Marx Girl

Jeez, this really is something. “How many bedrooms does it have?

“Three, but I’m turning one into an office.” He walks up the stairs. “I’m going to keep one of the bedrooms for friends to sleep over.”

My eyes meet his. “Plan on having friends over a lot, do you?”

His dark eyes hold mine. “You never know your luck in a big city like this.”

I bite my bottom lip to stifle my stupid smile. So, if I’m technically his friend… sleepovers will never be the same again.

I want to play with him and flirt back, but I stop myself.

Cut it out!

We get to the top of the stairs and I gasp when I see a huge open space. Rustic brickwork makes up one wall, with a rustic-looking kitchen in the left corner. Large copper pendant lights hang down low over a huge timber counter. Antique, wide, dark floorboards make up the flooring, and the back wall has five large arched windows. I look around in awe. “Ben, it’s beautiful. I’ve never seen an apartment like it. It’s like something out of a movie.”

I put both hands onto the counter top as I look around. It’s so trendy yet rustic, and even the kitchen taps are like those big hoses you see in an old restaurant. “How did you find this place?” I smile.

He throws his keys onto the counter. “Stan and I found it on Monday. We looked around all day and this was the last place we checked out.”

I can hardly wipe the goofy grin from my face. “Show me around.”

We walk up a hall, and he points to the bathroom lined with large, black, glossy tiles on the walls and tiny mosaic tiles on the floor. There’s a white, freestanding antique bath and pedestal sink lined against one wall, and a shower with a bench seat on the other.

“Gorgeous,” I whisper.

We continue up the hall, and he points into a large room that has a plush grey carpet and velvet drapes. “This is for my friends.” He smiles cheekily, and I walk in past him into the room to look around.

“I’m sure your friends will be very happy to stay in here.”

Our eyes lock, and chemistry starts to buzz between us. He frowns, and snaps his eyes away in a rush. “My room is down here,” he replies, changing the subject.

We continue down the hall and get to two large, heavy timber barn doors. He begins to slide one open.

My mouth drops open. “Holy crap.”

The walls are made of aged brickwork, the ceiling is cathedral height, with timber beams, while the bathroom is open to the bedroom with no wall dividing the two—all covered in black gloss tiles. There are two walk-in wardrobes. “God, Ben, this is so beautiful.”

He smiles proudly. “I like it.”

Over in the corner of the room there’s a blow-up mattress in a box with a few pillows and blankets still in plastic wrapping. “What’s that for?” I frown.

“Oh.” He glances over at the things on the floor. “I didn’t want to stay with Stan anymore. I don’t want to take advantage. I’ll crash here from now on.”

I frown. “But you have no furniture yet…”

“Yeah, I’ll get some on the weekend or something.”

“So, you’re going to sleep on the floor tonight?” I don’t want him sleeping on the floor.

“Yeah, it’s cool. I have a blow-up mattress. I’ve slept in much worse conditions.”

I look around the room and then at his beautiful face as confusion swirls around me. He’s saying all the right things, doing everything that a friend would do on a dinner date, and yet all I want to do is for him to lay his heart out on the table so I can study every inch of it. What is he thinking?

And, more importantly, why do I care?

“Ben.” I look around the room. “Why are you here?” I gesture to the beautiful room. “Why…?” I pause as I try to get my wording right. “Why did you come to Australia, get an apartment, and buy a car?”

His eyes hold mine. “I’m…” He hesitates. “You want to be friends, but I don’t think this conversation is very friend-like.”

“Ben.” I sigh as I flick back the curtains and look down on the street below. “Friends talk about stuff openly.” I turn to face him.

He watches me for a moment and then drops his head, remaining silent.

“Talk to me, Ben. Why are you really here?”

He swallows the lump in his throat, and his eyes search mine as if contemplating whether he should answer me or not. After a few moments, he finally he does. “I want another chance with you.”

“Why?”

“Because I fucked up last time and I want to make it right.” His eyes search mine.

“When you say you want a second chance… what does that mean, exactly?”

His eyes don’t leave mine, and he frowns as he thinks. “I want to look at you and see you looking at me the way you used to.”