Page 14 of Plight
I pursed my lips. “That’s a fair effort then.”
“I reckon. I’m shit scared of snakes but would never hug one just because I love to hug.”
I narrowed my eyes but didn’t look his way. Coming from a tank of a guy, let alone any guy, it was a weird thing to have said, despite making perfect sense.
“Anyway,” he added, continuing along the hallway. “It’s amazing what you can achieve when you put your mind to it.”
Again, I narrowed my eyes, confused, and smiled wryly as I followed him into the living room area, a jungle of gym equipment, inspirational quote pictures, and buckets of protein powder helping me find instant clarity. Of course! It all makes sense now.He’s one of those optimistic, bodybuilder life-is-what-you-get-out-of-it dicks.
Swallowing my laugh, because I’d be willing to bet my left testicle that he was Danielle’s gay friend as opposed to her boyfriend, I pointed to the Essendon Bombers football team photo on the wall above the weight bench.
“Bombers supporter, huh?”
He smirked. “You could say that.”
Something in his smirk stirred an uncomfortable niggle in my gut, as if he was secretly laughing at me and not the other way around. I didn’t like it. Just like I didn’t like it when I was in the courtroom and my counterpart had the upper hand. Plus, there was an uncanny familiarity about Chris that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
I stepped closer to the picture. “I’m a bulldogs supporter, myself.”
He punched the boxing bag. Twice. “You’d be happy with their efforts last year then.”
“One of the happiest years of my life,” I said, ignoring his show ponying. “Seeing them hold up that premiership cup was pretty special.”
He sighed. “Yeah, I reckon it would be.”
My eyes zeroed in on the picture and I blinked then blinked again, finding him standing there, beside his teammates. “Shit! I knew you looked familiar. You’re Chris Mitchell.”
“The one and only,” he said with a cheesy grin, adding in a few extra punches to the boxing bag.
“Well, technically, there’s probably millions of Chris Mitchell’s in the world.”
His grin dropped, as did his arms. “So, how do you know Dani?” he asked, his tone flat and serious.
Before I could answer, a skittering, scratching sound grew louder and louder until a four-legged, ball of ugly canine barrelled into me.
“DUDLEY! Get back here. I haven’t dried your feet.” Danielle rounded the corner and pulled to a stop, towel in hands, her nose as red as Rudolph’s.
Lowering my hand to her overexcited pug’s head, I inconspicuously held him and his wet paws away from my pants.
She winced. “Sorry. His feet are wet.”
“Paws,” I clarified.
“What?”
“Paws, not feet. Dogs have paws.”
She glared at me. “You’re early.”
“Traffic was light.” I picked up Pugly and held him out to her.
“Thanks,” she said, collecting him within her towel. He licked her face, and she spat. “Damn it, Dudley. Why can’t you eat roses?”
Chris opened his bar fridge, pulled out a beer, cracked it open, and offered it to me. I declined, so he swigged it himself and flopped into an enormous beanbag. “So, how do you two know each other?”
“We were neighbours when we were kids,” Danielle answered, quickly, as if I would offer an alternative explanation.
She knew me well.
