Page 22 of Crashing Into You

Claire

Melbourne glitters and gleams at night, tall buildings like pillars of light against a purple blue sky. Yet there’s also the river running through the city, the nearby parks with their gum trees and possums a faint reminder of an earlier time, before the buildings grew here. Bryce and I wander along Exhibition Street, hand in hand, before turning down Flinders Lane.

It feels natural to hold his hand, despite the fact I’m doing it for show. Simon isn’t here, after all. But Bryce needs me to play a part, and I’m happy to do so. More than happy to be honest. I wasn’t sure where to look when he dropped his robe at the pool, revealing his magnificent chest and ridiculous abs, tanned muscled legs under his boardshorts. I don’t mind it when he puts his arm around me or kisses my cheek– I don’t mind any of it– but I know we need to set some boundaries. This is a business arrangement, after all.

Bryce tugs my hand, pulling me down a graffiti-covered alleyway lined with old brick buildings, most of them now home to design studios and cool bars. There’s a line of stylish young people waiting outside a battered black door, a single red heart in neon above it.

“This is the place.” Bryce heads to the front of the line, towing me behind him. The doorman looks up from his clipboard and grins.

“Bryce! You made it, man. Nice one.” He shakes his hand. A few people in the line have their phones out already, the murmur of conversation rising. I hold my head up. Working for Anna has its benefits, one of which is getting discounts on clothing. I know my dress, a flowing sleeveless mini made of fine pleated gold silk, is spot on for this place, as are my strappy heels. Bryce is wearing a linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his muscular forearms, with jeans. He looks ridiculously handsome, especially with his hair pushed back, which only serves to highlight his strong jawline.

Okay. I need to stop staring. Even if he is my pretend boyfriend.

But as we head inside, up narrow stairs, his hand comes to the small of my back. I’m glad of it, my nerves firing as we head into the bar. It’s a large room, with sleek couches in one area, a dance floor in another, a neon-lit bar heaving with more glamorous people. I spot a couple of soap stars, and more than a few footballers. Someone is going around taking photographs, and I get it now: a nice way to soft-launch us as a couple. But part of me longs for the quiet of my house by the sea, the smell of eucalypts and the sound of the waves outside. Instinctively, I press closer to Bryce.

His arm comes around my waist, his mouth close to my ear. “We don’t have to stay long. Not if you don’t want to.” It’s like he knows what I’m thinking.

“I’m all right,” I say. “For a little while.”

“A little while?” He grins, and I can’t stop watching his mouth. “Let’s have a drink, at least.”

A few minutes later we’re seated on a couch, a frosty cocktail in my hand, while Bryce has a beer. We’re squashed in close because the place is crowded, people everywhere. I’m starting to relax, though, enjoying the people-watching.

“Smile, everyone!” The photographer I saw earlier appears through the crowd, pointing his camera at our sofa. We all lean in, grinning, and I lift my cocktail in a toast. Bryce chooses that moment to stick his tongue in my ear and I squeal, spilling my drink on the table. We’re both laughing as the photographer takes more shots, then disappears.

“Well, if that doesn’t send the right message, I don’t know what will,” I say, still giggling.

“You think?”

Bryce is so close to me. His arm is around me and I’m pressed into his hard chest. He’s smiling, and he smells so good I just want to bury my face in his neck.

“Uh, I don’t know. Is that a challenge?”

He leans in, brushing his lips against mine. “It’s whatever you want it to be.”

Oh god. A pulse beats between my legs. Dangerous.

“What is?”

“This arrangement between us.” His mouth is still close to mine. My hand is on his chest, and I can feel the strong beat of his heart. “Where are the lines, Claire? What are you comfortable with?” His hand glides along my bare thigh. “Is this okay? You tell me.”

I nod, because I can’t speak for a moment. “Yeah. That’s fine.” I’m breathless. My hand moves from his chest to his face, tracing his jawline. “What about this?” I whisper. “Is this all right with you?”

He turns his head, kissing the palm of my hand. “I’m okay with that,” he says, his voice a deep growl. “Now, let’s talk about kissing.”

Talk about it? I’d much rather do it. But I can’t say that. What I need to do is pull back and have this conversation when we’re not wrapped around each other. But his thumb is tracing circles along my thigh, and I can’t seem to think right. “Kissing?”

“Yeah. How much of it? When can we do it? I have to be honest, Claire. I like kissing you– I like it a lot– but I appreciate you might have your own boundaries.” He is utterly serious, his hand leaving my leg like he’s only just realised it was there.

I take a moment, because my words feel all tangled. “Um, kissing is fine. And… er, touching.”

“Touching?” His hand is back on my thigh again, and he’s grinning.

“Sometouching.” I grin too, unable to help it. This feels like absolute madness. I barely know this man. But I’m more comfortable with him than I ever was with Simon, I realise. I know I can trust him not to push things. I also know that if I ever said stop, he would.

When you enter deep water, you either have to sink, or swim. And even though I feel completely out of my depth here, it’s okay.

Because he’s here with me.