‘Whoa, that’s got some kick.’ I wheeze, placing the glass down. ‘Let me catch my breath. Your turn. What does a lawyer-slash-member-of-the-board do?’
‘Legal work mainly. In the family business.’ He shrugs, examining his glass. ‘Or rather, family businesses. A despot in training, to be master of all I survey.’ His mouth twists ironically.
‘Are you an only child?’
‘Not exactly. I’m my mother’s only child and I have the dubious privilege of being my father’s only son, as he reminds me often enough. You’re looking at his pride and joy, failure and fuck up, depending on which way the wind blows. And I can’t believe I just told you that.’ His gaze slides away, both embarrassed and amused.
His light words may scream subtext but beyond guessing divorce or affairs, I haven’t a clue. To cover his discomfort, I add, ‘It’s because I’m so warm.’
‘Warm,’ he repeats, bringing the glass to his mouth again. ‘I’d say hot.’ His eyes smoulder over the rim. ‘And I believe it’s your turn again.’
Hooley-dooley!I don’t respond for a moment, just stare at him before remembering I need to speak.
‘I told you, I’m pretty boring. No siblings and I’ve lived in Australia my whole life. Other than a trip to Bali, this is the only other time I’ve been overseas. I went to an all girls’ school, uni in Brisbane then straight back to the same school to teach. See.’ I shrug. ‘Pretty lame.’
‘An all girls’ school? Religious?’ he asks, attention caught. ‘Our Lady of Perpetual Guilt?’ Placing the glass down, he folds his arms across his chest with a satisfied grin.
‘Should I even ask?’
‘Your anxiety,’ he answers with a massive smile, ‘waking in my bed. Guilt, sin; the usual dogmatic repression. Haven’t you heard, chaste is waste?’
‘I bet you’ve got that on a t-shirt.’
‘It’s like the saying goes, a dirty mind is a joy forever. Still, it’ll make it all the more fun when you eventually let go.’
His words ripple across my skin like some kind of cautionary touch. I wonder if he means it’ll be more fun for me, or him. Because if he means him, that implies I’ll be around a while, while on the other hand...I think I’ll stop overthinking now.
‘I—I’ll bear that in mind.’ Wildly scanning topics of conversation on a more neutral ground, I find myself asking, ‘So, what do you do for fun?’
God, how Grade 8. Like, I literally can’t even...right now.
‘When I’m not rescuing women from ladders?’
‘Yeah, when you’ve left your chivalry in your other pants and the valiant steed tied in the yard.’
‘I work, I travel. And as for a valiant steed, I suppose I do like fast cars. And whiskey.’ He frowns curiously as he reaches for his glass. ‘I also like you.’
I swallow the remainder of my drink forgetting its potency and bite. Spluttering and coughing, I try to ingest his words through the arak.
‘Careful, it’s pretty powerful stuff.’
‘It’s not the drink,’ I mumble, standing abruptly and coughing still. ‘Excuse me.’ I tug at the hem of my dress before moving, instincts intervening and telling me I need a little distance. A moment to gather my wits. Yes, I’m off to the bathroom to have a stiff word with myself. To avoid the kind of stiff Kai has my libido crying out for right now.
He stands along with me, his fingers brushing my hand as I pass. ‘Hurry back.’
This isn’t going as I’d planned.
I touch water to my temples like some damsel in distress. This is so scary. It’s almost like I’ve been so long out of the dating game I have no idea how to play. He likes me, this much I can tell, but on the scale of one to casual where do I stand? Does he really want to get to know me, be my friend? Date me, or just do the dance with no pants again? And what happened to my avoiding men? Shouldn’t I be concentrating on learning to be on my own?
I’m so out of my depths, I’m probably risking the bends.
Staring in the powder-room mirror doesn’t enlighten me one bit, so I return to the table muttering a reminder, mantra-like,I’m going to go home alone.
Kai isn’t at the table but standing at the far end of the room, one half of a tense conversation with a tall, dark man. Not wanting to interrupt, I take my seat. The table has been mostly cleared but for the arak and our glasses, plus an additional two. To accompany these is a bottle of Krug, cooling in a bucket of ice on a stand.
Not going at all as I’d planned.
While I don’t think I could continue with the arak and expect to retain the use of my legs, champagne is meant for a celebration and I’m... going home alone?
