“I don’t plan on having any beers tonight, love. Don’t worry about me. I want you to go out and enjoy yourself.”
“If you want to have a beer, I can set up a caregiver for a few hours. I’m not heading out until later.”
“No, I’m good. There’s a game on tonight. I’ll be bad company anyway.”
“Who is playing?” I feign interest even though I have no clue about the soccer teams in the A league except for Chance’s team.
“Melbourne and Sydney.”
“Chance’s team. Is he playing?”
Dad lets out a sigh. “Not yet. You want to know the team’s stats?”
I pull a face. “No. Maybe who kicks the goals? For conversation’s sake at work.”
“More to the game than kicking goals.”
“Fine. Fill me in tomorrow.” I take his dirty plate and stand. “Do you like AFL football?”
“I watch it if that’s what you mean. Not my favourite sport.”
“Do you know anything about the Blackbirds’ players?”
“Hard not to when they’re always on the TV and in the newspaper.”
“Some come into work regularly, and I wondered if they were any good at footy?”
Dad looks suspicious, so I shrug.
“Give me names.”
“Um… I know one’s called Reef—”
“Burton? Boy can fly. He has the speed of a cheetah. Who else?”
“I think another’s name is Hunter. As I said, they come in for coffee.”
“Hunter Stone. I reckon they’re grooming him to be the captain one day.”
I shake my head. “You spend too much time in front of the television.”
“Are any of these boys your friend?”
“Maybe.” I smile before leaving him to wash up our dishes.
I head to Reef’s penthouse after dinner. Even though I don’t require a jacket, I decide it’s better to wear one. A cotton jacket buttoned up high on my chest. I didn’t want my father to witness the outfit I chose for Reef or the receptionist with the judging eyes.
She swipes the lift and allows me to travel up alone.
Beneath my coat, I’m wearing a black knee-length dress with a plunging neckline. Heels. Gloss on my lips. The most makeup I’ve used in years and most of it applied in the carpark. My hair is pulled back in a ponytail like most days.
The doors ding and open like stage curtains to Reef standing before me—white T-shirt, board shorts, no shoes.
His blond fringe partially covers one eye, still damp as though he’s stepped out the shower minutes ago. Pushing fingers through his hair as though he needs to see me more clearly, he manages a simple, “Hey.”
The elevator doors close behind me. I step into a space filled with his scent—all cedar, vanilla, and musk—and relish the way his eyes travel down my body. The heat of his gaze increasing the need to rid myself of this jacket.
“Hey,” I repeat, not sure whether to reach up and kiss him or play it cool. He takes my hand and leads me to the door, allowing me to enter first.
Soft orchestral music plays in the background. It throws me off-kilter. I thought he’d be into Aussie Indie bands like Gang of Youths, The Rubens, even Matt Corby but not this. I imagine the fruity, stirring sound of Matt Corby’s voice floating across the room to envelop me like a warm blanket of familiarity.
“Can I take your jacket?”
“I’m fine for the moment,” I lie. I’m dying under here.
“You’re making me hot looking at you.” He pulls off his T-shirt and folds it before placing it on the chair.
Jesus. If I were ever to pray, it would be now. He’s ripped more than I remember. Every stomach muscle washboard hard and begging to be licked. I lick my lips instead and force myself to look away, focus on anything but him because I need to get this coat off, only I know what it will lead to the moment I do.
Two red wines are poured and sitting on the kitchen bench. Looking around the apartment, not a thing is out of place. The white tiles gleam and not a scrap of anything on the white marble bench. Unusual for three guys living together.
“Come to the balcony,” he says, passing me a glass of wine. “I assume you drink Chianti if you work at an Italian restaurant.”
“Never assume anything,” I say. “But yes, I do. Thank you.”
He nods and walks ahead and opens the sliding doors. It takes me a moment to notice the ocean view as I’m mesmerised by the way his muscles contract in his legs with every step—the indentation of every muscle in his back and those broad, tanned shoulders. He leans on the balcony railing and looks out to the ocean. Every defined bulge indicates undeniable strength. I imagine what those arms and shoulders can do, what weight his back can endure.
The safest spot is beside him, watching the sun sink into the ocean. His stare doesn’t falter, there’s a longing in his gaze.
“You miss it?”
He bows his head, knuckles turning white on the rail. “Yeah, but I made a stupid decision.”
“To surf?”
“For poor judgement in getting a good ride. Didn’t have the right board and had a bad wipeout. Almost ruined my footy career.”
“I thought you almost ruined your most valued possession.” I grin. Nerves tighten my gut when he doesn’t see the humour. He downs the last of his red wine, then holds out a hand for my glass.
I’ve barely had a sip. “I’m fine for now, thanks.”
Reef returns with the bottle and fills his glass.
“Are you mostly healed?”
He nods. “I’m walking fine. Any pressure on the area is painful. I can lightly jog a short distance.”
“I’d love to watch you surf,” I say with a vision of him riding the waves, his hair damp and slick, the water glistening over tanned skin.
“I can take you down south during the holidays. Teach you if you’re game.” His eyes meet mine in a challenge.
“Sure, but I’ll watch the first time.” There won’t be a second time. I’m not capable of balancing on a board.
“What do you like to do?” he asks.
“I swim sometimes.”
“Sick. You’ll be able to handle the ocean, then.”
Shit. “Footy and surfing.” I throw it back at him. “What else is there to Reef Burton?”
“That’s basically it.” He shrugs. “And… I’m out of action for now.”
Is he?
I down the last of my red wine and decline a refill. “I’m driving.”
He runs his fingers through his fringe. A habit I’m noticing more.
“Did you eat dinner?”
“I snacked.” What girl comes to a sex date with a full stomach?
Reef grins at me. “Wait here.”
He returns with a platter of chopped pineapple, strawberries, apples, and a chocolate dipping sauce in the middle of the plate. “I made dessert before you arrived.” He points to a table with chairs on the balcony. There’s a gleam in his eyes like he’s plotting something.
“Wow.” I take a piece of strawberry and dip it in the sauce, then moan when the flavour hits my tongue. His expression changes watching me suck the sauce before swallowing.