“Fuck no.” He shoved his bag onto a shelf. “This is the sponsor sucking up to me.”
He rounded on her with a wolfish expression. “Speaking of sucking up to me… have you heard it’s almost my birthday?”
Cheryl held up a palm. “We should go explore.”
He took a menacing step forward. “I wanna explore.”
“I mean the city,” she said sweetly. “A little suspense never killed anyone. Besides, we could have stayed in Melbourne and fucked each other senseless—”
“Exactly—”
“—so surely you dragged me on this trip because you wanted me to see Wellington?”
Patrick sighed, his pretty head drooping. “Fine. Let’s keep wearing clothes and go look at stuff, I guess.”
She held back a smile. She wanted him, badly, but she’d never been to New Zealand, and she was excited to walk around a place where no one would ask what she was doing holding hands with Patrick Normal. Kiwis didn’t follow AFL and he was no more a superstar here than she was. She reapplied her lipstick, spritzed herself with hydrating spray, and they left the hotel.
After Googling a little, they decided to go to the national museum where they looked at Maori art and black and white photographs. They found the skeleton of Phar Lap, the famous racehorse. Cheryl had always thought it was an Australian horse since its skin was on display at the Melbourne Museum, but it turned out to be just one more thing Aussies had stolen from Kiwis, along with pavlova and Crowded House and Russell Crowe.
“I think Melbourne got the better deal,” Patrick said. “Horse bones look fucked.”
“Poor horse,” she agreed. “Its body all over the place…”
When they got hungry, they ducked into a tiny café and sat side-by-side sharing a ploughman’s lunch and a bottle of Shiraz. They kept laughing about horse bone rights, and the time Willow got into a fight with a coach about doing live streams in the team change room. She was happier than she could ever remember being.
Patrick moved closer to her, his hands sliding along her thigh. “Has anyone ever told you you’re the most beautiful woman in the world?”
“Yes.”
“Who are they? I’ll kill them.”
“Oh no. What can I do to dissuade you?”
They kissed until their awkward waiter arrived to clear away their lunch. Patrick poured out the last of the wine and they sat and drank in companionable silence, Cheryl snuggled into his side. Her g-string was soaked from all the kissing, but they didn’t need to rush. They had all the time in the world.
“I feel like I want to do something special while we’re here,” Patrick said. “And for my birthday, but I don’t know what.”
Her type-A brain whirred into action. “Do you mean like a five-star restaurant or a gig or something?”
“Nah. It’s a bit stupid, but like… something I’ve never done before. Something to mark being here with you.”
Cheryl thought of her kitten outfit, the tail with the silver butt plug. Then the wine made her ask, “Have you ever done anal?”
He looked like his world was culminating in a single pressure point. He pressed his palms into a prayer pose. “Please, for the love of all that is holy, tell me we can do that tonight?”
“You didn’t answer my question. Have you?”
He looked away and she felt a dull, lead-like thud of jealousy. What was she? An idiot? He was a hot football player. Of course, some girl had put anal sex on the menu. Probably a lot of them.
“It’s fine,” she said with a breeziness she didn’t feel. “I wasn’t trying to judge. I’ll come up with something else.”
“KitKat…”
“Seriously, it’s okay!” She tried to laugh and it sounded like Phar Lap’s bones creaking. “It was dumb of me to ask. Of course you’ve done it, we’ve all done it! I mean, not everyone, but most people, right?”
She sounded so nuts it was embarrassing, and before Patrick could say anything, she stood. “Bathroom. Back in a sec.”
The ladies’ were small but clean, with floor-to-ceiling doors on the cubicles. The perfect hideaway. She sat on a closed toilet lid and groaned. She had no right to be jealous. Why was this bothering her so badly?
