Page 26 of Sexy as Sin
“You still have to ask,” Willow said through her teeth. “Every time. You still have to askaboutme. You still have tocallme.”
“What, like he does?” The surfer finally seemed to register Brett as more than an inanimate object, possibly because he’d moved within punching distance. If he hadn’t been on crutches, that is. “Who are you, arsehole? Somebody’s dad?”
Brett took a beat, got himself centered, and drew every bit of power he could summon from his battered body down into himself. “I’m the guy,” he said, “who’ll kick your ass.” Probably not tonight. Sounded good, though.
“Brett.” Willow had come to stand beside him. “Stop. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Could be,” he said, “but first, I’ll hurt him.” Of that, he was sure.
“What?” the surfer asked, and laughed. All right. That was it. “You? Nah, mate.”
He made a grab for one of Brett’s crutches, but Brett was raising it as Gordy lunged. He shoved him back with it, and he shoved hard. Of course, all the guy would have to do was push him over and he’d topple like a bowling pin, but he’d give it his all along the way.
If he’d had a chance, he would have, anyway, because Willow was shoving Gordy in the chest herself, then backwards, herding him around the bed like a sheepdog with a bad attitude. “You bloody uselesswanker,”she said. “You are such anarsehole.What was I doing? What was Ithinking?Out.”
He wasn’t going easy. He was in the doorway, in fact, hanging on to both sides of the jamb. “Wait, what? I’m not a good enough boyfriend? That about the size of it? No other girl’s ever said so. Why is that? Oh, wait. Because they were actually exciting enough to make me care. You know why I never loved you enough or... or brought you flowers, or whatever the hell you wanted? Because you’re not exciting. You’re like a... a mate, that’s what. You surf, you cook, and you’re always down for sex, but you work so hard at it, it’s a bit pathetic. Made me laugh, really. Also, you’ve got frizzy ginger hair and ginger eyelashes, you never tan, and you don’t wear enough makeup. You barely even have tits! Know what you are?” He’d forgotten the anger. Instead, he was looking delighted, like he’d discovered a secret. “You’re basically a bloke. Nobody’s going to be rolling in early from the pub to get some of that.” He nodded again. “That’s it. You’re a bloke.”
Willow unfroze. Or something. “Out,” she said again, but the breath she’d hauled in was unsteady, and there was red in her cheeks like she’d been slapped. “Get...out.”
Brett had never wanted to hit somebody more in his life. He didn’t get the chance. Willow already had Gordy shoved out into the hall. “Go have a three-way! With somebody exciting!” she shouted after him, then slammed the door, turned, and leaned against it. Bare feet planted, her dress still not quite right, her hair half out of its knot and falling in corkscrew tendrils. “If he tries to come back in,” she told Brett, “hit him with a crutch. Or better yet, I will.Wanker.He always wanted not to use a condom. I’m lucky I’m not diseased.”
“That’s my plan,” he said. “The crutch.” There were sounds of a scuffle outside, raised voices, and Willow didn’t move. “He’s likely to get arrested out there. Hospitals don’t mess around. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy.”
“He’ll love it.” She was still breathing hard, her color was still high, and she was still braced against the door. “He can wear his Che Guevara T-shirt and talk about his time in the cells.”
Brett smiled, and, finally, she did, too. The noise outside lessened, and she stood away from the door at last, felt for her hair, then gave it up, and asked, “You OK? What time is it?” She wasn’t looking at him, and then she was.
“One-thirty. And yeah, I’m fine.” He probably wasn’t fine. He was dizzy, in fact, and feeling suddenly sick.Reallysick. She had an arm around him, which would have been just wonderful if he hadn’t been so close to keeling over. Which was when the door opened and a nurse came in. Fast. Followed by a security guard with a shaved head and about three hundred pounds of muscle.
Some men saved the day and got the girl. Others got helped back into bed by two women, neither of whom appeared dazzled by his heroism, and had their water glass tenderly held for them by a girl who’d got her poise back along with her sense of humor.
The words had hurt, and she’d shaken them off. Or she didn’t want to show him the pain. That was more like it.
She also wasn’t entangled anymore, so that was good. But he should say something. He should tell her... he should...
He hadn’t been heroic, no, but maybe, he thought hazily as he let a double dose of something much too strong overtake him...
Start again. Start from here.
He’d tell her. In a minute. He’d open his eyes, and...
He’d tell her.
Willow let herself into the dark flat as quietly as she could, but Azra came out anyway, still tying her dressing gown closed.
“Oh, good,” she said in Arabic. “It’s just you.” Her round, normally cheerful face looked troubled. “Did Gordy find you?”
“Yeah.” Willow headed into the kitchen, chucked her dirty dishes into the dishwasher, and closed it again. Every movement felt like walking through treacle, and her body didn’t seem to be her own. Her normal reserve of energy just wasn’t there, like a car running on petrol fumes. She also felt dangerously close to crying, which wasn’t good at all.
Sleep,she told herself. She’d sleep, and she’d wake up cheerful again. Gordy was just another man, and what he’d said was nothing she didn’t already know.
Azra turned on the kettle. “Cup of mint tea,” she declared, pulling down a mug and dropping a bag into it. “On second thought...” She pulled down another cup. “One for me. I was worried, when I texted you and you didn’t answer. I shouldn’t have told him where you were. I wanted to send him off for good, but it wasn’t my choice to make. He made me so angry, banging around in here like he had a right to, but that’s no excuse.”
“No worries,” Willow said. The kettle hissed to boiling point, and she leaned against the dishwasher, watched Azra pour the hot water, and tried again to rise above. “I sent him off myself. It wasn’t pretty, though.”
Azra glanced at her too shrewdly. “When I first got here,” she said, “I thought Aussie men were fun. So different from home. So easygoing, so quick to laugh, so slow to temper. Then I realized that they’re easygoing because they don’t care much. There must be some men in the middle. Where are they?”
“Yeah.” Willow picked up her mug. “That’s about it. Sorry about Gordy. I’d say we should look into better locks for the windows, but you’re right. He doesn’t care enough to come around again. All cats are gray in the dark, hey. He’ll find another gray cat. And I’m off to bed.”
