Thirty Days: Part One Page 8

  “Come on, let’s celebrate your first day here.”

  The word ‘NO’ screams in my head, but my mouth betrays me and agrees.

  “Good. How about you meet me in an hour?”

  “Sure, that can be done. Hang on, it’s nothing fancy, right? Like I don’t have to dress up. An hour’s not a great deal of time with travel involved.”

  “No. But you do need to wear something comfy, yet pretty…also no thongs, it’s a bit classy,” Asher says with a smile.

  “Classy…comfy. Got it.”

  We stride side by side, each step in time to the parking lot and say our goodbyes for now. Why in the world I agreed to a public outing with a co-worker has me both baffled and pissed off. But it’s too late to pull out, I guess.

  ***

  Rafferty’s was just as easy to find as Leyton’s was earlier. Another monstrosity of a sign leads the way. What’s with these hideous signs?

  Three steps lead me into a black and white tiled foyer. Another twelve steps lead to a bar on an upper level. A winding deck wraps around the outside of the building, and ocean waves crash onto a beach, a view so pristine it could have been a magazine picture.

  Looking down at my watch, I note the hands read 5:45 p.m. I’m actually early. Shocked. The ocean scents waft freely, and a breeze gently flows across my partly naked back. I probably should have brought a coat to go with my knee-length halter dress. But, of course, I never think about things like that.

  Approaching the bar, I order my favourite cocktail, a Mudslide. This place is fancy, not your regular beers and spirits only type of establishment.

  Sipping slowly, I watch the thunderous waves roll in and crash heavily against the shore. I’ve never been here before. I didn’t even know it existed. I like it. The numbers on the clock I just spied above the bar read 6:01 p.m. Asher shouldn’t be too far away. Now who’s late? I relax into the soft backing of the seat and enjoy the colours that begin merging together in the sky. A sunset is imminent. Beeping from inside my bag alerts me to a text message. A number displays, one I don’t recognise.

  0467843211: Hi. I’m so sorry, Abigail. I can’t make it. My brother was involved in a car accident. We’ve been told he is okay, but I’m going with my parents to the hospital. I know you’ll understand. Ash.

  I reply immediately.

  Me: That’s horrible, Asher. Of course I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow if you are coming to work.

  I save her number into my phone and place it back on the table. I sit wondering how she even has my contact information and then I remember filling in a bundle of employee information forms for her today after lunch break.

  “That would be how,” I say under my breath, looking out towards the ocean once again. The sense of someone standing behind me causes my body to stiffen. Something briefly touches my back and then I smell it, the smell of freshly picked mint.

  “Fancy running into you here,” he breathes into my ear. His cheek is so close, for a split second I will it to press against mine. Marcus steps in front of me, changing my view. Dark washed jeans and a white collared shirt covers his body. A body I find myself wanting to see.

  Stop it, Abigail. “Are you stalking me, Marcus?”

  His head throws back as he laughs. “Maybe.”

  “A domestic violence order could be in your future. You might have to get one of those solicitors at work to get you out of this bind,” I say sarcastically.

  “Possibly.” He sits down across from me.

  “That seat’s taken,” I lie.

  “What, by an imaginary friend?”

  My arms cross. “How do you know that my companion isn’t in the restrooms?”

  “Because you’ve been here alone…” He glances at his watch. “For nearly twenty minutes.”

  Silence.

  “So you are stalking me? You know, you’re not doing a very good job at it. I think you’re supposed to disguise the act.”

  “Probably.”

  What’s with the one-word answers? “It appears you’re solo, too?”

  “No. I’m here with my wife.” He must get the response he was after because he looks entertained. “I’m joking. I was catching up with a friend. You can close your mouth now.”

  Unaware it was even open, I bring my jaws together with haste.

  “You’re too easy.”

  “And you’re an arse.”

  “That’s probably true.”

  I can’t help but smile. Happiness seems to appear when Marcus is near.

  A peg thin woman in a lime green uniform shirt hands Marcus a beer. “From the lady at the bar.” She points in the direction of a sultry looking woman.

  Bright red lipstick beams at him. Long blond hair flows over barely covered breasts. Marcus holds the beer up and smiles.

  “Guessing that bimbo is your wife.”

  His head throws back, and he chuckles loudly.

  It’s not that funny. The blonde at the bar doesn’t seem impressed when she appears in my line of sight again.

  “You’re an arse,” I scold.

  He gulps a mouthful of beer. “Can you excuse me for a moment?”

  “Take all the time in the world. Seriously, until tomorrow or forever is fine with me.”

  He places his hand on his chest over his heart. “Crushed,” he mouths.

  I can’t help but smirk.

  Watching him approach this woman, who so kindly bought his drink, causes me to become annoyed. They exchange words and as they do, her hand comes to rest on his arm. He doesn’t pull it away and this makes me mad. Why?

  Marcus’ hand curls around her cheek, and he must whisper something into her ear because she’s listening intently. It’s only a couple of minutes before he’s heading back in my direction. What did he say?

  His swagger towards me causes me to pant. He’s so frickin’ hot. “Now where were we?” His words deliver as smooth as butter.

  “I was just leaving and you were…doing whatever it is you do.”

  “Have one drink with me?” His expression is impassive, but his words mean something entirely different to what they are defined as.

  Denied. I shake my head.

  Marcus walks away and then disappears.

  Why did he just leave? No witty humour to encourage me to stay? Standing up, I sling my bag over my shoulder and head towards the exit. I’m halted by Marcus and the Mudslide he’s holding out as a prize.

  “You can’t leave this cocktail hanging, Abi, you need to enjoy her first.”

  He talks about the drink like it’s a person, and I realise that, for the first time today, he has called me Abi.

  “I’m sure you can handle her.”

  “I’m not so sure. I’d much prefer to watch you enjoy her.” His eyes are wild with want.

  My breath hitches in my throat, and I cave. “I’ll stay.” I’m overcome by his expression.

  “Is it hot in here, Miss McMillian?”

  His code for I’m blushing. Betrayed by my body once more.

  “Very,” I reply.

  “Well, I think we should sit back outside. After you.” He ushers me to the front, and we make our way onto the deck, towards a table closest to the beach view. “Such a magnificent view, don’t you think?”

  “It is. I’ve never been here before. It’s very lovely.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the beach, Abigail. I was talking about your arse.”

  My heart flutters. How does he do that? “Is that your favourite pick-up line?”

  “No, I just enjoy a fine behind, and an eye roll from you.”

  Sitting down, I shake my head.

  He grins in response.

  This guy is cocky, and as much as I’d like to say I despise this quality, it actually humours me.

  “Who were you waiting for?” he asks before taking a mouthful of beer.

  “Asher.”

  “Well, is she coming?”

  “No, her brother had a car accident. She says he’s okay, but th
ey had to go to the hospital.”

  His body tenses. “I’ll have to make sure everything is okay in the morning. Her brother, Brad, is a good kid. Reckless at times, but nevertheless a bright young man with a good head on his shoulders.”

  “Oh, you know him?”

  “Yes, the whole family for that matter. Good people.” He pulls his phone from his jeans pocket and glances at the screen before resting it on the table.

  “Are you waiting for someone?”

  “No. I was actually going to head home until I spotted you.”

  “Don’t let me keep you.”

  “You’re not. It’s me keeping you.” His gaze again fills with that look of want, or is it need? Contact is broken when he reaches into his jean pocket for a second time and removes what appears on sight to be grass, but by the smell, it’s freshly picked mint. He slips it between his lips and starts chewing.

  “You’re weird.”

  His mouth is very…distracting, even more so when the corners curl upwards.

  “Well?”

  “What?”

  “What’s with the mint? Why do you eat it?”

  He shrugs. “It’s something I started to quit smoking, and I’ve done it ever since.”

  “So that’s why you smell like freshly picked mint.”

  “I do?”

  “Yep.”

  He drifts off in his own thoughts. I awkwardly look around due to an overwhelming feeling of unease. Crystal glasses hanging from around the circular set-up of the bar catch my gaze when light flickers from their polished surfaces. The colours of green, aqua, and blue reflect as they are the colours of the décor that fills the space. There are many people here tonight, I discover, yet I feel isolated, like it’s just the two of us.

  “So how was your first day?” he says out of nowhere.

  “So, so.”

  “Just so, so?”

  “Yep.”

  “But I heard today, amongst the office gossip, that you met a striking young man whom you made your bitch.”

  I almost choke to death on the Mudslide when I take a sip, inhaling my drink in laughter.

  “Now, now, don’t you know how to drink liquids?” His hand gently pats my back as I hack a lung up to clear my airway.

  “Wow,” I splutter with a strained voice and eyes watering uncontrollably. “You definitely pick good moments to make girls laugh, don’t you?”

  He chuckles, slipping his fingers into the base of my hair. The shivers that shoot down my spine cause my toes to curl. “Sorry.” He sits back down.

  No words are spoken for a while. He drifts off again into thought, looking out into the night sky. I get lost in my own head as well. Every now and then, I see the breeze blow through his dark hair. It messes it each time, which makes him even more alluring. It’s then I notice the stubble from this morning is no more, and a smooth silky skin has taken its place. I want nothing more than to run my fingers over his bare skin.

  “So you were visiting your dad, you said?” he asks out of nowhere, again.

  Has he been thinking of things he wants to ask me? “Yeah. I was. I don’t go often enough. Life gets in the way.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Were you visiting someone special?”

  “I was.”

  I don’t ask, but he seems sad suddenly.

  “My sister.” His voice croaks on his words.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.” He sighs. “You said your dog died?”

  “Yes, she died about six months ago. Her name was Bella. She was a pug. Cutest little thing.”

  His hand begins to rub the back of mine, causing a throbbing sensation between my legs.

  “Shit happens,” I say, trying to control my reactions to his touch.

  “It sure does.”

  “To me it happens a lot.”

  “What does?” He gives me a puzzled look.

  “Bad things. I’m hexed, you know, so that’s probably why.”

  His eyes narrow. “You’re hexed?” He smiles, shaking his head. “There’s no such thing.”

  I scoff. “There most certainly is, and I’m one of the unlucky ones.”

  “Okay, Miss McMillian, explain how this works.”

  Starting at the beginning, I fill him in on each disaster that has plagued my existence, from the primary school hair cutting incident, ending up at my forced leave. I don’t tell him how my dad actually died, mainly because it still hits a raw nerve. I also don’t remind him I was engaged. Any information about Mike is off-limits. But, apart from that, there’s no stone left unturned.

  “So you’re actually a teacher?” He smirks after hearing the story of my cursed life.

  I begin to laugh, because if I don’t I’ll probably cry over my fucked up existence. “Yes.”

  “Is it bad that this information turns me the hell on?” He wipes his brow in an overstated way.

  “No.” Tears of laughter begin pooling in my eyes.

  “So what happened?”

  “For that information, we will need another round. Chop, chop as Asher would say. Go on, shake that money maker and get me another drink.”

  His eyes widen. “I love your smart mouth.” His hand runs through his hair as his eyes lock to mine.

  “And I love that tight money maker you’re sporting. Now drink me,” I reply before I can claim the words back, horrified. I guess being a little tipsy and happy for the first time in forever led to those words coming out the wrong way.

  “How I’d like to do that.” He casually takes a mouthful of beer.

  My legs squeeze together under the table and my chest begins to heave.

  “Are you hot, Miss McMillian?”

  “It’s the alcohol,” I retort.

  The grin on his face says everything. I’m blushing. “Another Mudslide?”

  “No. No more milk.” I hold my stomach and scrunch my nose. The thought causes my stomach to turn. “I’ve already had too many of them. Surprise me.”

  As he swaggers to the bar, I can’t help wondering why he’s spending time with someone like me. After all, I’m a plain Jane, and he’s the epitome of male beauty. When he clears his throat on return, I eye a coloured drink. It’s somewhere between pink and red and gets my mouth watering immediately.

  “That looks good. What is it?”

  “Klimax,” he states with a shit-eating grin.

  “Well. A Klimax it is,” I say, knowing full well that he’s playing a game with me and I’m eating right out of his hand.

  “Every girl needs one of those now and again, don’t they?” His voice is so seductive it seriously has me considering ripping my clothes off and fucking him on this very table. “It’s got a lot of strawberries. I hope you like strawberries?” he asks, interrupting my very wrong thoughts.

  “Love them,” I declare, trying to get images of what I think he would look like naked out of my head. “Okay, so I’m guessing you’re wanting your payment now?” A distraction to this moment is more than necessary.

  “Yes, I would.” He places his hand back on top of mine and looks at me eagerly.

  “So my teaching career...where to start?” My fingers tap against the table to think of a way to explain what happened without appearing to be an evil person. I soon discover one does not exist. “You know there’s no way I’m going to come off looking good in this situation?”

  “Spill,” he demands.

  “Righto, Mr. Pushy. So, firstly I’m a high school teacher at a Catholic private school. Well, I was, you will need to keep this in mind—”

  “Oh. That visual is now definitely in my mind. You do realise that will be the current visual for all teenage masturbation sessions, right?”

  “Umm…eww.”

  “Sad, but true. Those breasts and thighs, that tight arse. I would be masturbating over you if I were your student.” He licks his lower lip.

  “Double eww.”

  “Just saying it how it is, Miss McMillian. Even sayi
ng Miss McMillian makes me want to flog off right now, actually.” His gaze has me spellbound and my panties become wet from his words. “Abigail.” His voice is warm, inviting.

  “Yes?”

  “Where were we?”

  “Oh, yes. Your lewd remarks. If you don’t stop them, there will be no more story for you.” Pulsating in my nether regions be gone.

  “Fine.” He playfully sulks.

  “Okay, so, I teach years eight through ten in Business Technologies and Accounting. There is this one kid in my year nine class, Billy Bradshaw, who is a pain in my butt. His parents are benefactors of the school. He’s an only child, of course, and he thinks he’s a stud. You should see him walking around the school like he owns the place. The biggest problem I have with him is he never listens, always interrupts, and makes lewd remarks about everything, a bit like you,” I tease. “He, too, is an arsehole.”

  Marcus’ lips curl upwards. “Yeah, I know that type of kid, every school has one. Continue.”

  “I’m guessing you were yours.”

  “Nope. I was a nerd.” His eyes tell me he’s lying, but I play along.

  “A lot of crap went down six months ago in my life. It broke me, to be honest. I really should have taken the day off that day and not gone to school. I was definitely not in a mind frame to be teaching or doing anything. I got super drunk the night before, so there’s a good chance I was still wasted when I actually showed up. You can imagine they don’t take that lightly.”

  His eyebrows lift, yet he doesn’t seem to be judging me.

  “Billy just got up in my face. He debated every situation the entire morning lesson. He just made me boiling mad. I snapped when he declared in front of the entire class, and I quote, ‘I put Miss McMillian over my knee and spanked her hard last night, didn’t I, miss?’ He then blamed my absentmindedness that morning on my inability to take my eyes off him because he took me so hard the night before.”

  “Wow,” he mouths.

  “Well, yes, wow. I just snapped. I got in his face and began screaming, telling him that he was a worthless human being who plans to ride his life out on his parents’ coattails. I threw a white board marker at him and then left the school grounds and my class unsupervised. Currently, I’m on unpaid leave to sort my shit out and will return at the end of January next year if that is what I want to do.”