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Her jaw drops. “Shut up.”
I tap her on the chin with my knuckles. “Yep. Come on. We’re missing all the good waves.”
The water is ice fucking cold, and my balls shrivel up themoment the first wave rolls over me. It’s almost a welcome relief from the raging hard-on I went to bed with last night–almost. I hiss as another wave hits me at waist height. I duck under the next one, trying to acclimatise. If the waves weren’t cranking, I’d still be at home in bed staring up at my ceiling, thinking about the sexy but secretive woman asleep in the room next to me.
I paddle out past the break, wondering if I’ve lost my mind inviting her to come live with us. She’s right: I know nothing about her. She rocked up unannounced, covered in bruises, and my bleeding heart couldn’t turn her away. I have some innate need to want to try and help her.
Someone tried to run her down in Sydney and, at the time, I’d put it down to wrong place, wrong time. But now the bruises have me wondering whether something more sinister was in play that night. Is someone deliberately trying to hurt her?
Ivy splashes me. “What’s with you? You’re more distracted than usual.”
I sit up on my board, and she mirrors me. “Something happened last night.”
“What?”
“A… friend from Sydney showed up at my fight.”
Her brow crinkles. “And?”
“And she’s kind of staying with us.”
“She?”
I nod, dropping my eyes to my board and playing with a bead of water. I can feel the weight of Ivy’s heavy gaze onme.
“And is this femalefriendmore than just a friend?”
“No.” Though my stomach churns at the thought of what almost happened in the kitchen last night–what might have happened if Tom hadn’t walked in when he did. “She’s just a friend. But I don’t know how long she’s going to be staying for, and she’ll need a job. Is there any chance you could put in a good word for her at the Scoop?”
Ivy winces. “I’d love to, but we’re really quiet. We won’t really need anyone until summer.”
That’s three months away, and I don’t even know if she’ll still be here then. “Yeah, of course. No worries. I just thought I’d ask.”
“I heard Patty’s was looking for a waitress. Maybe you could take her to see Greg and Patty later–you know Patty’s always had a soft spot for you.”
“Great idea. Thanks, Ives.”
“I’m not just a pretty face,” she quips, battering her eyelashes with a laugh. “When do we get to meet this mysterious friend?”
I shrug. “Whenever you want.”
“Maybe we could all go out for drinks on Friday night?”
“By all, does that include your boyfriend?”
She narrows her eyes. “Harley–”
“Ivy,” I mimic. “Kidding. Friday sounds… fun.”
She rolls her eyes at my lack of enthusiasm, and I splash her before laying down on my board, paddling out to the set of waves rolling in. “First to twenty-one?” I challenge,referring to our childhood game of Wipeout, where we get points for the tricks we perform on the waves, with the ultimate goal to be able to wipe out your opponent.
“Oh, you’re on!”
I’M STILL GRINNING like a lunatic after kicking Ivy’s butt at Wipeout when I pull up at home a couple hours later. The tension I was feeling earlier all but gone from my body. That is until I hear laughter coming from the living room. I walk in there to find Tom and Lily sitting closer than I’d like on the couch, watching some of our childhood home movies. On the screen, six-year-old me is running around the backyard in a Woody costume with Ivy dressed as Jessie, and we’re pretending to shoot Lachy (Buzz Lightyear) with a cap gun.
“What the fuck?” My jaw drops, and I rush to stand in between Lily and the television, crossing my arms over my chest as I glare at my brother. “Seriously, dude?”
Tom snorts. “It was Lily’s idea.”
