Page 13 of What Did I Miss?

‘Makayla,’ he says with a smile, ‘I worked in intelligence. I use sophisticated methods to find out these things.’

‘Agnes told you?’

‘Yep.’

‘I knew that busybody was talking smack about me.’ She drains her pale ale and slams the glass on the table.

‘I think you’re wrong about Agnes. She seems harmless; she even invited me onto her swimming team.’

Makayla curses herself for kicking him off hers. How’s she supposed to win the teachers’ race if The Whiny Bunch has a triathlete in the mix?

‘Back to my original question. How long were you married?’ Beau’s too smart to fall for the ‘answer a question with a question’ trick.

‘Eleven years.’ As confusion washes over him, she adds, ‘Yes, I married my high-school sweetheart. We eloped at eighteen.’

‘Wow,’ is all he manages, and it’s hard to gauge if that means ‘Wow, what an immature thing to do,’ or ‘Wow, I can’t believe you’ve spent your entire adult life married.

’ It could go either way. People always have an opinion on the matter – she spent years proving she was happy with her decision, even when she wasn’t.

‘Can I ask why it ended?’ He lowers his voice, treading lightly.

Makayla eyes the neon exit sign, but she’s saved by a young server with a ratty mullet, who arrives with two parmigianas the size of basketballs.

A thick layer of cheese oozes across the top, and they’re so mesmerised they forget to ask what the three types of cheese actually are.

They push aside their sad salads and tuck into their mains, ready to test their dairy tolerance.

‘Have you ever been married?’ Makayla rarely asks personal questions, but it’s the only way to shift the focus off her divorce.

‘Not yet. Engaged twice. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong.’

‘I wasn’t thinking anything.’ She’d learned her lesson after the assumptions she’d made about him when they first met.

‘When I was in the Army, they moved me around to a lot of different bases. That was hard on my fiancée, Jessica, who was trying to make a name for herself as a news journalist. She got offered a great gig in Melbourne and the long distance was hard – our relationship didn’t survive it.

I didn’t think I’d recover from that until I met Harper.

’ He takes a swig from his pint before continuing.

‘Everything was going well, and we eventually got engaged. Then I was deployed overseas.’ He steadies his voice as it falters.

‘It was supposed to be for a couple of months, but it got extended. Harper got lonely and found someone at work to comfort her. So that was that.’ He drops his knife and fork and stares at his plate.

Makayla stops herself from reaching across to touch his hand.

Who knows if any of this is true? Maybe he just wants her to feel sorry for him, so he can trick her into sleeping with him again.

That’s what men do, isn’t it? But her gut is screaming that Beau’s a good guy.

The same gut that told her Warren was, she reminds herself. Not the best judge of character.

‘I’m sorry. It’s awful when people let you down,’ Makayla says. She should know.

‘Thanks. To be honest, after a while, I came to realise I was as much to blame. I gave up on them too quickly and put my career first. I won’t be making that mistake again.’

Makayla senses his gaze on her and the back of her neck tingles. She refuses to look up.

‘Is that why you left the Army, or have you always had a calling to terrify teenagers?’

He chuckles and gets back to his meal. ‘Sort of. It’s tough being away from the people you love.

I got to the point where I had to ask myself what I was fighting for.

All my mates are married and having kids and, you know, every time their family photos popped up on Instagram, I felt like something was missing.

People assume the scariest part about going to war is the risk of dying, but I was terrified no one would miss me if I did.

Sorry. Listen to me having an existential crisis and breaking the number one rule of first dates – don’t talk about exes. ’

‘This isn’t a date.’ Makayla boots him under the table and holds back a grin.

‘I know, I know. I just enjoy seeing you blush. One day, though.’ He winks.

How can such a simple gesture melt her insides, and why is she falling for this garbage?

‘What’s your deal, Beau?’

‘What do you mean?’ He cocks his head to one side.

‘Why are you pursuing this? We spent one night together and from what I can see, you’re doing well with the ladies.

That woman who wanted your number was a knockout, and Imogen’s ready to have your babies.

If you’re looking to settle down and live the white picket fence life, then why are you interested in me? ’

‘That night when we … the connection was so … I don’t know how to explain this …’ His face reddens as he drags his hands through his hair. ‘Every time I close my eyes, I see yours. Then, of all the schools, I arrive at Goldbrooke. That’s got to be a sign, right?’

She shakes her head. Serendipity is a crock of shit.

‘I also like how funny you are. You’ve got a sense of humour that only a handful of people would appreciate. I’m sure there are more weird and wonderful things to discover about you; I’m just hoping one day you’ll let me.’

Makayla shovels in bite after bite, risking indigestion to end this ‘date’. She can feel her walls coming down. If she stays any longer, she’ll wind up swaying in his arms while the cover band belt out ‘The Horses’.

‘Do you ever think about that night?’ Beau asks.

‘Ummm …’ The saltiness of her meal is similar to the way his abs tasted when she traced them with her tongue.

Does she ever think about it? The better question is, when will she stop?

‘Not really. I should get going. I’ve got a ton of marking to do tomorrow.

You know how it is. I’ll grab an Uber.’ She yanks her jacket off the back of the chair and drapes it across her shoulders. Sleeves will slow her down.

Beau drops his napkin onto his plate. ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

Was this his plan all along? Makayla waits for the hint of a smirk that will prove her right.

‘Okay,’ she says, with global warming front of mind. ‘But let me be clear, Shepherd. You’re not stepping foot inside my house. There’ll be no nightcap, and don’t even think about asking to use the bathroom. Is that understood?’

Beau raises both hands in surrender. ‘Got it.’

Makayla grins, congratulating herself on surviving the evening without succumbing to temptation. Maybe they can be friends after all.

Beau pulls his LandCruiser into Makayla’s driveway, kills the engine and unfastens his seatbelt. If he thinks he’s walking her to the front door, he’s delusional.

Before she can say goodbye, he beats her to it.

‘At the pub, you asked me why I’m interested in you. Can I ask you a question?’

Going by the serious shift in his tone, she suspects she won’t like what’s coming. With her palm hovering over the door handle, she nods for him to continue.

‘Are you definitely not keen? Sometimes I think you are, like when you took the hit for me with Agnes’s mug. But then you said you’re not dating and yet you were at a speed dating event. I need to hear it straight so I can let this go. Is that what you want?’

Light from a nearby streetlamp seeps into the car and she sees the defeat in his eyes. He expects to be rejected again.

The idea of jumping into something serious is ludicrous.

How long has she been divorced? Five seconds!

Is Beau worth losing the Mustang to Warren?

It’s too soon to know. Besides, he’s looking for someone who’s ready to skip down the aisle, push out a busload of kids and get a labrador. That’s not in her future.

Makayla prepares the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech. But there’s a part of her that won’t let her say it. The same part that knows what’s about to happen, because she’s been fighting it all night. After hearing him lay all his cards on the table, she doesn’t have the willpower to stop it.

Without thinking about what she’s doing, she leans in for a kiss. Beau pulls away in surprise for a second, before smashing his lips against hers.

Makayla’s tongue wrestles for dominance, desperate to taste him. The kiss is so deep she could get drunk off the lingering trace of beer on his breath.

His gruff hands roam freely beneath her top, fingering the cotton of her bra. Makayla trembles under his touch. Hungry to be closer, she lunges forward, only to be catapulted back by the seatbelt. Freeing herself, she climbs into the back seat, dragging Beau with her. He doesn’t resist.

‘This is a one-time thing,’ she says, adamant.

‘It’s our second time, but sure.’

‘Shut up, Shepherd. There’s no need to get technical.’

Beau grazes her neck with the tip of his nose, and goosebumps pebble her skin. He nips at her earlobes, making her purr like an engine. Does he remember how much she liked that during their last encounter?

They strip down, flinging clothes and a condom wrapper aside.

Knees stretched wide, Makayla straddles his sturdy thighs and takes him in.

All of him. Her breath evaporates. She grips his mountainous shoulder with one hand and fists his chest hair with the other.

His muscular physique reflects hours of outdoor training.

Nothing gets Makayla wetter than dedication to sport.

Falling into a rapid rhythm, they steam up the windows, concealing themselves from spectators. Sweat dribbles down her spine, but there’s no way it can cool her body. It’s on fire, and there’s only one thing that can extinguish it.

While steering her hips, Beau dives into her cleavage, like he’ll happily suffocate there. His saliva decorates the delicate parts of her skin, sending her into overdrive.

Something on his left shoulder catches her eye and yanks her out of the moment.

He has a scar. Pink. Slightly faded. She runs her finger over the bumpy terrain.

War wound? She doesn’t dare ask – he might inquire about hers.

They aren’t physical, but they pulse the same.

Fresh. Raw. Like the wound happened days ago and not six months earlier.

When will she heal?

How come her body aches every second she’s awake?

Why does the story burn in her throat? If she doesn’t push it down, it’ll claw its way out. What good would it do to talk about it? Who would she tell? Beau? He wouldn’t want to hear about that.

Beau stops and pushes her sticky fringe back from her face to get a better look at her. ‘Where did you go?’ He stares at her, like he knows her body is here but her mind is elsewhere.

‘Leg cramp,’ she replies. Why can’t she be Samantha from Sex and the City , instead of all in her head like Carrie? ‘It’s gone. Keep going.’ She pulls him in closer. ‘Finish with me?’

Pressure has been building between her legs all evening. She digs her teeth into his bottom lip, demanding an answer. A firm spank gives her the one she wants, and she gulps her excitement.

‘Again,’ she says, knowing she likes it, confused as hell why.

Beau follows orders, his eyes never leaving hers. He has a front-row seat to her pain and pleasure threshold.

The leather seat groans as their bodies rub together. She can’t think, can’t breathe and won’t stop until she passes out or comes harder than ever before. That ought to make her forget every shitty thing that happened last year. For a little while, at least.

The car squeaks as they race to the end. Finally, someone with enough stamina to keep up with her.

‘I’m … I’m …’ she cries, giving in to the out-of-body experience taking hold.

Her body convulses like it’s purging the sadness that plagues every inch of her. For a few seconds, she exists in a state of bliss, similar to the way she felt the night they first met. No past. No future. Only here and now.

But as quickly as the euphoria comes, it speeds away. Her muscles freeze and her bones throb once more. She collapses onto Beau’s torso, finding more comfort in his arms than she ever did in her ex-husband’s. Especially towards the end of their marriage.

He shifts his pelvis, bringing on an unexpected, yet welcome, aftershock. She moans and laughs simultaneously. As she lifts off him, he surprises her with a breath-stealing kiss that brings her back down.

Makayla surrenders to him.

This can’t go anywhere. She knows that, but still, she gives herself permission to kiss him tonight like there will be a tomorrow.