“Sebastian,” she says, correcting me. “Agreed. You wouldn’t understand… the pressure and all.”
I let out a long-winded whistle. “If anyone understands, it’s me. I may not be from a family of politicians, but I had every die-hard soccer fanatic and media outlet keep their eyes on me. I got paid each time I scored. Ridiculous amounts of money were thrown at me providing I performed. If that’s not pressure, then I don’t know what is.”
“And then, what happened?”
I close my eyes. “I don’t like talking about it.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… pried.”
“You finished your drink? Maybe we can take it slow on the way back? Wouldn’t want to have you die of a coronary heart attack on the way.”
She laughs, patting my shoulder. “Sounds good. I wouldn’t be opposed to piggy-backing on that steep hill near home.”
“Be careful what you wish for. I was in several piggy-back races as a child. I may have even won a local race.”
“What was the prize?”
“You didn’t get your face smashed into a pile of mud by the town bully.”
“Aww.” Her smile is innocent, and her attempt to feel sorry for me is absolutely pathetic. “That’s so cute.”
“Cute?” I raise my brow at her. “You’re twisted, Gabs. C’mon, get your arse off the ground and let’s do this.”
I extend my hand, her own reaching for mine. When she’s standing beside me, our gaze locks as something passes between us.
I don’t know what the hell it is, nor can I explain the way it makes me feel.
I only know this—Gabriella is a heartbreaker.
And I am directly in her path.
Gabriella
We walk slowly back to the house, taking in the seaside scenery which is impossible when you’re running.
Oliver loves to talk about his childhood—his face lights up every time he mentions his ma and pa back home. I enjoy listening—his upbringing a polar opposite to mine. He was raised on a farm, along with his two younger sisters, Rory and Matilda, then in his teenage years, his family decided to move to Sydney to give him a decent chance at playing professional soccer.
“So, I guess living on a farm, you probably love being around Pixy?”
Oliver’s expression changes instantly. He blinks rapidly, shoulders tightening as we walk side by side. “Ah… I kinda had an incident with a goat when I was young.”
I wait for him to tell me, but seconds pass followed by nothing. It’s obvious I’m going to have to drag it out of him. The guy’s as stubborn as a mule.
“And?”
“Promise not to laugh?”
I cross my heart, already smiling because I know he will make me laugh.
“You’re already laughing!”
“I’m not…” I try to keep a straight face, struggling to compose myself. Pursing my lips and biting them together, my smile disappears. “See?”
With his brow raised, eyeing me dubiously, he rubs his jaw, watching my expression with uncertainty. “Okay, so I was about eight when we had two goats, Sonny and Cher.”
“You had goats named Sonny and Cher?”
“My parents were hippies, and you know that era. So, one day at school, this boy, Caleb, was teasing me, calling me a wuss because I had two sisters, so I must be a girl. The actual truth is I had a crush on this girl, Milly, and so did he.” He draws in a deep breath, then continues, “Anyway, he followed me home that day because he lived one property down from us and saw Sonny and Cher. He said that if I weren’t a girl, I needed to take off my red hat and wave it at them to see if they would move.”
“Oh no, then what happened?”
Oliver folds his arms across his chest, his gaze flicking upward. “They weren’t bulls, so I was confident nothing would happen, especially because Pa once told me goats couldn’t see red. And I believed him until Sonny rammed me left field and knocked me over.”
I try my best to contain my laughter, covering my mouth and breathing into my hand to control myself.
“Pa had to call the doctor. I was knocked out cold.”
“What happen to Sonny and Cher?”
“Cher was in her old age, so she passed not long after, and Sonny… well, he was sent to another farm.”
“Oh,” I mouth. “Poor Olly, and all over a crush.”
He stops mid-stride, and a gleam appears in his eye as he looks at me. “You called me Olly?”
I didn’t even realize I’d done so. Is that even a big deal? I’d heard Aubrey say it, and I guess, if I’m honest with myself, we had formed somewhat of a friendship warranting nickname calling. He often referred to me as Gabs which I loathe.
“Yeah,” I stumble out. “I guess everyone calls you that.”
“You’re not everyone,” he murmurs, staring deeply.
I’m drawn to his eyes, almost emerald, reflecting with the aid of the sun. It’s more than just the color, there’s something deep about the way it makes me feel—pure, a sense of hope and protection, a feeling of completion.
I’m torn between whatever it is that’s holding me in this position, stilling my movements yet accelerating my heartbeat. How could something so simple, the weight of a man’s stare, especially a man who you despised only a week ago, evoke so much emotion.
Shaking my head, I break the hold and switch my focus on the direction in front of us. We’re only a block away from home when I notice the familiar beachside homes lined up the small hill.
“I’m drenched. I really need to head home and take a shower.”
The minute I say it, I cringe at my choice of words. Really? I’m such an idiot. Often, I wonder how I even adult. Oliver won’t let this one slide, that much I know. He has a response to everything, and his maturity level dwindles to gutter level whenever I open my big, fat mouth and say something stupid to provoke him.
Oliver smirks. “Do you need help? I’m an expert in the shower.”
“I bet you are.” I laugh, knocking his arm playfully. “I think I got it covered. I may not have many skills, but in showering, I could probably get an A-plus.”
“We need to stop talking about you showering, these shorts leave nothing to the imagination.”
I look down, and beneath his black shorts, I can see the outline of his manhood.
Turn away now. Now good will come of this.
He looks hung.
Jesus, did you say that out loud?
Oh my God, I scan his face, but nothing changes, so it doesn’t appear I’ve said it out loud. My mouth curves upward into a smile, followed by an obnoxious laugh, unable to control the delirium inside me from the heat and exhaustion.
“Okay, time to calm down, buddy,” he whistles, releasing a breath. “I’ll race you back to the house. In fact, I’ll give you a five-minute head start.”