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When she’d whimpered in his ear on Friday night he’d been sure she liked him, then when she’d called it off, he’d blamed himself for moving too fast, going too hard. He’d planned to apologise for that, ask for a second chance, and promise to go slow, but it’d all seemed so logical, her, “I can’t, it’s wrong,” when he thought she preferred girls. And man, that burned. Worse than the sun.
He’d finally turned up a girl who was big enough to make him think differently, strong enough to make him want to support her, smart enough to make him feel humbled, and brave enough to put him to shame. And he’d thought it was real. Not real like permanent bliss or even a certain future. Not even real like Dan and Alex, or Mitch and Belinda or Fluke and Carlie, but real in a way his momentary fantasy about Toni never had been. That madness had been about being the good son and brother, a stupid notion about making the ghost of his father happy. His madness for Bree was selfishly about himself, about being a better person. He thought he might be able to be a better version of his arrogant, egotistical self if only he could hang around her for a while.
And it might’ve worked, even without the bonus of kisses that made him want to forget every woman he’d ever touched his lips to and changed the sheets for. A mate like Bree would be an asset, no matter what her preference was. Alex and Scott were still as tight as they’d been before Dan came along, why couldn’t he and Bree be mates, even if they did have other partners to fool around with. But he’d somehow fucked that up too. This was worse than when they’d first disliked and avoided each other because now all that angst was out in the open and full of rot and worms.
Ant sat at his desk and rarely lifted his eyes from his screen, hiding behind a spreadsheet and screeds of pretend busy while he waited for Toni to call so he could beg her to help him out. Once the word ‘beg’ wouldn’t have been in his vocab because there was no way he’d put himself in a position where begging was the ‘get out of jail’ card, but lately embarrassing himself had taken on a whole new meaning, and when you’d sunk this low, you grabbed any handhold you could reach.
When he was finally game enough to lift his eyes, the office had emptied and Bree was gone. That should’ve made him feel better. His neck was grateful, he rolled it, hearing it crack from being so fixed for so long, but the rest of him felt hollow. He checked his phone for the umpteenth time, but Toni hadn’t come back to him—though sensibly he figured it was dinner time and she’d be busy in the kitchen again.
He packed up, bailed the Alfa out of the car park and headed to the gym where he hit things for too long and lifted things that were too heavy, until the burn in muscles and tendons matched the one his head and on his skin, and he dragged his limbs like he dragged his heart.
It was ten when Toni called. He met her at the restaurant where she worked and they talked while the staff packed up around them and readied for the next day’s lunch service. All he’d said on the phone was he needed advice. She settled him with a macchiato while she drank red wine and ate a belated meal.
“So, what, cough it up, Ant. What do you need?”
“There’s a girl on your derby team.” He cut the sentence abruptly because he sounded like a fucking fifteen year old. He dropped his head to look at the sauce stain on the linen table cloth rather than Toni’s smirk.
“Bree. I know. She works with you.”
“Ah.” He looked up and frowned. “I guess I should’ve figured you’d know that.”
“I didn’t know it. She saw you at the first bout you came to. She wasn’t happy you were there.”
And that was before all this crap rained down. “Then I really am wasting your time, Tone.” There seemed to be no bottom to this dark pit of humiliation he was in, and no torchlight coming from Toni. It was time to pull his head in and give it up. He and Bree had existed by avoiding each other before, they could again. “Tell me how your night went instead.”
Toni clattered a knife on her plate. “No chance. My night was loud, frantic, steamy, but not in a good way, and it’s over. I’m way more interested in you and Kitty Caruso.”
“There is no me and Kitty Caruso, or me and Bree Robinson.”
“But my third eye tells me you want there to be.”
“Third eye.” Ant scoffed, then downed his coffee in one mouthful. “Does your third eye happen to know if Bree likes girls?”
“She likes me. She plays in an all girl roller derby league. I think it’s safe to say she likes girls.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Oh!” Toni said that so loudly, a waiter approached. She waved him off with a new coffee order. She stretched over the back of her chair, head to the ceiling, arms wide, as though hugging the room and all its empty tables. Her “I wish,” came from somewhere filled with longing Ant recognised, it tripped a switch on his latent hope.
“You’re sure?” If Toni was teasing him, he’d shock the remaining restaurant staff by ticking her till she wet herself. He knew exactly how.
Toni yawned. “Yeah, she likes ruling class.”
“Ruling class?”
“Cock. Dick.” She shrugged, “Blokes.”
“You’re absolutely sure about that?”
“I’ve known her since high school—I’m sure. She was a little tart for while there. Not now though. Why are you asking that? Oh don’t tell me. You made a pass at her and she rejected you, and the only reason you can think that would happen is she’s a lesbian.”
Ant groaned. He looked at his empty coffee cup. Humiliation was a colour even more rancid than puce. “Why were we ever friends?”
“We were never really friends, you big doofus. You were the brother I never had, right down to ignoring me when you felt like it.”
He sighed, she was right. That’s why they could sit here and have this conversation now, because they were as good as family, the kind of family that wasn’t necessarily fair or rational or constant, but would bounce back anyway. “Ah, shit, Tone.”
“Reckon. You’re in trouble, mate.”
