She’d been a little jumpy on the massage table, but then he’d been a little uncertain. It’d been a long time since he’d wanted to give anyone a massage and she was obviously tired and ready to drop into that restless adrenaline-crash headspace, and he’d wanted to help her through it.
A massage wouldn’t be all she’d need but it was a decent start and she was noticeably more at ease now. That would be the sex effect. All hail the power of a good boinking. Did Australians use that word?
At the point in their lip-lock adventure where she went breathless and her eyes were gimme, gimme, gimme, he’d carried her across to the bed where he had more room to be creative and no disincentive to turn greed into incoherent moans and incoherent moans into desperate shuddering and clutching.
He got the fingernails in his back he craved and his own quaking release and then jet lag whacked him upside the head and they’d both slept heavily till his alarm rudely got him moving.
Rick was keeping him moving at a punishing pace around Centennial Park, which was like a mini Central Park in New York, complete with cafés, horse riding, picnic areas, lots of black swans and huge white geese, plus squawking cockatoos, and a view of the city in the distance. Teela waited at a sheltered picnic table where Hassan would bring them breakfast, and all before 8 a.m.
He loved that she was a morning person. Along with her delighted reaction to his lack of sartorial splendor, she was well worth missing Hemsworth surfing lessons for.
She’d taken one look at his tragically out-of-fashion baggy shorts, hideous oversized Barney the Dinosaur T-shirt, trucker’s cap with the words Keep Off My Fucking Grass across the front and a row of fake salt and pepper hair at the back, and sunglasses that looked more like goggles, and said, “Evie is right. My standards have slipped. I’m spending the weekend with a bogan. You even have the mullet.”
He didn’t know what any of that was. It didn’t sound complimentary and she was laughing too much to explain.
There were enough early birds in the park, including a big peloton of cyclists in the latest high-tech sweat-wicking gear, to have made his uncomfortable disguise necessary and it was better than having to stick to an indoor track. Still, he couldn’t wait to ditch the damn cap. The whole look was evidence that clothes did make the man. And the angry dad bod op-shop chic look won him plenty of personal space.
When Rick finally let up and they slowed to a walk, he braced for an incoming question.
“Any changes to Monday’s travel plans?”
He’d had a sixty-minute run to contemplate that. “No reason to stay.” There’d be no documents to sign, no donation to bank, no photograph to pose for with his best statesman-like, wrist brace-free, handshake on display.
“No reason?”
“Nope.”
“None?”
He stopped walking and Rick had to double back. “What?” Haydn said.
“You can’t blame me for checking. You’re having fun.”
He always had fun. He was a fun guy. Mostly. He scratched under the fake hair. “I’ve got stuff to do back home.”
He had very little to do for the next month other than train, before the Oscar campaign started, except worry about how to get the money and commitment for the satellite project. The dogs would be happy to have him home at least.
Rick let it go. For now. Had he been that transparently lonely of late? That was something he needed to fix, there was no need for it. But after the movie was in the can. Once he was on set there was no room for distractions.
Meanwhile distraction waited in a cute sundress, her eyes behind sunglasses down on her phone screen. He had a moment of doubt and his step faltered. People holding phones could be his own personal security threat. He shook it off. Teela wasn’t about to cause him trouble. Also there was that thing about being a bogan, whatever that was.
She looked up when she heard him approach and her expression went from hello nice to see you to get away from me you great hulking embarrassment, and he regretted the instant of distrust. It was like a reflex, a bad habit he could drop for the next two days.
“What, am I not improved by a little clean male sweat?” he said holding his arms out and turning in a circle. “A better bogan?” His shirt was saturated and stuck to him in big patches. He’d look like he’d been sleeping under a bridge somewhere dank for a week. He had the urge to wrap his gross self around her and share the love, but she looked cool and fresh so he kept his distance.
“I’m sure you feel like you’ve improved,” she said.
He sat opposite her at the picnic table and took his goggles off, wiping his face on a towel. Rick had walked across the park to meet Hassan and bring breakfast over. They had a moment to themselves. “Have to keep my fitness level up. Never know when I might have to bolt from a crowd of admirers.”
“Does the sound of your tickets flapping in the wind bother you?”
“Tickets?” He squinted at her.
“You’ve got tickets on
yourself is something my mother says to me if she thinks I’m getting too big for my boots.”
“And suddenly we’re not speaking the same language.”