It’s Love, Dude Page 6

  Molly found the original photo on her hard drive and attached it to an email. ‘My favourite beach. Recognise it?’

  She didn’t expect a reply from Zane. With the time difference, her early evening would be 4:00 a.m. or thereabouts for him. Instead she found herself giving in to her newest addiction: ‘researching’ Zane on the internet.

  He hadn’t been kidding about his public profile on social media. He was a popular guy, and that didn’t include the media stories. Now, they were interesting. Also scary, intimidating and supporting Tom’s argument that she and Zane had nothing in common.

  A photo from two years ago showed Zane in a tuxedo at a black tie charity event. A swimwear model flaunted her perfect figure beside him in a gown that left nothing — nothing! — to the imagination. Zane was smiling at her.

  In the model’s place in the spotlight, Molly would have been hideously uncomfortable.

  She found earlier stories. In these, before his success, Zane looked both younger and hungrier, determined and reckless. The Jardin Bay Times even had articles in their online archives. She wondered how she’d never noticed him. His name had been familiar, even his face, but she hadn’t paid attention to his career. The town’s celebrity had existed outside her small world.

  While Zane had been taking risks and travelling the world, she’d been playing it safe. He couldn’t look her up online. She’d never made headlines. Her life was quiet. Boring.

  But it was still a good life.

  She snuggled her afghan blanket around her. Elsie Rollins had crocheted it for her — a thank you gift for the Christmas pantomime she’d organised at the nursing home. Doing good things for people, being involved in her community, might sound boring, but it was who she was and it had its own rewards. She belonged to the town in a way that Zane, who was claimed by the town, his fans, sponsors and sports media, couldn’t be.

  Chatting with Zane online, even maybe going on that mythical dinner, wouldn’t hurt her. Tom — and her worried parents — were wrong. Zane wasn’t going to break her heart. Her heart wasn’t involved. This was an adventure.

  But when she woke in the morning, the first thing she did was check her email for a message from him.

  ‘Hi gorgeous. I bet you’re sleeping. Late afternoon here. It’s been a mad day. Wish I could sleep. Jet lag’s still biting. Got an awards dinner to attend tonight and present the awards. Guess I’d better shave.’

  Molly pushed the pillows up behind her in bed, crooked her knees up and typed sleepily. ‘Stubble can be sexy.’

  Her email pinged.

  ‘You’re awake?’

  ‘Kinda.’ She definitely needed coffee.

  ‘Still in bed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You got video cam?’

  She stared, horrified, at her tablet computer. ‘Zane, I look like a zombie.’ Wild hair, sleepy eyes. She probably had sleep creases on her face.

  ‘Bet you look cute, babe. Switch it on. Just a tick.’ His face appeared on her screen. ‘Morning, darling.’

  ‘Good morning.’ But he couldn’t hear her unless she switched on the camera. She finger-combed her hair and flicked on the video.

  ‘There you are.’ Zane smiled.

  ‘Good morning, or I guess, afternoon?’ She could see a bit of where he sat. A balcony railing, blue sky. Mostly she saw the tiredness around his eyes that only made him look sexier.

  Her computer slipped off her knee. Hastily she retrieved it.

  ‘Day-um , Molly. I’d love to join you in that bed.’

  She blushed. Her bed was big. She read in it, watched television, dreamed. She’d also indulged in some serious luxury. The sheets were high thread count white cotton, the pillows abundant and puffy, and the comforter a patchwork of silk fabrics.

  ‘I knew you’d look cute in bed.’

  Oh, he didn’t care about the bed. He wanted to be with her.

  She tingled. ‘Tell me about the awards dinner. Who’s it for?’

  ‘Quiet, Molly. I’m having a fantasy.’

  She fidgeted with the strap of her cami.

  ‘Yeah.’ He drew out the word. ‘That kind of fantasy.’

  ‘Zane.’ She’d meant it to be a protest. Instead, it sounded breathy and inviting.

  ‘Definitely R-rated. But I’m guessing you’d be happier with an M-rating?’

  He was right. ‘Make it PG and maybe I won’t blush.’

  ‘I like your blushes, babe.’

  ‘So you’re admitting you cause them on purpose?’

  ‘It’s a guy’s job to tease a pretty girl.’ He grinned, the tiredness lifting from his face. ‘I take my work seriously.’

  ‘I’ll give you A-plus for effort.’

  ‘I’d rather you gave me a kiss.’

  ‘That’d be difficult, given how far away you are.’

  ‘Far away and yet, I’m seeing you all sleepy in the morning. I’ll be wanting that kiss when we catch up, Molly.’

  She wanted the kiss, too. ‘Okay.’

  He smiled. ‘Do you want to see where I live?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This is the balcony.’

  She saw the view. The blue wasn’t just sky. The Pacific Ocean stretched out to infinity.

  ‘The condo is mostly about its location by the beach, so it’s nothing special. Living room.’

  His definition of nothing special and hers was wildly different. The furniture was Danish Modern. Stylish, expensive and perfect for the large open plan room that lead to the kitchen, which was fitted out in stainless steel. Not that Zane spent much time there in the tour. ‘No need to see dirty dishes.’

  She laughed. ‘Your place is brilliant.’

  ‘You should have seen some of the rat hole’s I rented a few years back.’ But he didn’t dwell. ‘Here’s the bedroom.’

  A big room with a second large screen TV hanging on the wall. The bed was equally huge and unmade. ‘Not as sweet as yours.’

  The image on the screen swung dizzyingly.

  She realised Zane had thrown himself backwards onto the bed. It gave her a weird angle on his face. Even with a really large nose, he was still hot.

  ‘So now we’re both in bed.’ He hitched himself up against the bed-head and his face came back into proper focus. He waggled his eyebrows in a fake leer. ‘Any ideas, darling?’

  She bit her lip and shook her head; although the truth was, she suddenly had lots of ideas.

  ‘I guess it’s up to me then.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘To share my fantasy.’

  She gulped, audibly.

  ‘Don’t panic, babe. We’ll keep it sitcom friendly.’

  ‘Idiot.’

  ‘Insults are not part of my fantasy.’ A reprimand that would have been a hell of a lot more effective if he hadn’t laughed. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Um.’

  ‘Your bed or mine? Yours, for sure. Are the pillows as soft as they look?’

  ‘Yes.’ Were they going to discuss housewares?

  ‘Imagine falling back into them. I like that quilt you’ve got, but it’s gone. You won’t need it for warmth, babe, because I’m lying on top of you, pressing you into the pillows and kissing you. Kissing your mouth and sucking your tongue.’

  Her breathing accelerated.

  ‘You taste good. And I know your kisses. Dynamite. So I’m eating you up while my hands go wandering.’

  She could feel his weight and his wandering hands. She shifted, aching a bit, her back arching.

  ‘You like that,’ he said, all low and rumbly. ‘Tell me how I’m touching you.’

  ‘Zane.’ She was too shy.

  ‘All right. How are you touching me?’

  Her imagination rocketed into overdrive, taking her body with it. Her cami felt tight over her sensitised breasts. ‘I’m touching your chest. You roll to the side so that I can touch more of you. Your muscles feel so good. I really like touching you. Your stomach muscles are so hard.’

  ‘Molly, that�
�s not all that’s hard.’

  ‘PG-rated,’ she warned.

  ‘Okay. Then I pull you over me to hide the hard evidence — which only makes the problem worse.’ He was teasing, but there was also heat in his eyes.

  ‘You’ll need a cold shower,’ she said shakily. They hadn’t even gone out to dinner and he’d lured her into this fantasy. ‘I need a cold shower.’

  He groaned.

  ’What?’

  ‘You, in the shower.’

  She blushed.

  ‘Babe.’ Amused, affectionate.

  ‘I ought to get ready for work.’

  ‘Yeah, and I have that dinner to go to. LA traffic, I’ll need to leave soon.’

  ‘What did you say the awards were for?’

  ‘Team awards. Kids getting out of gangs and into sports. Not that they all leave the gangs behind, but anything that helps.’

  ‘I like that.’

  ‘It’s not me that works with the kids. They have youth workers and volunteers. Local cops are involved. I’m just the fly-in celebrity.’

  “’f you give them time and respect, it still counts.’

  He pulled a face. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘A one-woman cheer squad. Thanks, Molly.’

  ‘Any time.’

  ‘Same time tomorrow?’

  She fought a renewed blush. He meant that they should catch up in bed. ‘Yes — no. I have to set up a charity breakfast in the town hall. The day after?’

  ‘I have to be in the studio. I’m on one of those late night talk shows. Traffic, briefing, make-up.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘We’ll talk, though.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Later, Molly.’

  ‘Bye, Zane.’

  The screen went black.

  She dropped the tablet onto the bed and snatched up a pillow, hugging it. It was sadly not like hugging Zane, but she still had a cold shower.

  ***

  ‘Molly?’

  She blinked at Greg.

  Her boss was signing papers as Ian thrust them under his nose. The scene was a familiar one. It happened most times Greg flew out to Canberra to sit in Parliament. The local office staff had to catch him while they could.

  ‘Do you have that report you were pulling together on regional arts funding and tourism?’ Greg pushed the stack of signed papers back at Ian.

  ‘I’ve emailed it to you.’ She kicked her brain into gear. ‘Wait a second, though.’ She excavated her in-tray. ‘If you have reading time on the plane, this came in. It’s a regional town re-growth strategy document from America. The mayor forwarded it to me. You know she took that trip to South Carolina.’

  ‘I remember. She came home inspired.’ Greg accepted the report and dropped it into his briefcase. He snapped the case shut and picked up his suitcase. ‘See you all, later.’

  ‘Bye, Greg,’ they chorused.

  Ian went with him to drive him to the local airfield.

  The energy in the office dipped. It generally took about half an hour to readjust to the tempo of life with Greg out of the office. When he was home, they had to maximise his time, activity and visibility in the electorate. It meant a tighter focus on schedules. When he returned to Canberra, the office returned to dealing with everyday issues. Ian ran an efficient operation and trusted them to manage their workload.

  Molly watched her co-workers stand and stretch.

  ‘Coffee?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m good, thanks. I can watch the phones, too, if you’d like to pop next door.’

  ‘Angel.’

  More like devious. Molly held her smile till the door closed behind her friends. Then she looked again at the just-delivered local paper.

  Zane was front page news.

  His new sponsor, Cloo-in, hadn’t mucked about at getting exposure. After the debacle with their previous sports star, they’d gone all out with Zane. In effect, erasing the other guy from public memory.

  And Zane looked like a natural star.

  She’d found a video clip of his performance on the late night talk show that he’d mentioned.

  In front of the camera, Zane exuded the same effortless cool he lived in real life. He was strong, tanned, gorgeous.

  ‘And are you single?’ the talk show host had gushed.

  ‘Yes.’

  He was. Yet, hearing him say it like that, so definite, had hurt. Did he have early morning (or late afternoon) chats with other women? Were they sexy where she’d been shy?

  Now the local paper had gotten into the act. They ran the photo of him opening the skate park along with an article discussing the new sponsorship deal and a photo of him at a posh, unnamed party.

  ‘The world’s his wave,’ the headline read. Zane was riding high.

  ‘Good for him.’ Molly nodded twice, to convince herself she meant it. But the glamorous man in the photos wasn’t the guy who’d teased her or the man who’d raged protectively about his grandfather.

  She hadn’t heard from him in over a day — which wasn’t a long time. Absolutely not. It wasn’t like he’d made a commitment to text her or anything. Their relationship was casual, friendly. They were both single.

  Stuart, the new park ranger, had asked her out to dinner. She liked him and his tactful handling of the great woylie hunt when it was obvious he thought a woylie in Big Swamp about as likely as Martians on Mars. He was a nice guy.

  Zane stared out at her from the local paper.

  If she got hung up on him, she’d only be proving Tom right when he’d warned her of heartache. She and Zane had lives moving in opposite directions.

  She was a sensible girl, and it was time to prove it. She picked up the phone and called Stuart.

  ***

  The trivia night at the pub had been fun. It hadn’t been a date-date with Stuart, but they’d spent the night sitting next to each other, laughing easily together and it helped Stuart meet some more people in town — not just those committed to environmental issues. People like Charlotte who’d moved to town to concentrate on her pottery business and had found an unexpected niche making and selling garden gnomes.

  Molly walked into her house, smiling. The town might be small, but she had a great group of friends. Some were from school days. Others had moved to Jardin Bay to open small businesses and enjoy the lifestyle. It made for a mixed bunch, all of whom were ready to share their opinions and humour.

  She got ready for bed determined to keep her relaxed mood and not to check her email. Once she slid into bed, though, the temptation was too much for her.

  Zane had sent her a message. ‘You there, Molly? I thought I’d wake up with you, but I guess you’re out or asleep — as long as you’re not out hunting woylies.’

  She smiled crookedly.

  ‘Sweet dreams, babe.’

  She read the message maybe five times before closing it unanswered. She really didn’t know what to say. All her dreams were about him.

  Chapter 7

  Zane sat beside Gryf Wilson and watched himself on video coming out of a tube. The broad roof of the café shaded their outside table. They’d pushed aside their lunch dishes.

  ‘See.’ Gryf stabbed an arthritic finger on the computer screen. ‘When you’re in doubt, you lean to the left. I’m figuring it’s an injury in your right knee?’

  ‘An old one. It’s healed.’

  ‘But you’ve kept the bad habit. You need balance.’

  Yeah. And he needed it in more than his surfing. The last few days had been brutal. Even Cloo-in hadn’t expected quite the response they’d gotten by sponsoring and promoting Zane — but they hadn’t been slow to take advantage of it. Apparently the talk show audiences liked his Aussie accent. It had all eaten up more time than he’d bargained on, and there was more scheduled.

  He’d put his foot down about that. Celebrity status might be something others got off on, but he was a surfer, and to be the best he had to train.

  Max understood,
but he’d also wanted the money.

  This rare meeting with surfing legend Gryf Wilson was a bribe, a thank you and a training boost organised by Zane’s manager. That didn’t mean Zane didn’t appreciate it or wouldn’t take advantage of any edge he might gain from the older man’s experience. Surfing wasn’t just skill and strength. It was a state of mind.

  ‘There’s a channelled aggression in how you attack the waves. It works for you.’ Gryf shrugged and stared out at the ocean. ‘It mightn’t always work, though.’

  Zane looked a question.

  ‘No. This isn’t about your style. The way you are now, you can hold onto the World Championship title. But when I was a kid, surfing wasn’t about titles.’

  ‘The competitions got me a good life.’ Zane drank his coffee.

  ‘I get that.’

  ‘But surfing’s always meant more than winning to me.’

  The older man’s faded blue eyes assessed him. ‘Do it right, and surfing’s a way of being. Attacking the waves is a young man’s game. You might want to explore seeing where they’ll take you.’

  Lunch over, Zane thanked him and they separated. Gryf was heading back down the coast to his home. Zane had another photographer’s studio visit. Tomorrow, though, would be a full day’s training. Then he’d be flying out to the Gold Coast — back home to Australia, but on the wrong side of the continent.

  He still hadn’t heard from Molly.

  ***

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Li.’ Molly attempted to wrap up the telephone conversation.

  But Mrs Li had more to say on the likelihood of hidden gateways to the subterranean world being present not just in Antarctica but near Jardin Bay. ‘All those limestone caves,’ she said earnestly.

  Molly had been down those local limestone caves on approved and not-so-approved visits in her childhood. She’d never noticed a network of tunnels leading to Antarctica or the United Nations headquarters.