Page 5

Chapter Five

“T his is surprisingly good.” I said, squinting at the orange bottle of liqueur which I was almost positive Mum acquired before I was born.

Jack took another sip before licking his lips, “It’s not great, but I’ve tasted worse. It’s strong as shit though, what’s it called?”

Reading the back of the bottle I hiccuped before answering.

“SO strong. My feet feel numb. The label is faded so I’m not actually sure,” I shrugged, finishing the rest of my glass. “But I like it,” I giggled while trying to wiggle my toes.

“Tell me more about this book you’re writing.”

I rolled my head to face him and sighed. “I mean I told you the premise last night.” Flashbacks of the feel of his lips against my own caused my cheeks to warm and judging by the lazy smile which split his face, he noticed.

“You also used me for research purposes so I think I’ve earned the right to more details.”

“Fine,” I acquiesced. “Where was I up to?” I said more to myself than him as I looked up towards the ceiling desperately trying to wade through the alcoholic fog and activate my memory. “Oh, yep. So they’re on the plane and they’re about to kiss…”

Closing my eyes I pictured my characters.

Jackson and Summer.

He was impressively broad. Confident and self-assured. Caring towards those he loved.

Summer was less confident, focused and loyal.

“And?” Jack said, pausing the scene playing in my mind.

“And nothing. I’m struggling! How do I write about love and passion and…” Leaning closer to him I whispered, “S-E-X, if I’m not currently having any.”

Jack began coughing, holding up a hand to indicate he was okay and I pondered if I was perhaps making him uncomfortable. We’d discussed most things. He knew when I had my period, the fact I could only wear bras without underwire and that I folded my toilet paper. Three times to be exact. But we did not discuss intimacy. It was a topic which we seemed to subconsciously agree was better left unsaid.

I’d seen photos of him online with numerous women. I’d been friends with some of his exes in school. But I wasn’t a sadist and asking questions was only going to cause unnecessary feelings of jealousy. Or those of the murderous kind – who can be sure.

“What about Kyle?” He spoke his name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth and I feigned mock horror with a dramatic hand to my chest.

“Oh, yes. Kyle. I could definitely write about the way he picked me up once a month, took me to his favourite lookout, and aggressively rubbed himself against me for what felt like three days before he finally decided it was enough foreplay. Then I was guaranteed at least fifty seconds of an awkwardly positioned car–” I flung my hand in his direction so I didn’t need to say or spell the word, “Before he finished and told me how much he loved watching me C-U-M. Which was funny given he had never actually seen it.”

Throwing his head back Jack howled, pausing after a solid minute only to acknowledge my words. “You’re right. You can’t use that story. Especially when you can’t even say the words cum and sex.”

“Shut up.” I whacked him on the arm playfully, feeling my cheeks flush again. I was never embarrassed around Jack and it wasn’t a weird new quirk that it made me uncomfortable to say words like that out loud, I’d just never really needed to use them around him.

Hearing him say them aloud was something else entirely and I wanted to watch the words wrap around his mouth as he spoke.

“I didn’t realise you’d broken up?” Jack’s tone was softer and I could sense he was being cautious incase this was a sore point.

“Broken up is a stretch. We were never in a relationship. I don’t know, it’s a small town. It was meant to be mutualistic but it was anything but,” I admitted with a scowl. “Hence why I am finding myself with writer’s block when it comes to the c-o-c-k.”

“Read me what you have.”

“What? No.” Nope. Absolutely not. I couldn’t even say these words out loud let alone read him my work.

“I can help you.” He stated plainly, his smile back in place. “Or at least I probably can with the c-o-c-k stuff.” He said with a wink.

Grabbing the pillow next to me I held it over my face and groaned. Partially to hide the colour I knew my cheeks would be and also to have the tiniest moment to myself before I looked back at him.

What was I worried about? This was Jack Grant. The same boy, who on my twelfth birthday, walked the shore of Willow’s Beach with me for three hours until I found twelve perfect shells. One for each year I had been alive. The same boy who picked the tomato off every burger because he knew I hated the feeling on my tongue. The same man who after playing his first game for the Sydney Hearts, waited on the sideline until I could walk down what felt like two thousand steps and squeeze through a sea of adoring fans, just so I could congratulate him.

He was my best-friend. And a sexy, experienced man in his own right which meant, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, he probably could help me.

“Okay. But you can’t laugh.” Standing, I reached for the lounge to balance myself. “I’m going to need more of this orange stuff though. Make us another round while I grab my draft.”

“You sure you want another one?” He asked playfully as I lost my footing up the steps.

“Definitely.” I called before heading to my room for my smutty notes.

When I returned, Jack had two freshly made drinks in hand and a bowl of crisps sitting on the lounge between us.

“You read my mind.” Sitting back in the same space as before, I flipped the pages until I turned to the scene which had been only a quarter complete for two weeks, and grabbed a handful of crisps.

“So,” I said around crunches, “They’re in the plane and it’s tense.”

“He’s her boss and is loaded right? And she is his assistant?” He clarified and I nodded around another mouthful of salty deliciousness.

“Describe her to me. I need to picture it all so I can get the juices flowing.” He cracked his knuckles for emphasis and I laughed.

“Summer is…” I trailed off, pondering whether I just told him she looked like me, or if that would freak him out and sabotage his ability to help. And God knew I needed some.

“She’s unique. She’s confident and funny, but only around those she is familiar with and obviously that extends to her boss. She works really hard and takes her job seriously.” I pursed my lips, picturing my fierce female lead. She was everything I wanted to be and more.

“What does she look like?” He prodded before taking another sip of his drink. His eyes were glazed, this bat shit liquor from the 1960s working its way through both of us.

“She kinda looks like me, I guess.” I admitted with a chuckle.

“Obviously.” Jack replied exaggeratedly and I laughed. God he was so easy to be around. Moving the bowl of chips to the floor, I brought one leg up onto the lounge and turned to face him entirely.

“Okay, so they’re in the plane and he has just had this mind blowing epiphany that he is in love with her. And we all know he is used to getting whatever he wants whenever he wants, but she makes him a little nervous,” I was speaking quickly, but I couldn’t bring myself to slow down. I loved this book and these characters more than any of the others I’d ever written.

“Oh, and just before they boarded the flight, Summer decided this was the last trip she would be taking with him because she was tired. Tired of loving someone who saw her as nothing more than a colleague.”

Jack hadn’t moved. His attention focused on every word I was saying and it gave me a boost of confidence. Maybe this story was good. Imposter syndrome – you can kindly piss right off because this was set to be a New York Bestseller.

Breaking eye contact I took a deep breath and began reading.

“A bone deep exhaustion settled into the air, wrapping me up and covering me whole. He was never going to see me. Eternally waiting for him to do just that had beaten me down and I was tired. Drying my face I pushed my feelings down for what would be a few more hours on this blasted plane and flattened my clothing. You can do this, Summer.

I slid the lock across and was startled when the door opened to Jackson standing less than a foot away, a look I’d never seen painting his face.

‘Where is everyone?’ I whispered, referring to the two female cabin crew who were always within a few metres in case he needed something. Or someone.

Never me though.

He looked haunted, the cabin now dark with only limited lighting coming from the small safety bulbs lining the floor.

‘Jackson, are you okay?’ He stepped closer to me, studying me in an entirely new way. Curiosity marred his features and my chest began to rise and fall a little quicker when he raised his hand and softly brushed the pad of his thumb across my cheek. What was happening?

‘I’ve been blind.’ He uttered. His words danced across my skin, a deep need settling in my stomach.”

I stopped, nothing but a blank page beyond that sentence because I couldn’t get past this moment. I wanted him to take her in his arms and devour her while the world continued to move below them. But I couldn’t find the words for the feeling of euphoria I would likely never experience.

“What happens next?” Jack’s voice was an octave deeper than it had been, bringing me back into my parents living room and away from the confines of an aeroplane flying across the Atlantic at night. I felt a bead of sweat fall down my back.

Was it just me or did it suddenly get hot in here? I stood hastily, needing to move.

Fanning myself with the pages I was holding I glanced down at him, his gaze still focused on me.

“What happens next, Win?” He repeated with urgency. “Don’t leave me hanging here.”

I turned the page towards him signalling there was nothing written.

“This is where I’m up to. I know what happens next but I’m struggling to put it into words.”

“No wonder you read so much,” he huffed. “I have a semi just from listening and nothing even happened.”

I barked a laugh doing everything within my power not to look for myself because Jack’s friend would never want to see his pleasure. She would tell him how gross he is and avoid discussing such intimate things with him. She would never imagine said pleasure while she sat at her typewriter late at night thinking of how Summer and Jackson would lose themselves in each other.

“If you can’t write it, at least tell me what happens next so I have something to think about later.” He poked me in the arm, his wolfish grin back and I shook my head. He had absolutely no idea what he did to me which meant I was in the running to be nominated in the 2025 Academy Awards for best actress.

I walked back and forth across the carpet feeling jittery. It was definitely hot in here even with the air set to an almost arctic temperature but I think it was more to do with the charged thoughts swirling through the space like electricity. Maybe I was ovulating or something.

“But I can’t describe it.”

Jack stood, taking my hands in his.

“Relax your fists. Don’t focus on how to say it for your readers, just say it for me.”

“Urgh,” I groaned exaggeratedly, averting my gaze because in my drunk fuelled haze I was certainly misreading a look of heat in his eyes.

“Show me what you got, Lennox.” He quipped and the lighthearted familiarity was enough to calm me. He dropped my now relaxed hands and I drew in a deep breath. He was my personal valium.

“Okay, so, Jackson would take a step toward her until their bodies were almost touching.” I began and Jack moved in close bringing my sentence to life. I felt my eyes widen, my spine snap straight.

Heat. Inferno. Shiiiiiiiiiiit.

“Close your eyes and keep talking.” Clammy. Him this close was making me clammy.

Don’t overthink things or it will get weird, I told myself, desperate to ignore the sudden flutter in my chest.

I followed his instruction, shuttling myself 40,000 feet above the ground, into a dimly lit cabin, the rumbling of the engines taking over my senses and clearing my mind.

“Summer is frozen. Her eyes flickering between his own. Her chest rising and falling rapidly, a direct result of his spicy leather scent blanketing her. He would bridge the gap between them and pull her into him with a firm palm against her lower back. Steadying her when the plane jumped with turbulence.”

The breath left my lungs when I was firmly pulled into Jack, my palms flying up to land on his chest.

Farkkk.

“Keep going, Win.” His words were tantalisingly close and I pushed all thoughts of reality away before I burst into flames.

Jackson and Summer.

Jackson and Summer.

Jackson and Summer.

“She would be able to feel his arousal, thick and heavy against her. It would send a bolt of need to her core, a dull pulse picking up its rhythm at the filthy thoughts flicking through her mind.

“The taste of his skin, the feel of his hands on her thighs. Images of him finally seeing her for who she really was – a woman. And taking her right there on the flight because he could no longer stop himself. He needed to be inside her, to feel the warmth of her wrapped around him.”

Jack gripping me a little firmer caused my eyes to shoot open, his equally as wide before he took a hasty step back.

“Fuck,” he laughed. “Sorry.” He looked down and I followed the movement, a very noticeable bulge in his pants.

“Oh my god. Did I do that?” I slapped a hand across my mouth, my astonishment threatening to escape with a string of more unnecessary questions.

How on god’s forsaken earth did I have some part in causing that reaction from him . The notoriously sexy footballer who spent his days with the best of female kind, according to the gossip sites I abashedly stalked on the regular.

And in my parent’s living room to add to the peculiarity of it all. I felt like running and turning every family photo around, terrified someone was somehow watching and judging me.

The inept prude who couldn’t write a sexy scene accosted her friend resulting in a boner.

“Argh –,” he lifted his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

Was he nervous? Because of me? And his…

“What the heck?” I asked, pointing at what I was certain was an impressive third member who had entered the scene.

“I have no excuse,” he raised his palms towards the sky as if he too was befuddled. “Although I haven’t been laid in a while and this orange shit is deadly.” He added, reaching for the liqueur and squinting as if he could suddenly read the faded label any better than I could.

“Mr. I am out every night with a new woman isn’t getting any — since when?” This was new information and while I was playing coy I was starving for details.

“A while,” he shrugged. “But that’s a conversation for another day. Tonight is about you and working out how we can solve this little problem you’re having.”

“Nice deflection, Jack-O-Lantern.”

“Thanks,” he grinned. “You seem like you’re doing just fine given my reaction.” He grimaced again, glancing down towards his crotch.

Wait… so it was me. Or my words? The sultry scene I was creating? Being pressed against me?

All of the above?

“Well tonight was different. It’s not usually like that,” I whined.

“So what was it about tonight that made it easier? We need to replicate that.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal.

Hesitating, I bit my lip and narrowed my eyes at him, while I thought about how best to articulate what I wanted to say.

You. You were the difference, you big, dumb, sexual oaf.

You and your reassuring aura and the way you make me feel safe.

It could also maybe, most definitely have something to do with the gargantuan crush I’ve always had on you.

“You’re nervous,” he glanced down to my hand where I was speedily twirling my infinity ring. A ring he bought me for my sixteenth birthday because he said our friendship would last forever – like the strength of double infinity. While it didn’t make sense to me at the time, it was the sweetest gesture anyone had ever done for me and I’d worn it everyday since. It was years later he admitted he chose this particular one as the sales lady had informed him her daughter also had one and used it when she was anxious. He was forever doing things like this as if it were the most simple act in the world to bring me something he knew would help me remain calm.

I crossed my arms to stop myself fidgeting and immediately began biting the inside of my cheek instead.

“Spit it out.”

“Fine,” I huffed. “I think you might be able to help,” I said before I lost my courage. “Because I already feel like I can write this scene now.” God, this was so unbelievably embarrassing. What if this idea was a result of the fictitious worlds I was spending most of my free time delving in as I researched for my own romance novel.

What if he said no or worse, laughed in my face. What if he was repulsed, I mean I was nothing like any of the women he partied with in Sydney.

I was a small town, neurotic, set in her ways, kind of girl.

I could tell you how many Weetbix he ate as a kid and the colour of his favourite bike. I could tell you his birthday, his star sign and his favourite constellation but I couldn’t tell you the most intimate details of him – something I am sure many strangers had been lucky enough to experience.

And I was desperate to know. Even if it was only for a minute, I ached to be pulled into the fold where I knew everything about him, including what brought him the most pleasure and what he looked like when he lost all control.

“Always happy to help. Just tell me how.” He was cocky and it was apparent he thought he knew what I needed, when really, he could never have guessed what I was about to ask. The forbidden thoughts alone were enough to send a buzz through my bloodstream.

“Well, given no one knows me better than you and there is absolutely no one I trust more, I have an idea. And it may be outlandish and entirely unexpected – actually most definitely unexpected – and it’s kind of awkward so you can definitely say no and we can forget I said anything.”

“Go on.” He said, folding his arms across his chest.

“That little,” I swirled my finger indicating whatever the heck just happened between us, “Well whatever that was – helped. Definitely helped. And we both know how limited my experience is with this stuff given the clientele I’ve shared company with.”

“You mean the people you’ve slept with?”

“Yes, Jack. Those people. Anyway – you are far more experienced than I am and I need inspiration.”

“You’re talking in circles. How exactly can I help?”

“I’m thinking, asking actually, I’m asking – wait I can’t look at you when I say this,” I turned around, feeling much braver now that I couldn’t see his face. “I’m asking if you would help me with the spicy scenes in my book. Be an intimate muse, if you will. It could work both ways and obviously we would have rules because the last thing I would want is to do anything to jeopardise our friendship, but maybe you could use that experience of yours to show me what passion really is. So I can actually write about it.” I blew out a long breath before anxiously biting my thumb nail. If he turned me down, I was going to laugh hysterically and tell him I was only joking, then run to my room for the next two months and avoid him at all costs.

The silence was deafening and my fingers immediately reached for my ring.

When he still didn’t answer after what felt like an eternity, I spun around to face him and noticed his hands now firmly placed in front of the bulge.

“Forget I said anything.” I snapped, desperate to rewind an hour and go back to before shit got murky. This was what I feared most. His refusal. His rejection. His pity for Robot- who never had friends.

“No.” He said with a shake of his head.

“No?” My cheeks flamed but I stood firm. This was not the end of the world. I could definitely blame the super intense alcohol and clear my memories of everything I’d said and done.

“No, I won’t forget,” his adamance startled me. “But I need time to think. We can talk in the morning.” He stated, leaning over to give me a swift kiss on the cheek before turning and leaving without so much as a goodnight, let alone waiting for my reply.

What in the fudge cakes .

Pressing my head against the closed door of my bedroom I mouthed a lengthy expletive whilst simultaneously banging my palm against my forehead.

I kissed him. I actually kissed him. And then I asked him to be my muse. My real-life experimental sex doll.

For fuck sake, , what were you thinking?

He drove six hours down the – admittedly very gorgeous coastline – to escape the pressures of whatever it was to play professional football, which included constantly being surrounded by people with no concept of his personal space – only to be in Willow Bay for approximately three seconds before I too did the same.

I mean, I hadn’t lied to him. I really was struggling with bringing home the desperation and angst of the characters.

Some things came naturally. The anticipation, the longing, the unrequited, invisible ache embedded within every moment. Those things which seemed minute to him but meant everything to me. That I could write about. Hell, I could publish an entire series about a lonely woman who has always wanted more but was too scared to grab life by the reins.

But the impassioned, kiss me as if I am your oxygen in an ocean of lust scene, I’m a little rusty. Of the few relationships I’d been in, none of them were anywhere near inspired.

In fact, on more than one occasion I would be glad to endure some form of traumatic head injury to ensure I never had to relive those instances again.

How did you describe something you hadn’t quite experienced? It was a very real issue, but did I have to offer myself up to him on a silver platter when he looked at me like his sister. Shit.

My body’s response to having him that close to me was anything but familial. The pressure of his hand against my lower back was enough to weaken my knees, my back arching as my chest became desperate to mould itself to him. My skin tingled and I knew if I looked down my shirt, my nipples would have been hard.

How long had I dreamed of one day having someone ignite those feelings in me? How long had I wished someone would listen to my words and create a passion I could only imagine? How long had it been Jack’s face I saw when I created these characters or touched myself in the depths of the night when no one was around? And now I was teetering on an unfamiliar line desperate to take the leap but terrified of the consequences.

Landing heavily into the chair in front of my typewriter I pushed the carriage back to its original position and stretched my fingers. My parents constantly offered to buy me a laptop but there was something nostalgic about filtering my fictional thoughts through something unplugged. The precision and beauty in watching the ink of my mind hit the paper in real time sung to my neurotic heart.

Getting ready to start I tapped the keys lightly and mentally took myself back downstairs. I could spend the next hour berating myself or I could use the inundation of inspiring thoughts to my advantage. Allow the tingles from his touch to light the flame needed to finish this scene.

Tomorrow was a new day and no doubt we would laugh about the hilarity of it all over breakfast before forgetting it ever happened.

Well, I would try to forget… maybe.

But deep down I knew there would be no erasing the memory of his mouth against mine. Or the hardness of his body moulding perfectly against my own, sending an eruption of goosebumps across my skin. The feel of where his palm rested against my lower back, burning my skin and sending my pulse soaring.

Re-reading the last line I wrote, I channelled the tormenting pleasure of earlier and stretched my hands out against the cool metal before my fingers began flying across the keys.