‘Action hero movie, is it?’ There’s an awful beat where my confidence to hold a normal conversation with another human being plummets to the floor. Like most numbers-based scholars, being witty has always been a bit of a struggle for me.
To my utter relief, his eyes finally crinkle with amusement as he gazes down at me. It causes the hairs on my arm to prickle as a fluttering of butterflies simultaneously erupts in my stomach.
Stay strong, woman. He’s just a man. A gallant, kind, unbelievably attractive, Australian man.
‘What took you to Newcastle?’
‘Work.’
‘And is this your first time?’ I say, trying not to feel weak at the knees. ‘In Turkey, I mean. Not holding up a woman wearing an inappropriate outfit while she attempts to make up for such a terrible first impression.’ Thatho-ho-hougly laugh sneaks out again.What is wrong with me?
‘I’ve held worse.’
‘I doubt it.’
A small laugh escapes from his mouth. ‘And is this your first time on holiday in Turkey?’
‘Uh-huh. It’s my first time here in Turkey,’ I say carefully, happy not to tell a lie. Our faces are merely inches apart, our eyes glued to each other. Even our lips are so close I can feel the tickle of his breath on my cheek. My heart thuds in my chest as his hand, on my lower back, burns through my skin. It’s sending electric sparkles up my spine.
We’re sandwiched together. Packed in like sardines. I mouth ‘Sorry’ but there’s nowhere to go. Nothing I can do but revel in this moment. I check a mental list off my fingers. He’s well-mannered. Helpful. Sexy accent. Job that includes travel. Formidable knowledge about local transport. And single. He must have left legions of broken-hearted women behind in Australia. And yet, my common sense tells me nobody can be this perfect. I wonder what could be wrong with him.
Before I can ruminate further, the bus hurtles along the uneven dirt track, plunging down a sharp dip, causing a collective shriek to ricochet around the shabby interior. Thankfully, Jackson grabs me in a vice-like grip to stop me toppling over in my stilettoes, his biceps bulging against the fabric of his T-shirt. I’m doing my utmost to engage what’s left of my core as there aren’t any available seats or any straps to hold on to. All I have is an abdominal wall that is weak from being hunched over studying for years. Jackson, on the other hand, is incredibly toned as I press against him.
My face is level with his Adam’s apple. My lips are almost touching his neck. It is a very intimate position to be in. His outdoorsy, musky scent fills my nostrils. It is intoxicatingly masculine. I fight the urge to assume universal forces are at work. Fate. Destiny. Karma. All converging to draw us together in an ‘opposites attract’ situation. Him, worldly and sophisticated. Me, numbers nerd and not that great in bed.
But luckily, my common sense confirms that this outcome would be completely and utterly out of the question. I inhale sharply, coming to my senses. I’m not here to flirt with every passing action hero. I’m here to work. And to prove to myself, my mother and my cheating ex, Dillon, that I have it in me to be successful, risk-taking and a person of significant interest.
I peek shyly up at Jackson, his chest rising and falling gently against mine. His gaze rakes across my face, hovering over my lips. It’s all over in a split second and very subtle but it still takes me by surprise.
‘You okay like this?’ he asks, his voice tender and low. ‘Being so close.’ The thoughtfulness throws me, sending my pulse racing. It is making me instantly reassess my values.
‘Uh-huh.’ Somehow, I have ended up in the arms of a total smokeshow.
Who am I to argue with fate?
Who am I to question a one in four million chance meeting?
Who am I to get in the way of stars aligning?
Am I for once in my life in the right place at the right time?
The way he’s holding me, the way he’s looking at me. The corners of his mouth briefly curl as he flicks his eyebrows upwards. This must be how they flirt Down Under. A sort of low-level seduction, with the eyes doing most of the talking.
I toy with the idea of reciprocating. Understated. Cool. Non-committal. In case it backfires, and I’ve misread the situation. I gaze up at him and it’s as though he’s reading my mind. Without breaking eye contact, my breath hitches when I feel his hand slide beneath my skirt.
Oh my word.
It’s the softest of touches and inexplicably thrilling. Every nerve ending in my body is jolted to life. This is next-level flirting. Maybe things move along more quickly in Australia.
He frowns briefly as I stare back in surprise. The women on the plane boasting about how randy men on holiday can be comes back to me. They weren’t wrong. Now he’s lifting up what little there is of my skirt, causing me to flinch. I can’t help but feel this might be borderlinetoorisqué for me. I want to have fun, but not this much fun. Not on an overcrowded bus full of smelly chickens.
I open my mouth to say something but now he’s staring out of the window, eyes darting about, his head ducking, ascertaining where we are. It’s probably a cover so that no one notices he is fondling me so enthusiastically. Then, without warning, I feel a sharp finger poke between my bum cheeks. I let out a monumental gasp, instinctively arching backwards to slap his cheek.How dare he!
‘Ow!’ he yelps, rubbing the side of his face, looking at me as though I’m crazy. ‘What was that for?’
‘What do you think?’ I snap, shrieking as he jabs at my buttocks once more. ‘Stop that!’
‘Stop what?’ Jackson says, looking annoyed. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’ He holds both his hands in the air as I’m rudely poked again.
