeled the fabric across, allowing access as his lips ghosted across my collar bone.

  “Is this what you want?” he whispered tauntingly into my skin, before pulling away and looking down, fixing his heated eyes on me.

  “Tell me what you want.”

  I slid my hands over his shoulders and linked my hands together around his neck. “You know what I want.”

  He curved his brow in question.

  I smiled. “You.”

  Ringer’s face sobered into a serious, stony façade. “In what way?”

  I paused, considering the question. Suddenly my answer held so much weight. What would he take from it? That I wanted just sex, a boyfriend? I didn’t know how to voice it, so I went with what came to mind, thinking he could take it any way he wanted.

  I extended on my tippy-toes to whisper into his ear, “In. Every. Way.”

  I heard the groan of satisfaction as I captured his lobe between my teeth. He ground into me against the hut, his tongue gently delving into my mouth, coaxing me to open for him, in every way it would seem, as his hand slid between my legs.

  Okay, so he definitely took my answer as sex; it was just sex he wanted … one night.

  I was a fool to think of it as anything else and for that I was suddenly glad I hadn’t been more specific, even though I felt the pang of disappointment inside me; what had I honestly expected? That he was going to get down on one knee and ask me to go steady?

  Yeah, right!

  I broke from his kiss, dazed, breathless but still containing the edge of my frayed senses. “But I think you have forgotten something,” I said, looking wickedly up at him, amusement lining my face.

  Ringer looked confused for a long moment, but when I raised my brows it was like it was a trigger; I could see the light bulb go off in his mind.

  I giggled. Perhaps Ringer had forgotten about the many packets of condoms he’s seen in my handbag.

  “I guess I will have to go back and get one,” I teased.

  Ringer caught my arm, stopping me in my tracks. “I've got one in my room.”

  Oh.

  Of course he would have one, didn't every red-blooded male carry a condom? I didn't know whether to be relieved that I didn't have to sneak all the way back into the house, but when Ringer leaned in and pressed his lips against mine, it was like a long-lingering promise that caused heat to brand my cheeks, and he pulled away looking particularly pleased with himself.

  ‘Wait here,” he breathed against my mouth, before slowly backing away and making his way around the corner and up the stairs quietly to his room.I ran my fingers through my hair and straightened my twisted clothes. I could still taste the tobacco and remnants of beer in my mouth and strangely, it left me with the memory of him, causing butterflies to stir in my tummy.I rubbed my upper arms and paced along the sidewall of the shearers’ hut, rampant thoughts circling in my mind. This is happening, this is really happening.

  I had gone from despising Ringer to dry humping him in the shadows. I had gone from wanting to run him over, to wanting to run my fingers through his hair. I had gone from wanting to strangle him, to wanting to wrap myself around him. Considering he had gone from someone I never wanted to see again, to someone I never wanted to leave, all the emotions confused me, but more than that, they excited me. My heart slammed
against my chest thinking about what was going to happen when he came back; would he take me by the hand and lead me somewhere? Or press me up against the wall and take me right there? I really hope his mates are fast asleep. Would he be hot and demanding or gentle and slow, and Christ I was shaking. Overthinking everything as I walked up and down, chewing my knuckle, my rampant thoughts turning me into a bag of nerves. It was made even worse, not by Ringer’s return but by the blinding beams of the outside light that now switched to life and flooded the yard.

  Someone in the house was coming outside.

  I dove onto the ground, army crawling under the steps of the shearers’ hut. There wasn’t much room but enough to shield myself from view, at least I hoped there was. I spied through the gaps in the slats of the stairs only to realise my worst fear. The screen door opened and my dad walked out onto the verandah in his fetching blue dressing gown. He stretched his arms to the sky before yawning and scratching his butt. I didn’t know what was worse: this vision, which I would really have preferred not to see, or the sound of an unknowing Ringer, whose footsteps were quickly closing in. He would be expecting to be met with my open arms; instead, he was going to be met with my dad.

  Awesome.

  There was no way of warning him; he would be in direct sight of Dad opposite the drive and then it was too late: Ringer’s foot appeared on the step, pausing as if he had just realised.

  “Ringer?” Dad squinted. “Ha, can’t you sleep either?”

  “Oh … um, yeah.”

  Ringer slowly descended the steps, his body was rigid, guarded. He casually looked to his right, no doubt wondering where I had managed to go. I would have found it rather comical, the look on Ringer’s face, the strained surprise in his voice, oh yes, all really funny if I wasn’t wedged under a staircase.

  “I just can’t help thinking I’ve forgotten something, ya know?” Dad said, tying the cord around his beer belly and making his way off the verandah and, oh God. He was walking this way. I shrunk down a little.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry, I think we have everything covered.” Ringer coolly slid something into his back pocket, and I knew exactly what it was he had in his hand; well, if this wasn’t a mood killer I don’t know what was.