Desk Jockey Jam (17 page)

“I don’t think that’s
going to be a problem.”

She spun in his arms to
look at him.  “Has Toni said something?  Has she worked it out?”

“She might have.”

She frowned at him.  How
did he know stuff she didn’t?  She poked him in the ribs.  “You tell me what
you know.”

He grunted, twisting to
get away from any further close range attacks.  “You have a new sponsor.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

“Shut up.”

He gave her an ‘I own a
derby team’ grin.

“No!  You sponsored the
Tricks?  By yourself?”

“Yep.  For two seasons.  And
I put up prize money for the final bout this season.  It’s not much, but it’s
better than nothing.”

“You?  What?  When?”  She
searched his face for any sign of sarcasm or fooling around.  He wore his ‘love
a good spreadsheet’ serious expression.

“Is it so hard to
believe?  I signed the paperwork and delivered a cheque Friday.”

“You must have money to
burn.”  She tried to tidy her hair.  Tried to think.  This made no sense.  “There
is no possible benefit to you.”

“I sold my old Alfa and
the benefit is you still have a registered team.”

Bree felt her own eyes
widen with amazement.  “You sold your car to sponsor my derby team without
knowing if I was ever going to talk to you again.”

He laughed.  “Call me an
idiot.”

“Wow.  I thought you were
a good analyst.  That was a lousy decision.”

“I’ve always been a risk
taker and a gambler.  I thought you were a good bet.  I still think so.”

“A good bet.”  She pushed
away from him and got to her knees.  “That’s what you think I am—something to play
with.”

He reached for her, but
she got to her feet.  Bonne Tyler was singing
I Need a Hero
and it was
simply too cheesy.  She had to shut it down.  She didn’t need a hero, and a man
who thought he could make a game of being with her wasn’t any kind of champion
she recognised.  She left him on the floor and went to shut the sound system
down.  Hopefully he’d get up and leave and take his poisoned sponsorship with
him.

She never made it to the
sound deck.  He ploughed into the back of her, lifting her and wrapping her in
his arms, managing somehow to stay upright.  “You don’t get to be so fucking
unfair to me.”  She struggled to get free, kicking and thrashing, but he’d
boxed her into his body.  “Life is a gamble.  You know it.”  He released her
and she skated away, turning to look at him.  “Every time you put your skates
on and come out on the track you bet against not getting hurt.  You do it
because you know the risks and prepare for them. You bet on yourself to stay
safe and to come out a winner.  You do it at work as well.  It’s all a gamble.  I
don’t see what’s wrong with me wanting to bet on you too.  They way I figure it
I can’t lose.”

She couldn’t look at him
anymore.  She looked at Damo’s skates.

“Bree, look at me.  I’m
applying for the position of someone who loves you.  Are you accepting
applications?”

She lifted her head.  She
saw a man who’d pushed her buttons until she fought him for respect, until she
made him think about the world a little differently and he thanked her for
showing it to him. 

And wanted to sign up for
more.

“You sold your car.”

He nodded.  “I’ve got a
pretty cool loaner even if it’s a yank tank.”

“You sponsored the
Tricks?”

“I am the proud sponsor of
an all girl roller derby league team that kicks arse.  Big Swinging Tricks
forever.”

“Unbelievable.”  Bree
shook her head as the miracles stacked up.  “You want to be with me?”

“Like a fish needs to
swim.”

He said that too loud, too
clear.  Every seat in the empty stadium got the message, but it couldn’t be
right.  “You don’t care that I’m Miss Perfect at work and miscarriage of justice
on the track?”

“I fucking love it.”

Her throat felt tight like
she’d been socked in the windpipe.  “I’m accepting applications.”

“Is there any way I can
influence the decision?”

She skated up to him; she
stood on her toe stoppers and pressed into him.  “You could kiss me.”

He folded around her, rested
his forehead on hers, his hands on her butt.  “Too easy.  Anyone could do
that.”

“I don’t want anyone.”

“You don’t?” 

The wonder in his tone
made her smile and her eyes water.  “How do you feel about that?”

He put his hands under her
thighs and lifted her, any second now and they’d be tangled on the floor.  She
wrapped her legs around his waist and held her breath.  They stayed upright. 
Pat Benatar sang
Hit Me With Your Best Shot
.  Ant kissed her with a
softness and a sureness that jammed up her heart and opened her soul. 

That’s how he felt about it.

15:      Holding the Star

Ant eased Dan’s Valiant
into a space on Bondi Prom.  He almost sideswiped the next car because he
caught a glimpse of Bree’s bare thigh as her dress lifted when she turned to
unbuckle her seat belt.  That’s what she did to him.  Made his brain all
squishy and malleable, and his normal reaction times subject to sudden stop
work meetings.  He’d never felt so awake, so grateful to find someone who could
open the world up for him just by sitting next to him.  And when she touched
him—no monster wave ride, no big market win was more thrilling. 

“There’s so many of them. 
I’m going to get confused,” she said.

“Seven, plus us.  Remember
Fluke is the ranga, Dan is the charismatic one, Alex is the stunner, and Scott
is the sharp dresser.  Start there and everything else will fall into place.”

She laughed.  “Hopefully
easier and quicker than we did.”

He turned off the
ignition.  “Maybe we shouldn’t go.”

She aimed a poke at him
but he dodged it.  “Nice try, Stickyfoot.  I can hardly wait for the grovelling
to begin.”

“I could’ve kept this a
secret from you.  Done a Kitty Caruso and you’d never have known about the
bet.”

She reached for his hand. 
“You only think you can keep things from me.  You’re not that bright, babe.”

“Really, doll?  Why don’t
we lay a wager?”

She dropped his hand and
swivelled to face him.  “I’ll bet you can’t get through lunch without thinking
about what we did in the shower this morning.”

Ant groaned.  He’d nearly
run a red on the way here thinking about it.  There’s no way he could win that
bet.  “What do I get if I win?”

She licked her lips. 
“Another skating lesson.”

“Will you wear the Kitty skirt
with the bite me pants and the fishnets?”

She gave him a cold-eyed
stare.  “If you’re very good.”

“You’re on.  I’ll make it
through lunch, even the grovelling part where I have to humble myself by
admitting to your superiority without thinking of what you did with that loofah.” 

There’s no way that would
happen.  The image of her wet and slippery with soap, glowing with energy was
on auto–repeat in his head.  He’d counted her bruises and lavished attention on
every one of them.  They were well water logged and satisfied by the time the
hot water ran out.

He stuck out his hand. 
She took it and they shook, then he turned their joined hands so he could bring
her palm to his lips and he bit gently into the flesh of her thumb.

She’d body blocked him and
jammed up his comfortable life.  He was utterly whipped by her and he didn’t
care who knew it.

No opportunity in his life
before or since would ever be the equal to Bree, would ever be more thrilling
than Kitty.  One girl with two halves had rolled into his life, and because she
could challenge his thinking and handle his ego, she made him want to lay down
at her feet and let her skate all over him.

He was permanently,
positively discriminating in her favour.  His family were going to love her.  It
might take a while to win Nonna.  But they’d love Bree, first because he did,
and second because she was exactly what he needed.

He’d bet his life, his
job, his sanity, his happiness on this roller girl and it was such a sure thing
there was no way he could ever lose.

Grease
Monkey Jive

Ainslie
Paton

A romance about changing the game,
finding the truth, and fancy footwork

When ballroom teacher Alex Gibson
dances with Dan Maddox she’s reminded of the time she stuck a knife in the
toaster, gave herself an electric shock, and saw stars.  He’s precisely the
type of man Alex’s mother warned her off – a player, like the father who
abandoned her. 

Dan Maddox comes from a long line of
men who were hiding under the hood of a beat-up car when the ‘successful
relationship’ gene was given out, but he was first in the queue for an extra
jolt of chick-pulling power. 

The chicks in Dan’s life are
universally gorgeous, random, and disposable, until one drunken night when he
picks the wrong girl, hurts a good friend, and realises that unless he does
something to change, he’ll end up like his violent, unstable father. 

It’s Pimp My Ride meets Dancing With
The Stars as Alex and Dan come together to compete in a ballroom dancing
competition that changes the way they both feel about relationships and love.

The Moment

When Alex was a kid, she gave
herself a nasty electric shock by sticking a knife down the slot of the toaster
to rescue her breakfast.  As the electricity gripped her in the seconds before
shutting off, every muscle spasmed and the air crackled and fizzed with blue
sparks.

She was twelve years old, had burned
fingers, and was in lot of trouble with Mum and Gran.

She was twice that age now and
hadn’t forgotten the intensity of that electric zap and how wildly it made her
heart beat and her thoughts fly, from the sheer physical surprise and the
recognition that she was in serious strife.

There was no toast, no toaster, and
no knife anywhere to hand, but the sensation that struck her body when she
looked into his eyes was the same.  Electricity pulsed through her nerves,
leaped in her muscles, and fired inside her brain.  She was in deep trouble. 

All he’d done was lower his chin and
raise his eyes, looking at her from across the room.  That’s all.  It barely
counted as a movement.  It was more a re-positioning, more an adjustment than a
conscious action, but everything changed in that moment.

The breath sucked out of her; the
room closed in.  She felt energised and inspired beyond the bounds of her
training and the encouragement of the music.  There was nothing she couldn’t
achieve.  Her feet flew through the steps, her placement never more accurate,
her leaps and kicks never higher, her body positioning and posture never
prouder or more abandoned at the same time.

She danced on air, as a beam of
sunlight might chase a shadow across the floor.  It was physically effortless
and without the need to think.  She was carelessness and precision, passion and
control, pure energy and heat.  She was the blue fizz and crackle, she was the
shock of power, and she adored it.

When she got closer to him she could
hear him breathing hard, see the dark blue of his bright eyes and their
expression of wonder.  She caught fire.  When she circled around him, she saw
tension flick along the ridge of muscle in his back and across the breadth of
his shoulders.  The line of his jaw tightened and his lips twitched into a
smile as he looked for her and the fire caught, flared, lifting her higher,
giving her iridescent wings and divine purpose.

When the music stopped, the silence
was hopelessly profound.  Her body became her own again and she felt the old
stiffness behind her left knee and the too tight strap of her shoe. 

She looked at Dan, still standing
where Trevor had put him, but studying her as though he’d never met her
before.  She looked at Scott – surely he’d noticed something odd just happened
– but he only had eyes for Dan, critical eyes. 

She shook her head to try to reclaim
her scorched senses and when she walked across to the stereo, she thought her
legs might give way on her and spill her on the wooden floor. 

Dan’s eyes never left her and a
flood of self consciousness coursed through her, replacing the earlier feeling
of joy with embarrassment.  That was too much inspiration for a trial run.  She
could’ve just walked it through; there was no reason whatsoever to have danced
like that, not for Dan, he’d have no idea of the technique he was seeing. 
Scott might’ve enjoyed it, the freedom and clarity of it, but Scott would’ve
been annoyed she didn’t dance like that for him.