“Yeah, I already knew what it would say.”
“So, you did get some back?”
“Just the ones telling me my cholesterol’s up, and I need to change eye drops.”
He’s not telling me everything. “Has the doctor made his rounds?”
“Yeah. They come by around eight.”
I nod. Looks like I’ll be dropping in for a visit before work tomorrow.
Dad releases my hand and points to the bald man beside him. “Looks like your team lost again,” he ribs when the football scores flash on the television. I shake my head at how easily distracted he becomes with sports.
“I forgot to mention I met Chance Bateman. And some AFL players.”
“You did?” He leans onto his elbow as I open my phone and show him the photographs. “Someone had too many beers in this photo?”
I chuckle. “Yeah. Georgia had me on the tequila.”
It opens a conversation between the three men about good times or bad from tequila. Everyone has an experience they brag about. Listening to them, I wander around the bed and take out the clipboard holding Dad’s charts. I flip through it. I don’t understand much, but something tells me the peaks and troughs on a graph are not good. It’s a trigger to when Mum left and to the sadness and blame we felt for months.
I can’t help carrying some blame for Dad’s problems. I should be there more for him. Or pay for a caregiver to come more often. I don’t want to think about my life if something were to happen to him.
On instinct, I open Instagram to the guy who apparently likes me.
I tap out a message without thinking of the consequences, especially the fact he is shy.
If you want to hit me up for that coffee, I can meet you this afternoon.
I take a seat next to the man who loves me in the purest form, irrevocably. “Have you been listening to the cricket scores?”
“Bloody Poms…” he begins.
By the end of the day, I’ve discussed anything important to him. And since it’s early November, I ask, “Where would you like to eat Christmas dinner this year?”
Dad’s brow pulls together to form a dent as though he knows I’m worried about him. His expression softens with a smile. “At home like we do every year. You, and me, and a turkey for three.” He gives me a wink. “You don’t change something that works.”
“Okay. I’ll make a list of everything you want. Only I think I’ll switch up dessert, and I’ll ask Dominic for one of his fancy treats.”
By the time I’m ready to leave the ward, I am in a better place. Walking to the elevator, I read the message on Instagram from Reef.
No smart reply? Is this your way of messing with me?
I wasn’t messing with him when I wrote it. Still, the more I think about him, the more nervous I become because I want him.
It’s been a while between drinks as Georgia had put it.
One night.
A hook-up.
It will mean nothing.
It’s second nature to a guy like him. Fame. Wealth. Women. All three go hand in hand. For me, I want to feel the warmth of a man for one night to remind myself I’m wanted. Loved by someone who isn’t obligated. My mother felt no obligation, and sometimes I hate to admit I’m a little like her, never engaging in a relationship. One night. A week or two. A month at most. No emotional baggage. Just sex with orgasms to revive the soul.
Will it influence Reef coming to Lombardi’s in the future? Tonight I’m being selfish and not thinking clearly because the first thing that comes to mind is there are plenty of other cafés that serve good coffee.
Chapter Five
MACY
Not messing with you.
I grab my bag and rip the keys out of the ignition. It’s going to be a quick shower to attend to the bits now I’ve resigned myself to the fact this might happen.
I thought about meeting at mine first, but I live with three other players.
I could come to yours?
“Not a chance,” I murmur. Bad timing or whatever, but the vibrator under my bed can fix the itch because no way is a guy coming here. I’m not ashamed of our mediocre house. It’s more of giving my details and him knowing where to find me.
If we were to skip the coffee, the sex is about me. When I want it. And anonymity. I want to be able to hide or run from the guys who fall in lust thinking it’s love—the ones who forget the rules. I type out:
I’m not alone either. Perhaps another time.
I shower, flick on the television, and pour a glass of wine. I’m scrolling through horror movies to watch and notice the new message as my phone lights up.
Guys have gone out. Come to The Penthouses at the Bay. Reception will notify me when you’re here.
I toss my phone on the lounge beside me.
Shit, he gave me his address.
Somehow my glass is drained in one go, and I’ve grabbed my keys, a light jacket, and I’m out the door. I don’t think twice because there can’t be regret.
I am wearing black elastic waist pants, the Boho type, flared and not clingy. A black singlet. No bra because ten minutes ago I was settling in for a horror movie. And black flip flops.
I’m not surprised at the valet’s shock when I step out of my dirty, red Datsun. “Can you tell me the best place to park?”
He points to the paid public parking area. Five bucks for an hour. I’ll be done in less than one, so I top the meter with gold coins.
The receptionist gives me the once over, and I’m tempted to unfold my coat from around my waist.
I wait while she speaks over the phone to, I assume Reef.
A few minutes later, the elevator doors ding, and he strolls out in a white buttoned shirt and blue jeans sitting low on his hips. I’m dead. Then I notice his bare feet, and smile, without regret.
“Macy.” He holds out an arm.
I don’t take it or shake it or whatever.
“I’m not quite ready. Would you like to come up?”
“Sure.” I’ve heard worse lines.
I step forward, he rests his hand on my lower back, leading the way into the lift. He swipes his card and presses the penthouse button. Does his card only permit the lift to access that level? My thoughts are whirling at the same speed as my heart rate. The doors open, and we walk a short distance to another door. He types in a code and swipes the door for entry.
It might be my one and only chance to hook-up with him, so as soon as the door closes, my arms loop around his neck, and I’m kissing him. I relish the warmth of his lips, the way his tongue slips easily into my mouth, and how our bodies mesh together—a better fit than I imagined. My insides spark as I run my hands over strong muscles, down his back to his tight ass.
Reef pulls back. “What’s the rush, Mace?”
I refuse to admit to only paying for an hour. Instead, I run with the obvious. “I thought this is what you wanted?”
“What, no. I mean it is, but I thought we’d get to know each other first.”
“Isn’t a hook-up the best way to get to know each other? I thought it’s what you players do best?”