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"Great. Thanks."
Wilby heads for the bathroom, and I keep my eyes firmly glued to rummaging through my luggage.
Must not look up. Must not look up.
It's so tempting, but I am determined to stay in control of my primal impulses. I just need to hear that damn bathroom door shut, so I can, you know, breathe again.
"Hey, Col."
Of course he can't just go in. He has to say something.
I stop what I'm doing but don't look up. "Yeah?"
"Thanks again, and sorry again about last night. I've disgraced myself on many, many occasions, but I've never lost control like that before."
"It's fine. Really."
"No, it's not," I hear him mutter to himself, before he raises his voice. "I fucked up big time last night, but I promise I'll make it up to you. We're going to have a bloody great day today, mate."
And with that, he slips into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
I finally release the breath I've been holding and sag against my suitcase. I'm smiling, and despite having so many reasons to doubt him, I actually believe Wilby.
Somehow, I know thisisgoing to bea bloody great day.
4
Wilby
"I am officially dying of embarrassment."
"I could point out at least five things you've done in the past fourteen hours that are more embarrassing than this," Col replies, leaning over his thighs. His sculpted, muscular thighs. "Besides, what are you concerned about? I'm the one wearing a budgie smuggler, not you."
"The fact that anyone still wears budgie smugglers is reason enough for concern," I shoot back, glancing around the crowded promenade adjacent to Bondi Beach.
The place is swarming with tourists. A group of middle-aged women wearing sun visors and bum bags slow down when they catch sight of the strip show Col's putting on for everyone.
Nothing to see here, ladies. Let's keep it moving please.
I step in to block their view, and they continue walking, although one of them slows down and glances back briefly. I fold my arms across my chest and narrow my eyes, and she scuttles back to join her group.
"How do you know they're called budgie smugglers, anyway?" I ask Col. "Don't you Yanks call 'em something different? You seem to have a different word for everything."
Col finishes getting undressed, save for said budgie smugglers, packs his neatly folded clothes into his backpack, and spins around. "I may or may not have watched every episode ofBondi Rescue. Couldn't help but pick up some local lingo along the way."
I roll my eyes. "That bloody show."
Col steps directly in front of me and smirks. "Don't be jealous."
I scoff in surprise. "Are you using my own copyrighted and patented catchphrase against me?"
"I am." His lips quirk as he shifts his eyes to meet mine. "But I am still open to fucking a non-lifesaving Aussie, so cross your fingers and keep praying, and who knows, you might be in with a chance."
"Hilarious," I deadpan.
"And for your information, you can't patent a catchphrase…I think. And usYankswould call what I'm wearing a Speedo, or a swim trunk, or even a bathing suit."
"How boring. We have much better words."
