Revue

by K. M. Golland

  “Yep.”

  “You can’t move or open your eyes, can you?”

  “Nope.”

  “You want me to carry you down myself, don’t you?”

  Before I could answer, I felt his arms slide across my back and legs. “NO!” I yelled, opening my eyes and sliding to my butt. “No. No. No.”

  “Good girl, open them,” he said firmly, squatting down beside me. “Now look at me.”

  Panting and blinking profusely, I found his bright, pearly-white smile.

  “Slow your breathing. Calm down. You’re safe, Corinne. Remember what I said? I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

  I nodded. Words weren’t forming. Mouth wasn’t working.

  “Now, I’m gonna help you stand up slowly.” He took hold of one of my hands while I gripped the railing with the other, pulling myself to my feet. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

  I obeyed, more than happy to look at him as opposed to anything else in my vicinity. The chocolate warmth of his eyes stared back at me, wavering for a split second to something or someone over my shoulder. He nodded then returned his attention to me, leaning in and gently kissing my forehead.

  Wow. His lips. Something about them soothed me, like a warm comfy blanket on a cold winter’s night, or a hot steamy bath after a hard day’s work. I couldn’t explain why or how, but they just seemed to put me at ease—they felt right.

  “Feel better?” he asked, keeping his lips pressed to my head.

  “Yes, a little,” I barely voiced.

  “Do you think you could walk if I held your hand?”

  I nodded.

  “Good,” he said, stepping back, the breeze’s kiss in place of his lips. I didn’t like the alternate. “Ian,” he called out, summoning our instructor.

  Seconds later, he was by our side. “How you going there, Cori? Ready to head back to ground zero?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “Well, alrighty then.” He rubbed my back enthusiastically.

  There was a clinking of cables and wires, and the next thing I knew, Josh’s hand was in mine, coaxing me to descend the steps, one at a time.

  I don’t know why or how, but returning—no matter where you’d come from—was always so much quicker than the journey it took to get there, and before I knew it, I was stepping inside the BridgeClimb building. Oh thank God.

  I’d done it. I’d actually conquered one of my biggest fears. Well, maybe not conquered, but faced and returned safely.

  “I did it,” I said quietly to myself, glancing down and finding Josh’s fingers still entwined with mine. I looked back up and was greeted by his proud, bright smile. “I did it! I climbed the fucking Sydney Harbour Bridge!”

  He laughed and said shh, pulling me to him and cradling my head against his chest. “Yeah, you did, but you may want to keep it down. There are kids and old people around.”

  Peeking over his shoulder, I spotted another tour all lined up and ready to make their trek, some of them glaring at me for my inappropriate language. I felt like telling them to shut their fucking judgemental muted pie holes, and that I just made the Sydney Harbour Bridge my bitch … but I didn’t, instead shrivelling back into Josh’s safe and protective chest.

  “Oops.”

  “Yeah, oops. Come on, let’s get undressed.”

  My eyebrow rose in question and I pulled back.

  “The overalls, sweetheart,” he explained, unbuttoning his safety suit.

  “Oh, yeah.” I laughed and began to strip, happy, relieved, and feeling as if I could take on the world.

  ***

  After leaving BridgeClimb, the group went their separate ways, some opting for a quick bite to eat before the late-night harbour cruise performance, and others heading back to the hotel for some R ’n’ R. That had been my plan, until Josh had stopped me from getting into the elevator.

  “Come and have a drink with me at the bar,” he said, stepping in front of the open doors of the cart.

  “I really should go up and prepare for—”

  “No, you shouldn’t. What are you doing for dinner?”

  “I … I don’t know. Probably room service,” I said, moving round him to stop the cart from leaving without me.

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me in the direction of the bar. “No, you’re not. You’re having dinner with me. You owe me after I saved you from dying today.”

  “You did not!”

  “Yeah, I did. You would’ve died up there had I not helped you down.”

  Grr. Shit! He was partly right. I may not have died had I stayed up there, but I sure as hell wouldn’t have made it up nor down without him.

  “Okay. I’ll have dinner with you as a thank you.”

  “So you should. And you’re paying.”

  I whacked him on the arm. “Am not.”

  “Fine. I’ll charge it to Brad’s room.”

  “Josh! You can’t.” I giggled.

  “Watch me.”

  We approached the hotel restaurant and were greeted by the maître d'. “May I help you?”

  “Do you have a table for two, please?”

  “Certainly, sir. Where would you like to sit?” Her cheeks turned rosy and eyes kept flicking toward his T-shirt-snug body, and I could tell she was trying very hard to stop that from occurring. The struggle was real, although, it did make my eyebrow yawn. Yeah, they yawn, sarcastic buggers.

  Josh smirked and squeezed my hand. “Somewhere quiet, private.”

  “Not a problem. Follow me.”

  We followed Miss Rosy Cheeks to a corner of the room and were seated at a small oak table adorned with a glassed pillar candle and a petite white posy. It was very rustic, cute … nice. The intimate setting was also slightly intimidating and a little awkward, heightening my confusion where Josh was concerned.

  “A waiter will be with you shortly,” she explained, gesturing for us to sit.

  I pulled out my chair, sat, and took hold of my napkin, laying it across my lap—anything to avoid initial eye contact.

  “Do I have something on my face?” he asked.

  I looked up and furrowed my brow, noticing him wipe at his chin. “No. Why?”

  “You won’t look at me. I thought it was because I had a booger or something.”

  I burst into laughter. “No, you don’t. But if you did, I’d definitely tell you. I’m nice like that.”

  “Hmm…”

  “No, look … sorry. I’m just a little confused. But I do want to say thank you, again. You were amazing on the bridge today.”

  He winked. “So were you.”

  “Ha! Amazingly pathetic.”

  Embarrassed, I adjusted my cutlery, setting it out in front of me.

  “Hey!” he said, reaching out to clasp my hand. “You were amazing. You were fucking terrified, and yet you kicked that bridge’s arse. Don’t sell yourself short.”

  I looked at his hand resting on mine. “Josh, what are you doing? What are we doing … here … now?”

  “Waiting for some slow-arsed waiter to take our drinks order.”

  I sighed and met his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  “Corinne, we are having dinner and talking. That’s it.”

  “That’s it?” I asked, my expression, disbelieving.

  “Yes, that … and I’m convincing you to give me another chance.”

  “Another chance at what?”

  “Another chance at us.”

  “There was an us?” I asked, bewildered that Josh would even insinuate such a thing.

  His finger danced across the top of my hand, its delicate glide intimate and beautiful. It flamed my cheeks. “Sweetheart, the moment my lips first touched yours, there was an ‘us’ … until I fucked it up this morning.”

  I blinked. Twice. This was news to me. Nice of him to let me know, though. “You still haven’t told me why you did that.”

  He retracted his hand and ran it through his hair. “Yes, I have. What I did is all I know.”


  “Hang on a second,” I said, shaking my head and massaging my temple. “So what you’re saying is that you expect me to give you a chance, only for you to then chase me away with your harsh and dishonest words? Why? Why would I do that?”

  “Because I really want you to. And because I want to try not to do the chasing away and harsh bullshit words part.”

  My headache went up a level, but so did the beat of my heart. “I don’t get it. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. Why me? Why want to change who you are for me?”

  “Because, this morning, when you came apart underneath me, I came apart too.”

  “What does that even mean?” I asked, beseechingly.

  “It means that everything I’d known up until that point blew to smithereens when you cried out my name.”

  Wow! All I could do was stare.

  “It means that I want you. Want more. Want to try.”

  I stared some more.

  “It means I’m asking you to give me a chance at being what you want.”

  Blinking ensued.

  “But you … you don’t … no, you don’t do relationships,” I stuttered, softly, completely astounded.

  “No, I don’t. But you make me want to try to do one.”

  “And what if you can’t?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me?”

  Silence settled as we took each other in over the flickering flame of the candle. Josh wore an expression of unnerve, vulnerability, his eyes dancing nervously in their sockets. It stabbed at my chest and heightened my doubt. Yet it also pulled on the strings attached to my heart.

  Unable to hold his intense questioning stare any longer, I fiddled with my napkin. “I don’t know, Josh. I don’t know if you’re capable of what you’re suggesting.”

  He sat back in his seat, frustrated, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe I’m fucking not. But I want to try. You make me want to try.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. You just do.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “‘Just because’ is not an answer.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “How?”

  “Just because.”

  “Jesus you’re infuriating,” I growled, crossing my arms like him.

  “You’re gorgeous, and sexy as fuck. And you make me laugh.”

  A smile teased the corners of my mouth. “Those are better answers.”

  He leaned forward, the candle flaming his eyes. “And you make me want to swipe this fucking table clean, lay your body on top of it, tear your pants in two and eat your pussy for entrée, main and dessert.”

  Tongue.

  Rolled out.

  Of mouth.

  Hit Floor.

  Holy fuck!

  “That so?” I choked out, my core tightening as I patted the base of my throat for relief. Water. I need water.

  He nodded, slowly … purposefully.

  “Um … well, my pussy isn’t on the menu right now. Would you like to eat something else?”

  He shook his head, slowly … purposefully. Where the fuck is the water?

  “Josh, stop playing around,” I whispered, glancing at the other patrons close by.

  “Oh I’m not, sweetheart. I want to taste you … and soon. Real soon.”

  Clenching. Tingling. My pussy wouldn’t pipe down. She was practically throwing her own rave party. For fuck’s sake, quit it, you insolent mole.

  “How ’bout we just try and go one day without fighting. How ’bout that?”

  Josh picked up his menu and flicked a page. “How ’bout tonight, on the boat, I whisper in your ear.”

  I laughed sardonically. “Well, that would be a smart move on your part, because whispering the ‘whisper of fuck’ in someone else’s ear will assure my pussy never touches your lips.”

  He looked up and smiled victoriously. “Deal.”

  Holy shit!

  I wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about Josh’s declaration over dinner. Part of me was figuratively grabbing a bottle of champagne, popping the cork and saying cheers to the world. Yet, the other part of me was checking the locks on the cage that protected my heart. It was shaking that door and reinforcing that it was secure.

  My head and heart stood firmly against each other with me in the middle, trying to appease them both. I’d always thought that when true love came along there’d be no battle between the two—that they would just harmonise, and that was how you’d know that what you’d found was the real thing. After the past few weeks, I wasn’t really sure of that notion anymore. I still believed in true love—of course I did. I was just no longer convinced that harmony between head and heart was all that possible. I mean, could our heart really be directed? And could our mind lose all that made it our guiding force? Could there be a compromise between the two, yet love still prevail? Eventually, one would be victorious while the other licked its wounds … surely.

  Sighing, I wanted to bitch-slap myself. And I wanted to bitch-slap Josh for making me feel this way. Before he came into my life, I’d liked the notion that true love was beautiful, fluffy and sweet. That it was rainbows, puppies, and floating bubbles. That butterflies fluttered within the confines of your stomach while the sounds of tweeting birds sung in your ears. Yeah, I’m not going to lie—I liked that. To me, true love was the equivalent to a cartoon.

  “Slackin’ tonight?” Patsy asked with a smile, as she stopped to sit on the arm of my tub chair.

  “Yeah, I had a big day.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted higher. “So I heard. Tell me, what on earth made you want to climb a bridge when you hate heights?”

  “It’s the Sydney Harbour Bridge,” I exclaimed, no other explanation necessary.

  She shrugged. “Fair enough.”

  We were on the boat, on our way back to port. The guys were finishing up their performance—a somewhat low-key version of what they’d normally do on dry land—and I’d already taken the photos I’d planned for the evening, wanting iconic landscapes and structures in the background. Thanks to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that circumvolved the entertainment area, I was successful at achieving this. There was one particular shot of Josh and Brad with the Harbour Bridge between them that I adored. It was fitting, considering the day I’d had.

  “So, I also heard that Bugs came to your rescue,” she added.

  Biting back my smile, I gestured for her to sit opposite me while shooting a glance at Josh on the makeshift stage. He was performing his “Bad to the Bone” act and enticing a small, intimate crowd of wealthier women. You’d have to be blind not to see that those around us were dripping in money. They had designer clothes and impeccable makeup, their manicured nails being waved through the air with a tinge of haughtiness while clutched to champagne flutes. These particular women weren’t as rowdy as those I’d become familiar with at land-based venues, yet they were still bold, forward, and definitely forthcoming.

  Josh stepped off the stage and entered the well-to-do crowd seated in tub chairs around small coffee tables, which were spread randomly around the room. One of said upper-class women tried to slip a one hundred dollar bill into Josh’s pants. He stopped, took it out and placed it back into her hand while whispering something into her ear.

  Everything stopped: my heart, my lungs, the blinking of my eyes. I couldn’t swallow through the constriction of my throat, and my stomach plummet … again.

  “Good boy, Josh,” Patsy praised.

  My head snapped in her direction. “What? Why?”

  “Stupid broad is trying to buy extra attention. That’s not what we are about. The guys aren’t allow to accept tips, and that’s exactly what he’s telling her.”

  I looked back at Josh, bent over, his mouth near her ear, his hand on hers with the bill between them. “How do you know that’s what he’s saying? He could be telling her where they can fuck later on. Isn’t that what he does?”

  Patsy chuckle
d mildly. “Well yeah, unfortunately. But no, hon, this time it’s not that type of whisper. I can see it in his eyes. I’ve known Josh for a long time. He’s simply being polite and trying not to embarrass the poor rich bitch.”

  God, I hoped she was right. I just didn’t hold the same faith that she did. Josh had a history, a reputation for being a slut. And he had it for good reason—because he was one. I knew it sounded harsh, but it’s the truth. Yeah, he’d shown another side to himself these past few days. And yeah, we’d become closer. But I was still wary, unsure … guarded. I was still sceptical that he could change.

  Josh had said that he wanted to spend more time with me and see where it took us, but I wasn’t confident enough to believe that that was his real goal. I didn’t know him well enough to say ‘yes, let’s give this a go’ and, because of that, the cage around my heart rattled in warning. Right now, if what my body felt was anything to go by, the mild nausea and thrashing of my heart, I didn’t trust him—I couldn’t

  Blinking, I tried to get my shit together by taking in a deep breath, which was when his eyes found mine, his lips still speaking hushed words to the socialite. A smile instantly formed on his face, but it disappeared just as quickly. He looked at the woman and stood upright, retracting his hand and stepping away from her. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Patsy shift ever so slightly in her seat, his sudden withdrawal from the woman appearing to gain her attention. Either that, or she had an itchy bum.

  Josh applied a faux smile for the crowd and continued to perform his Bad Boy routine while making his way in our direction. His closing distance made me stir in my seat; he was up to something, I could just tell.

  He was utterly delicious, for want of better words to describe what he looked like in his motorcycle get-up. But it was also the air of intensity he held in the way he carried himself. The man exuded confidence with each step he took, each glance he made and each breath he drew. When he was Mr Bad to the Bone under lights and in a room full of wanton women, he embodied intimidation.

  Stopping just shy of my feet, he motioned for me to stand with the ‘come hither’ of his finger and a hint of seductive deviltry in his eyes. I stared at his devious digit, as if it would grow a tongue and lick searing fire across my skin, fire I craved would burn through to my very core. But entering the devil’s space, invited, wasn’t something I’d normally consent to. I was smarter than that, and took heed of blaring beacons. Problem was, where Josh was concerned, I was blind to such cautioning light. And fuck me if my legs weren’t as smarter than my head, because they activated, elevating me like an obedient puppet, directly into his arms. What are you doing, Cori? Sit your arse back down.