Sting (15 page)

“Are you alright, honey?” She curls one of her manicured hands around her pushed out hip. She furrows her brow and purses her purple lips.

“Yes, why?”

“The coffee you just poured looks like it’s got a giant penis on it.”

“What the fruitcake? Don’t you dare take that out to the customer. I’ll pour another.” I take back the cup, and tip the hot liquid down the sink.

Clearly, Ryan’s package has made an impression.

“Make another and then you and me talk, lady. The day you start making phallic patterns in the milk is the day we need to take you shopping for a serious vibrator.”

Yep. Gabs will die when I tell her the news.

****

After the smoko rush has died down, I make Gabs and I an espresso each and take them out the back in the laneway while Sarah manages the counter.

“Spill,” Gabs says.

Okay, I guess I’ll get right to the point, then.

“I did something last night; something I don’t think I should have.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek.
Just tell her you and Brown-Eyes did the horizontal tango.

She takes a drag of her cigarette, sucking it in deep before expelling the smoke in an upward stream. “Oh, lady. What did you do?”

“Ryan.”

Gabs chokes, and throws her smoke to the ground. “Good lord!” She pulls me into her arms. “Is that why you’re putting pretty penises in the milk? He’s hung, isn’t he? Just say it. He is, yeah? Did he fuck you stupid?”

She nods and wiggles her arse, like she’s an eager puppy and I’m holding a treat above her head. “Oh, yeah,” she says as she makes these grunting noises and thrusts her hips towards me.

“Calm down,” I say through a giggle. “You’ll pull a muscle or something.” God it feels good to laugh, and enjoy a moment of happiness with my beautiful friend.

“Oooh, I bet you pulled his muscle.”

“Gabs,” I feign indifference.

“Hoo-wee! Willow has a happy vagina! We need to celebrate. I’ll make penis cupcakes!”

I cover my hot face with my hands and shake it in amusement. This is by far the most excited I have ever seen her. It’s a beautiful sight.

“So obviously, I found out you gave him my address.”

“And?”

“My new garden beds are beautiful. Thank you for helping him with that.”

“My absolute pleasure.”

“There’s just one problem, though,” I inform her.

“What?”

“I kind of snuck out on him last night without saying goodbye.” The words sting as they leave my mouth.

“What the hell do you mean?” Her tone carries the disappointment I was afraid it would.

“It’s been a long time, Gabs. I panicked.”
And I was worried I might put him in danger.

“Don’t you want to be with him? What are you trying to say?”

“Of course I do. I just …” I breathe out until my lungs are empty.

“Well, you need to sort that shit out quick smart,
Willow
.” She says my name in the same tone Sienna gets when she’s been a naughty girl. “You don’t want pride to get in the way of what could be something special, so you need to apologise.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Just, this is all kind of new to me.” I drink the last of my espresso, and walk towards the door.

“One last thing before we go back inside,” she says, eyeing the back door.

“Sure.”

“Did you do it doggy-style, or up against the wall in the shower? Tell me, tell me, tell me,” she pleads.

“Gabs,” I growl and wrap my arm around her waist as we walk back inside. “All in good time. But now, we have a café to run.”

****

Images of Ryan are burnt into my consciousness. They’re all beautiful.

On my swing, covered in a fine layer of dust.

His biceps tensing as they curled around me.

The heated lust-filled gaze he drilled me with when he asked if I wanted him to kiss me. The desire was dripping off him in spades in that precious moment.

Standing naked at the foot of the bed, confident and ready to make me his.

Sigh
.

These pictures have filled my head today. From the penises in the coffee, to making a batch of the lemon cookies he raves about. I even baked something special that I haven’t been able to bring myself to cook since I moved here.

I’m so annoyed with myself because my inadvertent leaving in the middle of the night might have given him the wrong impression.
That I’m treating last night as a casual thing, when that’s the furthest from the truth.

I can only hope that he’ll come in today so we can talk. I can never tell him about my nightmare, but I can apologise for running out.

“Okay, lady. I’m out of here. I need to save the mother-in-law from Sienna.”

“Thanks, Gabs. I’ll lock up the front door.” I blow her a kiss. The back screen door screeches a moment later. I cringe.
I really need to get that fixed.

I turn over the sign to CLOSED and lock the door. Walking back to the counter, a knock on the door stops me in my tracks.

When I swing around, I’m all too aware that the smile growing wide across my face must look ridiculous. I rush back and open the door again.

Leaning in the doorframe is a very ragged, but dastardly good looking man who I’ve been dreaming about all day. The stubble across his face is much more noticeable than it was yesterday. When I think about how it felt running along my inner thigh, his tongue—
ah!
Blood rushes to my face, heating it up in an instant.

“Hey,” I say, all of a sudden shy with thoughts of how intimate we were last night.

He produces a beautiful smile and hooks his hand around my hip, drawing me close.

“Hey, Blondie,” he growls and brings his face down close enough that I feel his warm breath against my lips. “You okay?”

I press my hands against his chest. His pec muscles flinch beneath my fingers.

“I am. You?”
Riveting conversation I’ve got going on here
.

“Yeah, long day. I was a bit confused though when I woke up this morning. Alone.”

Crap.

I stand on my tippy-toes and kiss him, softly. I lick my lips, remnants of salt coating my tongue. He wraps his arms around my back and lifts my hips to grind against his. I deepen the kiss, losing myself for a moment as I draw on memories of last night.

Skin.

Sweat.

Our bodies entangled.

Screaming.

When I break free from his lips he gently lowers me to the ground, and drapes his arms around my shoulders.

“Still confused?” I ask, taking his hand and leading him inside.

Ryan closes his eyes briefly and shakes his head as a sexy chuckle rumbles up his throat. “The only thing I can think about now is how hard you’ve made me.”

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologise, Blondie. I’m sure we’ll work out how to solve the problem.”

Gulp
. The image of me down on my knees in front of him comes to mind.

“We need to exchange numbers,” I blurt out.
Way to be subtle.

“Yeah, we do.”

“I wanted to ring you today. You know, I’ve been thinking about you and I didn’t have your number, and then I wondered if you’d come in, and the longer—”

“Willow,” his stern voice pulls me from my sudden explosion of verbal nonsense.

I run my fingers through my hair, brushing the loose strands off my face, which right now are bugging the crap out of me. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry I left last night without saying goodbye.”

His eyebrows knit together. “I told you there was no reason to leave. I thought we sorted that.”

“I know, we did, it’s just …” I huff out in frustration.

“Just, what? Talk to me. I wanna know what’s on your mind.”

I can’t tell you the horror that’s on my mind. I can’t involve you.

“It’s been a long time for me, since, you know …”

“Yeah, I told you that doesn’t worry me,” he assures me.

“Not the sex, I mean. Starting something with someone. I haven’t dated anyone since high school. I kind of panicked, and last night … I’ve never done anything so spontaneous like that before.”

“Blondie, there’s not too much to think about. There’s something good happening here. Let’s not stress about it, ’kay?”

“Yeah, okay.” I slip my hand into his and tug him towards the back of the café. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

I flick on the kitchen light. There on the stainless steel counter is my prized creation, looking mouth-wateringly delectable. For a moment today, I didn’t think I’d be able to share it with him.
But he’s here now.

He lifts me onto the counter beside it. I squeal at the contact of the cold metal surface against my bare legs. Goose pimples jump over my skin.

“I made this for you.”

“Lemon Meringue?” He cracks through a shiny meringue peak with his finger and moans as he sucks the white sugariness off his digit.

With the thought of those fingers inside me last night, and Ryan making me taste my own juices, I clench my thighs together with need.

He takes another swipe of the pie. With two fingers, he delves into the lemon filling.

Holy sharks!

He licks the sweetness off his middle finger and then places the other digit into my mouth.

“You know what?” he says, spreading my legs further apart and positioning his hips between them.

I suck his finger clean. “What?” I ask.

“That tastes fuckin’ amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup. You know what’d be better?”

I swallow hard. I have a fair idea where he’s going with this. “What?”

“You,” he states, the conviction in his tone clear.

“That’s sweet of you to say.”

I have so many fantasies surrounding that kind of pleasure that it’s not funny. Needless to say, they haven’t ever been fulfilled.

“Nothing sweet about what I wanna do to you.” He tugs at the join in my shorts, grazing the front of my G-string. I moan with the brief contact and push my hips towards him. Yes,
more of this, please.

He leans into my neck and nibbles at my skin. I weave my fingers into his hair, and pull him to me for a feather-light kiss. I remember I’m still at work, and getting naked in a food preparation area is
not
a good idea. I move back and cup his face in my hands. His shoulders drop and a weary sigh falls from his mouth.

Dark circles drape beneath his red-rimmed eyes, his hair is messy, which of course suits him, and the stubble on his jaw is longer.

“Are you okay? Hard day on the water?”

“Yeah, you could say that. You don’t look your usually fresh-as-a-daisy self, either.”

“That’s because someone kept me up half the night,” I tease and poke him in the chest.
Oh, and let’s not forget the nightmare.

“I’d happily do it again, you know. Just put in a request.”

I laugh and smooth my hands over his collarbone and down the curves of his pecs. “Come on. Why don’t you come back to my place? I’ve got to water the plants and then I can cook us some dinner?”

“We bringing the pie?” he asks, one brow raised.

“Of course.”

“Good. ’Cause I’ve got plans for it.”

Oh, boy.
 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

RYAN

I follow Willow in my Ute back to her place. Pulling myself away from the café, away from her, was no easy feat, but she called me on it. I am fucking exhausted. As much as I wanted to take her on that counter, drive into her until we were both a panting mess, I need to recover from today. Things are stepping up and I need to be on the ball.

It was twelve long fucking hours of surveillance, on and off the boat. All I had today to keep me going were two dirty fucking pies and a shit coffee from the service station. I’m not a happy boy when I can’t eat, and decent food at that. I’m surprised I’m still standing.

Today was a good step in the right direction, though. The skinny red-haired bloke, who we’re presuming is a runner, dared show his face again. We got some shots of him with Perez, confirming the connection. They’re getting cocky. They think they’re gonna get away with this. Not on my fucking watch.

I park behind Willow’s silver hatchback in the driveway. She opens the front door and holds it wide. I enter the house and follow her into the small kitchen, which is fitted out in black and white.

“How hungry are you on a scale of one to ten?” she asks, placing the pie down on the bench.

“Ravenous,” I growl, and clash my teeth together.

She laughs sweetly and walks over to me, gripping my biceps as she stands on her tippy-toes to peck my lips.

“I’ve got some chicken breast I can marinate with some herbs and cook on the barbecue, and some vegies I can steam. It’ll take about twenty minutes or so. Sound good?”

“Absolutely.”

Willow tidies a large pile of cookbooks and magazines, which are strewn over the counter. She stacks them at the side of the bench and then rummages through the fridge, placing a tray of chicken and some vegetables on the chunky square chopping board.

“Mind if I take a look around? I might splash a bit of water on my face, and then I’ll give you a hand.”

“Sure thing. There’s nothing much to look at, though. Bathroom is down the hall, first door on your left.”

“Thanks.”

I walk back through the way we came in, checking out the L-shaped living and dining room. There’s a small dining table, one black suede three-seater couch and a small LCD TV on a black timber cabinet with a few DVDs strewn about.
Sweet Home Alabama
, catches my eye.
The Proposal, P.S. I Love You, The Wedding Singer
… a RomCom girl, hey? I guess that matches with the clean-cut, non-swearing Willow I’ve come to know and …

Moving right along.

I cast my eyes around the bare walls. There are no photographs or picture frames anywhere that I can see. Don’t chicks have photos of everything? Friends, family, nieces or nephews? There’s hardly anything personal around either. No ornaments, vases or books. There are a few boxes stacked in the corner behind the lounge, but that’s it.