I roll my neck to clear the confusing thoughts. It’s a good thing I won’t be seeing him again. Even if he is staying in Sydney for a while, this is a huge city—it’s not likely I’ll run into him on the street. Not that I’d want to. After everything that happened with Eric last month, I need to keep my emotions in check and steer clear of trouble.
And Wes Anderson screams trouble.
CHAPTER THREE
Wes
It’s Joss.
Two little words.
Two words that keep ringing through my head in her perfect accent.It’s Joss.Just her name, but a win is a win, and dammit, I didn’t realize how much I needed one after a string of so many losses. I can’t believe I dropped my passport, or that she took it upon herself to get it back to me. What a clusterfuck it would have been if she hadn’t.
No, officer, I swear I had a passport when I boarded the plane.
I scrub my hand across my face before sliding it through my hair. I can only imagine the state it’s in right now—I’m counting down the minutes until I can take a shower. Bringingmyself to care is difficult though. God, what a way to end an already excruciating travel day.
It’s not lost on me though that if I hadn’t dropped my passport, I wouldn’t have seen her again.Joss. Her name rolls around in my brain like the best kind of distraction. I was serious about getting her coffee, anything to repay her for the effort of chasing me down. Yet, if I’m being completely honest, it wasn’t her kindness that put this stupid grin on my face. The one I can’t seem to get rid of. No, it was getting her riled up. Who knew a girl giving me sass about my ego would be such a turn-on?
That’s the most like myself I’ve felt in months. It was easy to banter with her. Fun. My smile stays in place even as I walk away.
I clear the security exit, baggage claim, and customs with no additional issues. My passport is safely stored in my sadly ruined backpack—now slung across the front of my body. I take a seat on an outdoor bench to wait for my ride, taking the weight off my knee and stretching my legs in front of me.
My suitcase, surfboard bag, and carry-on sit beside me. I got used to traveling light in the military, taking only what was necessary. Now, my behemoth of a bag seems almost comical. On the other hand, considering I’m here with a work visa and no return flight, I guess this could be considered light. Most of my belongings I either sold or donated before I left, with the remainder going into storage to be dealt with at a later date. I wish locking up my emotional baggage were as easy. If only I could put it in a box and throw away the key.
I tip my head back and slide my eyes closed, letting the crisp June breeze coast across my skin. I left an eighty-degree summer daybehind me in Los Angeles only to be greeted by a sixty-degree winter day in Sydney. The reverse of the seasons has always thrown me off. Even when I was in college here it messed with me when we’d be on summer break for Christmas. Of course, winter in Sydney isn’t like winter in Tahoe. When you’re used to feet upon feet of snow, days with highs in the sixties and lows in the forties aren’t exactly what I’d classify as “winter” weather. But I won’t complain, not when it means I can surf year-round while I’m here.
I let my thoughts wander and, unsurprisingly, am taken right back to today’s flight, when I was right on top of Joss. I’ve been attracted to many women over the years and enjoyed the fruits of that attraction even more, but there was something different with her. Like a moth to a flame, I feel like Joss could burn me and I wouldn’t resist.
Anyway, none of that matters. Sydney’s massive, and chances are she doesn’t even live here. She could be based anywhere in Australia for all I know. The likelihood of seeing her again is slim to none, which is for the best. Given my current mental state, I’m not in a position to start anything with anyone. If I’m being honest, I have no plans to ever seriously date again.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket. My ride’s almost here. Breck, my closest friend from my years at the University of Sydney, offered to come get me, but I’m glad I told him I’d see him tomorrow. With how tired I am right now I wouldn’t be the best company. Fortunately, it’s only a couple minutes before I’m sitting in the back of a sleek black SUV and headed toward what will be my new home for the next twelve months. I’m so glad that this driver isn’t the chatty type.
The next thing I know the car is pulling to a stop in front of a very tall, very swanky building near the city center. I can’t believe Breck was able to swing getting me an apartment here. It’s nice to have friends in high places, and he’s well-connected in Sydney. There’s no way I would’ve been able to afford this place at their normal rates, but he called in a favor and scored me a deal.
I gather my luggage and board bag from the back and make my way inside toward the security desk. Apparently I live in a building with a security desk; that’s a first. Of course, most of the places I’ve lived have been in the middle of nowhere and had no need for luxurious anything.
The guard at the desk looks me over as I walk in. He’s older, maybe in his mid-fifties, and looks stern. For a security guard, I’ll take it.
“Hi, I’m Wes Anderson. I’m moving into apartment 16A and was told I could pick up my keys here?”
All I get in return is a gruff nod. Maybe he’s tired today too. He types something into his computer and then pulls a set of keys from the drawer to his right.
“You’ve got two keys here. If you lose one, you’re responsible for replacing it.” He slides my lease across the desk with the keys. It’s straightforward, and after thirty-four years on this planet—twelve spent on the move with the military—I’ve signed my fair share of them. “You’ve also got this key card to access the gym, pool, and other amenities on the property. Here is a welcome packet with all the information you need to get settled. If you have questions, you can reach out to management.”
He trades out the paper I just signed for a heavy folder that I’ll likely never open. I wonder what part of Australia he’s from to have such a thick accent. I remind myself to ask him the next time I catch him wearing a smile.
“Thanks so much. Are you usually the guard here”—I look at the badge on his chest—“Frank?”
I’m one of those people who is great with names. Frank seems unsure of me though, as if he’s sniffing out ulterior motives.
“Yup.” Okay, a man of few words. Got it.
“Thanks again. Have a good one, Frank.” I offer him my friendliest smile and barely get a nod in return. I’ll break down those walls eventually; it’s what I’m best at.
I pocket the keys, grab my bags, and trudge across the marble floors toward the elevators. I haven’t lived in a big city since the last time I was here, and I wasn’t living this high life then. It was more like college dorms or trashy apartments and lots of cheap beer and ramen. This is going to be a whole different world compared to the Sydney I experienced in my early twenties.
I open the door to the apartment and let out a low whistle. Breck has really outdone himself here. The open floorplan stretches from the entryway all the way to the windows, where a stunning view of the city greets me. The glistening water of the harbour shines in the low afternoon light, and I give myself a full minute to appreciate the sight.
