Chapter Sixty-Five
Making our way back into the house, Jazz has discretely buggered off, leaving a pile of parcels on the kitchen bench.
‘Ah, they arrived. Here,habibti.I’m guessing you don’t want to greet your mother in my shirt. So, you know.’ He pushes several shopping bags into my arms. I recognize the branding as a local designer boutique. ‘Clothes.’
Sliding his hands into his pockets, he stares at me with something that looks suspiciously like challenge.
‘Thanks,’ I answer simply. His gaze narrows.Mistrust?‘Maybe I should deprive you of sleep more often.’
‘No, it’s just, well, I’m going to have to get used to this sort of living, aren’t I?’ I place the bags back on the bench, contents unexamined, throwing out my arms feebly. ‘I don’t want to fight with you constantly.’ In the grand scheme of things, his buying me clothes isn’t important. It’s not like he’s buying me stuff, insisting I wear it and when to do so. It’s not a controlling thing; it’s more for convenience.
Well, other than the expensive lingerie I’m amassing.
‘No,’ he murmurs, pulling me into his arms. ‘Notallof the time. Just sometimes, because then we have spectacular make-up sex.’
His eyes smoulder, his thoughts bare and exposed in those burning embers. He lays one gentle hand at the base of my throat and my heart jolts. His gaze never leaves my own as he holds it there, very still. His finger lightly grazes the vein and my heart flutters in response, becoming more erratic as his hand tightens. Blood races thick through my veins and pounds in my neck.
Pounds between my legs.
‘You liked this,’ he asserts, the weight of his hand and his gaze holding me very still. My skin is inexplicably alert, nerve endings having risen to the surface at his touch. I release a tremulous breath, my longing almost carried into the air. ‘It’s fun to colour outside of the lines a little, isn’t it?’ Without waiting for an answer, his hand slips to the back of my neck, pulling me forward. ‘We’ve an appointment to keep,’ he whispers, kissing my forehead. ‘Go and dress.’
Fun,I ponder, wandering trance-like upstairs.And sort of frightening.
‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ I grumble.
‘Come on, Kate, you can’t keep it from your parents. Surely they’re notallbad.’
‘I didn’t say they were bad, just bad for my mood, mainly,’ I mumble, half turning my back on him. ‘Kind of headache inducing bad.’ Staring out the car window, I follow a trail of raindrops from the sudden shower with my hand.
‘What was that?’
‘Look, they’re not terrible people,’ I say, turning to face him. ‘Just misguided.’ Like an echo, I’m filled with a familiar sense of inadequacy. ‘And generally disappointed in me.’ Even I can hear how forlorn those words sound.
Kai reaches over the console between us, grasping my hand. ‘How anyone can be disappointed in you I don’t understand.’
We take the coast road to my parents’ place. The traffic is light; the tourist season not yet in full swing. I point out snippets of my youth as we pass; my favourite gelato shop, the first pub I ever fell out of drunk, that sort of thing.
‘Oh, I got my first job there!’ I point as we pass the familiar orange and white signage.
‘You used to work atHooters?’ Incredulous doesn’t even cover his tone, his head twisting back to the already passed sign, as though seeking confirmation of a glimpse.
‘What? You think I couldn’t?’ I glance down at myZimmermanshorts, courtesy of Kai. I’ve got pretty good legs. They could do with being a bit longer, but that’s not likely to happen. Unless I get run over by a steam roller or something.
‘Answer the question, kitten,’ he mutters, all growly.
‘It’s just waitressing. You’d see loads more flesh over there.’ I point my thumb to the opposite side of the road, knowing the ocean sits just beyond a row of houses and holiday apartments. ‘Waitresses wearing shorts and a singlet—a, what would you call it?’ I pull at my beautifully cut T-shirt. ‘A tank?’
‘Vest. But—’
‘It’s not like it’s a strip club or anything. They don’t grind poles. Or blokes.Jeeze.’ I blow a burst of air through my lips, lifting hair from my brow, only for it to fall right back, but sometimes, it’s the effect that matters.
A muscle in his jaw ticks, his brow furrowing as his hands grip the steering wheel. His mood is a difficult one to gauge. I’m not sure whether he’s annoyed or imagining me in the skimpy uniform. ‘How long ago since... you worked there?’
‘I was fourteen.’
The car sways a little, Kai correcting it immediately with an uttered curse. ‘You were what?’
‘Mate, calm your farm! Did you not see the putt-putt course next door?’
