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Moving up the aisle to almost the middle of the carriage, I take the seat facing forward. Spreading my legs out and placing my briefcase on the seat to deter people, I try to look like I’m busy working.
When I was back home in Australia, I loved catching public transport, but ever since I moved here to the UK, I have hardly been on a train or bus. Having Wallace drive me everywhere is something I must admit I got used to very quickly. Especially in a country where I had no idea where I was going. It has become my favorite form of transport in my new home. Mind you, back in Sydney, the ferry was my favorite, and it’s not like there is much call for that in the center of this country.
I’ve forgotten how small and cramped they make these seats for tall people. There are still a few spare seats around me, so I’ll just spread out for the time being and hope that I can stay this way for the whole trip. I’ll just wear my usual arrogant smirk and scare people away like I do to my staff most days. Gone are the days of having time to be nice. Too many people depend on me, and no one is successful in a business this size by being sweet.
There are many reports I should be reviewing for the meeting this morning, but it’s Friday. Which for an Aussie a long way from home means it’s Friday night in Sydney, and the rugby league has just kicked off the start of the game between my team, the Roosters, against the Rabbitohs. Loading it on my phone and putting my earbuds in, I’m in heaven. The commentators’ voices are enough to make me feel like I’m home. I grew up watching this game with my pop who is a diehard Roosters’ supporter, which is why I kind of didn’t have a choice. That’s how it happens with sports. You either inherit the team your family already follows, or as a kid, you pick a team for some ridiculous reason, like their colors or the mascot, because you are way too young to understand anything about the game.
Hearing the crowd going crazy over a very poor refereeing decision, I’m picturing my pop in his lounge chair, yelling at the television. My nan would be at his side in her recliner, engrossed in a book and just making him feel like he has company, when really, she has no idea what’s going on in the game.
I try to call my pop each week after the game if I’ve been able to watch it. Or even if I haven’t, I quickly watch the highlights reel and then we chat about the game, and he thinks I’ve seen the whole thing.
I don’t think he really understands the life I live now. I wanted them to come over to visit me, but he keeps telling me he’s too old to be getting on a human cattle train and put up in the air, only for it to fall out again over the water somewhere. I said this to Wallace one day in the car after I hung up a call talking to Nan and Pop. Then I had to explain that what he meant was, he’s past getting on a plane as he has never flown before, and it comes from a fear of the plane falling out of the sky. Wallace couldn’t stop laughing at the way Pop had described it.
Yes, we have some weird sayings in Australia. Luckily, after working for so many years with people from all around the world, I don’t come out with too many, but occasionally, Flynn looks at me with confusion and I know I need to translate.
The game is getting intense right from the kick-off. We are attacking the opposition’s line and have almost scored a try twice already.It’s now or never, boys, come on, break over that try line.
The feeling of a tap on my shoulder nearly makes me jump out of my seat, being so engrossed in the game.
“Shit.” It just slips out of my mouth, without even seeing who it is that’s touched me.
Looking up suddenly, as I pull one of the earbuds out, I have no idea how long this exquisite woman has been standing next to me.
“Can I help you, madam?” I’m not really thinking, it’s the first thing that comes out.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, but is this seat taken?” Her voice has that slightly frustrated sound to it.
Of course, she’s after the seat I was hoping would stay free, but I can’t be an ass and say no. My mum would kill me if I made a woman stand on a train. Damn it!
Pushing my body up out of the seat quickly is not an easy task. Reaching for my briefcase, I wave my hand for her to enter past me.
“Please, take the window seat. I can’t fit my size in that small gap.”
I don’t know what is going through her head, but the look I just got tells me it’s more than thinking what a gentleman this guy is. There’s mischief behind those eyes. Maybe it’s the red hair that gives her the look of a fiery spirit. Floating my eyes down her body, she is dressed to take on the day and make an impression. And it’s an interesting impression she’s currently making on me.
Turning her back to me to take her seat, her bag swings around and lands with a thump into my chest. Feeling the air rush from my lungs, I hold in the swear I want to say out loud. Even though I want to say,‘what the ever-loving fuck, woman!’I somehow manage to keep it in my head while she is busy trying to apologize. I just need to sit down so I can catch my breath. I don’t know what she has in that bag, but it’s a lethal weapon. Not able to sit in the seat properly, I turn with my back to her and stretch my legs into the aisle.
Perhaps it’s time to do some work instead of watching the game. I can catch up on emails and look over my notes for the meeting. The whole time I’m aware of the movement of her body, wriggling to get herself settled for the remainder of the trip. I thought I missed traveling on public transport, but now I’m not so sure. Perhaps I have been spoiled more than I realized since I arrived here.
My focus now on my emails, the sound of the recorded voice from a phone is speaking behind me.
“Wait! You’re sitting next to a guy with a big cock, hot enough to fuck, and you think you are having a bad start to the day? Tell me more!”
Well, well, well, we now know the mischief in her mind when she was looking at me earlier.
The proper English gentleman in me would ignore this, but I’m far from being all English or that gentleman.
“Oh yes, tell us more,” I sarcastically reply to her about her text message that has come out on her voice commands. Wanting to hold in my laughter is short-lived because it’s instantly changed to anger as all beauty I saw in her a moment ago is replaced with the spray of liquid that comes from her mouth as she showers my suit jacket.
“Are you freaking serious! What is wrong with you!”
For fuck’s sake, this is all I need this morning. To look like I’m wearing half my breakfast or something else all over me as I walk into my meeting which is focusing on our new image.
“Sorry, oh Lord, I’m so sorry, let me clean you up.”
I can see the mortification as she tries to find something to mop up her mess.
“Don’t bother,” I reply full of snark, trying not to lose my temper at her again.
