Cocky Notes - Leesa Bow Page 0,24
decide it’s better to wear one. A cotton jacket buttoned up high on my chest. I didn’t want my father to witness the outfit I chose for Reef or the receptionist with the judging eyes.
She swipes the lift and allows me to travel up alone.
Beneath my coat, I’m wearing a black knee-length dress with a plunging neckline. Heels. Gloss on my lips. The most makeup I’ve used in years and most of it applied in the carpark. My hair is pulled back in a ponytail like most days.
The doors ding and open like stage curtains to Reef standing before me—white T-shirt, board shorts, no shoes.
His blond fringe partially covers one eye, still damp as though he’s stepped out the shower minutes ago. Pushing fingers through his hair as though he needs to see me more clearly, he manages a simple, “Hey.”
The elevator doors close behind me. I step into a space filled with his scent—all cedar, vanilla, and musk—and relish the way his eyes travel down my body. The heat of his gaze increasing the need to rid myself of this jacket.
“Hey,” I repeat, not sure whether to reach up and kiss him or play it cool. He takes my hand and leads me to the door, allowing me to enter first.
Soft orchestral music plays in the background. It throws me off-kilter. I thought he’d be into Aussie Indie bands like Gang of Youths, The Rubens, even Matt Corby but not this. I imagine the fruity, stirring sound of Matt Corby’s voice floating across the room to envelop me like a warm blanket of familiarity.
“Can I take your jacket?”
“I’m fine for the moment,” I lie. I’m dying under here.
“You’re making me hot looking at you.” He pulls off his T-shirt and folds it before placing it on the chair.
Jesus. If I were ever to pray, it would be now. He’s ripped more than I remember. Every stomach muscle washboard hard and begging to be licked. I lick my lips instead and force myself to look away, focus on anything but him because I need to get this coat off, only I know what it will lead to the moment I do.
Two red wines are poured and sitting on the kitchen bench. Looking around the apartment, not a thing is out of place. The white tiles gleam and not a scrap of anything on the white marble bench. Unusual for three guys living together.
“Come to the balcony,” he says, passing me a glass of wine. “I assume you drink Chianti if you work at an Italian restaurant.”
“Never assume anything,” I say. “But yes, I do. Thank you.”
He nods and walks ahead and opens the sliding doors. It takes me a moment to notice the ocean view as I’m mesmerised by the way his muscles contract in his legs with every step—the indentation of every muscle in his back and those broad, tanned shoulders. He leans on the balcony railing and looks out to the ocean. Every defined bulge indicates undeniable strength. I imagine what those arms and shoulders can do, what weight his back can endure.
The safest spot is beside him, watching the sun sink into the ocean. His stare doesn’t falter, there’s a longing in his gaze.
“You miss it?”
He bows his head, knuckles turning white on the rail. “Yeah, but I made a stupid decision.”
“To surf?”
“For poor judgement in getting a good ride. Didn’t have the right board and had a bad wipeout. Almost ruined my footy career.”
“I thought you almost ruined your most valued possession.” I grin. Nerves tighten my gut when he doesn’t see the humour. He downs the last of his red wine, then holds out a hand for my glass.
I’ve barely had a sip. “I’m fine for now, thanks.”
Reef returns with the bottle and fills his glass.
“Are you mostly healed?”
He nods. “I’m walking fine. Any pressure on the area is painful. I can lightly jog a short distance.”
“I’d love to watch you surf,” I say with a vision of him riding the waves, his hair damp and slick, the water glistening over tanned skin.
“I can take you down south during the holidays. Teach you if you’re game.” His eyes meet mine in a challenge.
“Sure, but I’ll watch the first time.” There won’t be a second time. I’m not capable of balancing on a board.
“What do you like to do?” he asks.
“I swim sometimes.”
“Sick. You’ll be able to handle the ocean, then.”
Shit. “Footy and surfing.” I throw it back at him. “What else is there to Reef