Shawn's Law (8 page)

“He wants to take me out on a second date,” I blurted before Kris had even finished saying hello.

“Who does?” Kris asked.

“Harley,” I almost wailed.

“Who?” Kris had to ask for a second time.

I huffed in exasperation. “Harley. Otherwise known as Hippy-Hotpants?”

“Ahh.” I could hear the light dawning on the other side of the phone connection. Even though Kris was thousands of kilometers away, he was still my best friend, and I told him everything.

“Yes. He just rang me and told me what a great time he had on Friday night and then asked me if I wanted to go hiking next Sunday. What do I do?” I was nearly in tears. Never let it be said that men don’t have emotions.

Kris paused for a moment. “You say yes.”

“I already did.”

“So what’s the problem?” He sounded perplexed at my emotional outburst. Didn’t he
see
the problem?

“Me.” I was definitely wailing now. No doubt about it.

There was a big sigh on the other end of the phone. “Shawn. There’s nothing wrong with you apart from you thinking there’s something wrong with you. If this Harley guy’s asking you on a second date, then he likes you.”

“I don’t know if he
does
like me. Maybe it’s a mercy date.”

“Shawn, mate. Get a grip. You told me all about your first date, so if he’s coming back for more, then he must see something in you.”

“Not helping,” I groused. I didn’t want to remember that first date. What a disaster.

“And anyone is better than People-Eating Rory, who was your dream date, wasn’t he?”

“Not helping,” I told Kris again. I didn’t like to remember how well that first date with Rory had gone. I should’ve known there was something fishy about the guy from that.

“So, all you have to do is not break a bone, get bitten, stabbed, cut, or concussed before Sunday, and it’s all sweet, right?”

“Not. Help. Ping,” I spat through the phone. “How can he want to date me Kris? I mean—apart from my three biggest problems, what is there to me that’s attractive?”

“Three biggest problems?” Kris asked, perplexed.

“My mother, my sister, and Shawn’s Law,” I listed for him.

“Ahh.” I could hear Kris sorting through his say-something-nice-to-Shawn repertoire. Then he came back with, “But he’s already met your mother, your sister, and Shawn’s Law.
And
he’s coming back for more.”

I closed my eyes and slumped back on the bed. “Kris? Tell me again why you’re my best friend? Because from where I’m sitting, it appears you’re not helping.”

Kris laughed. “I’m your best friend because I saved you from drowning when you hit your head on that surfboard. Oh, yeah—and when I called the ambulance after you broke your ankle. And when I took you to emergency after you cut your finger. And every other time I’ve forgotten about.”

I smiled. “Okay, so tell me this—why am I
your
best friend?”

There was a broad chuckle on Kris’s end. “You’re my best friend because you have all the blackmail material on me. Like, you know who e-mailed the naked pictures of Mr. Hunter to every other teacher. You also know it was me who put red food coloring in the water tank in the manual arts building at school, and you know it was me who put a dead frog in Miranda Lewis’s lunchbox after she called you a ‘little faggot’ in front of the whole class.”

Yes. Kris knew how to cheer me up.

He continued. “You also know that I had a terrible crush on that stupid boy-band singer when I was a teenager and wrote him millions of stupid, gushy letters to which he never replied. Thank goodness. And worst of all, you know I flunked getting my driver’s license three times and only got it on the fourth go because I sucked off the testing guy while parked around the corner from the police station.”

I was giggling by then. “Yes. And you know how disappointed I am in that. After all, I got my license on the first go and didn’t have to stoop to that. I remember that guy coming around to your house a couple of times—and man, was he hot.”

We spent a couple of minutes reminiscing about our teen years before I remembered my own problems and let out another wail. “But Kris, hiking? Me? I mean, how many things in the bush can kill you? I’m certain to find 98 percent of them before I’ve gone three steps.”

“Then call him back and tell him to come to your house for a barbeque.”

“I can’t,” I cried. “Remember? I forgot to turn the gas off and it melted?”

Kris sighed. “Then call him back and invite yourself to
his
house for a barbeque. Tell him that you’ll make the salad and then do up one of your scrumptious creations. But don’t use the big knife.”

That was good advice since I needed stitches the last time I used it.

“So when am I going to see a picture of this man?” Kris demanded. “With a name like Harley, I’m visualizing a big biker guy, despite the description you gave me.”

I turned beet red. “You’ve already seen him. I drew him from memory. Do you know that picture of the guy on the beach?”

Kris yelped in excitement. “The one you sent me with the big guy naked on the towel?”

“Yes.”

“That’s Harley?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God. He is scrumptious, Shawn. How did you know what he has under his shorts?” Kris wanted to know.

“I didn’t. Not then, anyway. That bit was imagined.”

“So when do I get to see the real bit? Do you think you could draw me a picture after your Sunday date? No—scratch that. I want a painting. A drawing is just black and white. I want glorious color for this picture.”

I laughed and told him that I would send him something better—two men, neither of whom I was dating, but hot just the same. I could hear him pouting, so I promised to put them in cowboy boots and hats, and nothing else, and he rang off happy.

I decided I’d tell Harley in person about the need to change our date location, so I dug up a few more extraneous strawberry plants and carted them to the front at exactly 3:58 p.m. I found a bit of shade that would cover me while I waited and began to pull some weeds and dig holes for the plants.

“Now that’s what I like to see.”

Harley’s voice behind me had me nearly falling over in surprise. I looked around at the neat rows of strawberry plants and asked, “Do you like them? I have to admit they’re my favorite dessert.”

“Huh?”

I frowned. “You said that’s what you like to see. The strawberry plants. Do you like to eat strawberries, then?”

Harley smiled as if I didn’t quite get the joke. “Yes. I like strawberries. Are you offering yours?”

I picked up my trowel and got to my feet. “It’s the end of summer, so I don’t have a lot of them in the garden at the moment. Some of the plants that are in the shade are giving me fruit, but they’re not huge. If you like, I’ll save some for you?”

“That would be nice,” he replied, a flirty little smile still hanging around his face.

I concluded there was a personal joke going on behind that smile and decided to ignore it. “Anyway, I’m glad you dropped by,” I said. “I was going to ask you if we could change our plans for Sunday?”

“Sure. What did you have in mind?”

I hesitated, not wanting to scare the guy off. “It’s just that I don’t think hiking and me would be a good fit. Things tend to go awry around me, and I don’t want to be in the middle of nowhere when they do. So how about an ‘at home’ get together? Do you have a barbeque? My best friend tells me I make a fantastic salad. How about a barbeque lunch?”

Harley agreed and we stood chatting when a loud crash came from inside the house. We hurriedly said good-bye before I raced inside to find my mother with a broken bowl that she was trying to fill up with water for the poor little kitty outside.

We don’t have a cat.

Tuesday I didn’t get to see Harley because I was with Mum at the doctor. Wednesday I was at Lisa’s house babysitting my twin-nephew terrors while she was at the doctor with Isabelle, who had gastro. Thursday I had gastro and was puking my guts out in a bucket about the time that Harley was walking his dogs past my house. Friday Mum was puking her meals up into any container I could find to catch the stuff, and I was busy washing sheets and clothes and completely missed him.

Saturday he messaged my phone to make sure we still had a date. I assured him we did.

Sunday morning I waved good-bye to my mother as Lisa took her away for the day, then raced inside to put together the salads I’d promised. I left myself a good hour to do some painting and drawing, as this always calms me down. Then I showered and dressed in shorts and a casual polo top.

I loaded my Tupperware containers into an ice bag and added the premixed alcoholic drinks I’d bought just for the occasion. Then I left the house and walked up the cul-de-sac and through the paths as Harley had directed. I found his house without much trouble and knocked loudly on the door.

Harley opened it with a large smile, and I froze. Do you ever have those moments where you’re locked inside your body, screaming at yourself to move or say something or to not be such a dork, and yet you have no control? Yeah, me too. Harley was wearing a yellow sarong wrapped around his waist—and nothing else. I stared at that piece of yellow material and all I could think of was Harley telling me he didn’t wear underwear.

“Shawn?”

I tried to blink, but it didn’t work. I could feel the spit pooling in my mouth and the blood pooling in my dick. I think Harley must’ve worked out that I was incapable of reply because he chuckled and yanked me inside the house. Instantly the air-conditioned cool hit me, and the tiny portion of my brain that was still working was relieved. I was grateful I wouldn’t have to sweat my way through lunch.

The dogs realized they had a visitor and came racing to meet me, nearly bowling over my impression of a frozen statue with their enthusiasm.

“Picky! Louie! Behave yourselves. Be nice to Shawn.”

The dogs pushed and shoved each other, but soon came to the conclusion that I wasn’t going to dispense any pats on their grateful heads. They lost interest quickly and took off into the house. I really did want to pat them, but I was unable to move an inch. My brain wasn’t responding to any stimuli apart from Harley’s naked chest.

He disappeared and came back wearing a shirt, which made me blush like mad. How mature was I that I couldn’t even be around a shirtless guy without having an attack of nerves.

“Better?” he asked me.

Now that he was semidressed, I recovered enough to say, “Not really. But I guess if you want me to hold a conversation with you, you should keep your clothes on.”

He gestured for me to follow him through the house, and I thought I heard him mutter, “Conversation is so overrated.”

We arrived at the kitchen, and I stowed my salads in his roomy fridge and popped the tab of my first can. I offered one to Harley, but he smiled and pointed out a wine glass on the bench filled with a pale liquid. “I have to admit to being an alcohol snob. I like my wines. I can’t drink anything else. You’re welcome to join me if you want?”

I admitted to not enjoying wines and preferring spirits mixed with some sort of fizzy concoction. “My best friend, Kris, and I used to drink vodka with pineapple and Pasito. It’s fruity and packs a huge punch, but it’s not exactly a manly look. Every time he visits me, we get smashed on our favorite drink in secret, but otherwise I stick to Coke with bourbon. It puts hair on your chest.”

Well
that
was the wrong thing to say. Harley’s attention immediately dropped to my tubby chest and stuck there. I squirmed in my seat, trying to look like I was used to the attention of the sexiest man I’d ever met—who I
knew
was wearing no underwear.

“I’d like to see that,” he said, and I nearly fainted with shock. Harley wanted to see
me
?

While I was still gathering my wits from that thought, he stalked nearer to me and grabbed my face between his hands. Now, I know that he kissed me in Kings Park during our first date, but I thought that was just because it was expected. After all, we were having a good time and it was dark. He could’ve forgotten what I looked like. Now that his head was lowering to mine during broad daylight, I didn’t know how to react.

Apart from responding. His lips descended and suddenly we were kissing. Lip-locking. Pashing. Sucking face. Whatever you want to call it, we were doing it. Lips, tongues, teeth, and mouths. It seemed like hours before we came up for air.

I glanced down and saw that thankfully I wasn’t the only one who was fully erect.

Harley chuckled. “Lunch first. I promised myself that. We’ll eat a meal like civilized people before I jump your bones.”

I thought it would be the other way around—me jumping his bones—but my brain wasn’t functioning enough to be able to string two words together. He opened the fridge and pulled out a tray of meat for the barbeque. “Follow me,” he called as he made his way through the sliding glass door and onto the patio.

I bit back the word “anywhere,” followed him out the back, and closed the door after me to keep the cool air inside.

The backyard was perfect. Absolutely gorgeous. Harley had mentioned he was renting, so I knew it wasn’t his design, but I couldn’t help but say, “Holy crap. This is great. How fantastic.”

The house was situated on the very top of the hill, backing onto the railway tracks. I knew they were there because I lived in the area and could hear the freight trains come through every couple of hours, but once you’d lived with them for a while, you stopped noticing. I wondered how loud they were this close to the tracks. The noise would be a pain, but it would be great not having any neighbors over your back fence. I strode closer to the rear wall and stood on a garden bench to look over.

“Just the substation over the back,” Harley said. There was a large drop to the railway line, since Harley was on the top of the hill, and I could see there was nothing beyond that but bushland and giant transformers.

I turned back to view the pure blue swimming pool. It was rectangular, with a two-foot waterfall at one end, an enclosed spa area, and pale limestone paving surrounding it all. Add a green fence to keep the kiddies safe and a number of decorative plants in pots, and it was paradise. It shimmered invitingly in the midday sun, and I wished that I’d brought my bathers. Maybe Harley had a pair I could borrow. That would require me to take my shirt off and show my tubby body, but it seemed like that wasn’t a big deal to Harley.