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“Barrett’s back.” It was the easiest thing to say. Barrett holding Audrey’s hand, watching out for her. Easiest because he couldn’t explain why it had fallen apart over his own lies and shady past.
“Mia’s father? But they were never anything more than friends.”
He didn’t need the analysis. He reached for Carrie, pulled her forward and stood her between his knees. “I’m not much for conversation tonight.”
Her eyes had gone wide. “I’m not much for stepping on someone’s territory, but I’ve wanted you between my legs since I first saw you.”
She closed the distance between them. Her breasts pressed full on his rib cage; her arms went over his shoulders. “You are so sexy. You’ll make me feel good. I’ll make you feel good too, darlin’ boy.”
He kissed her to shut her up, to shut out the gloss and gluttony of her. She tasted of wine and under that of loneliness and that was unexpected. He pulled away, to look at her face, to read that pain. She put her hand on his dick, gripped him, and he forgot to be concerned. He ate her lipstick, her lips. She fed him her desperation in exchange for his anger. They swapped regret, hers old and weary, his fresh green and stinging so sharp it made him grind on her to find relief.
She stopped him, laughing, delighted, and led him to her car by the hand. Fucking beautiful car. She drove it like it meant nothing to her. He distracted her with his hands, got them up under that top on her skin, plucking at her tit. She pulled over, they were somewhere in Double Bay, the streets wide and tree-lined, the homes mansions.
He hauled her over the centre console and into his lap. He had the seat as far back as it would go, but he couldn’t straighten his legs out. She let him suckle her in the car, in the pale orange glow of a street light, she arched into him, rolling her hips, her head tossed back. He got her unzipped, gave her his fingertips to work against and watched her get herself off, trembling and jerking, her breathing a series of hiccups and moans.
Why didn’t her husband love her enough? Why didn’t she leave him, find someone who did? Carrie came on his hand and collapsed on his chest and he stoked her back until she caught her breath.
“Come inside so you can come inside, lover,” she said, laughing.
Eugenia would be in the house, the babysitter. Would Carrie’s husband come home? Did she want to fuck him in her bed, or in a spare room somewhere in the big house behind them? He wasn’t her lover. And he knew he never would be.
She put her hand to his face. “I’ve lost you.”
He took her wrist and moved her hand away, the action too much a reminder of Audrey.
“You really love her don’t you? Oh, Reece. I can feel it in you. Are you sure it’s over?”
“She didn’t give me a choice.”
In the confines of the car, Carrie wrapped her arms around him and held him, not as a woman wanting sex, but as one giving comfort. He couldn’t dislike her for that. But he couldn’t be what she wanted either.
He stumbled back to Polly’s in a blur of alcohol and frustration. He should’ve known he couldn’t bury Audrey that easy. That he wasn’t ready to try. He needed a new plan. And it started with sleep. He fell into bed. Next thing he knew, Polly was standing over him with an empty glass of water in his hand.
He’d intended to get drunk and that’d worked out well. He’d anticipated feeling sorry for himself, having a hangover, and that was shaping up nicely, like a road grader sitting on his forehead. But the water tipped on his face and the sleep, the sleep that was supposed to take up all of the day, was not going as projected, and he was shitty about that, and about Polly dragging him out of bed into his truck, and making him stand outside a derelict structure.
“I’m not going back to bricklaying.” Though what he was looking at was more like demolition and in his current frame of mind smashing things with a mallet would be a joy, despite the pounding head.
“Just look at it and tell me what you see.”
“If I punched you, even as hammered as I am, it’ll hurt.”
“Tell me what you see.”
Reece looked at the building, a corner block, well positioned, on the edge of a public park, but not big enough to support housing or high-rise. It’d once been a small garden centre selling plants, potting mix and cut flowers. It’d been abandoned for years. There was so little of it left standing it wouldn’t qualify as a fire hazard. He punched Polly in the ribs.
Polly staggered sideways and doubled over, the air coming out of him in a pained oof. He held onto his knees till he got his breath back. Reece should feel bad about that. Polly was his landlord after all. He didn’t give a shit. He turned to walk back to Polly’s truck.
“Tell me what you see, arsehole.”
He kept moving.
“It’s yours.”
He stopped, turned back too fast and his head spun. “Say what?”
“It’s yours, ours. I thought you might know what to do with it.”
He shook his head. Polly could fucking play silly buggers on his own time. He was going back to bed.
