Page 28 of Crashing Into You

ChapterThirteen

Claire

The morning is cool and sunny, with a promise of heat later. A perfect early summer day. I open the window of Bryce’s station wagon, breathing in the salty air. Wind whips through my hair, nerves tying a knot in my stomach.

“You ready for this?”

Bryce, dressed in an Ocean’s Curl T-shirt and boardshorts, his tanned muscular legs bare, steers us around the curves and undulations of the Great Ocean Road. We’re heading towards Torquay, where he has an appearance and we’re going to make our official couple “debut”.

We’re completely social media official now, of course. More photos of us at the nightclub have made the rounds, as well as one of us leaving the hotel the next morning. It was a long night, to be honest. And I might have spent a bit of time touching myself, alone in my bed in the suite, imagining that lush mouth of his all over my body.

The speed at which everything has happened since I agreed to be his “girlfriend” has astounded me. I still can’t believe I said yes. I know why I did, though. And I’m kind of mad at myself about it. I know what he’s like, or at least how he appears to be. A guy who dates a different girl every weekend. A player. Definitely not the boyfriend type.

I know this, yet I want it to be real. The Bryce in the photographs online is at odds with the kind, protective man I’ve seen over the past week. He didn’t have to step in at the pub to protect me from Simon– it was none of his business– but I’m so glad he did. And now he’s offering me another layer of protection, at least for a little while.

Not that I’m completely unprotected. I told Bryce about what happened to my parents and how they provided for me, making sure the house on the coast was in my name, as well as their property in Melbourne. But what I didn’t mention was the generous trust fund set up in my name, more than enough to cover my living expenses for as long as I need it. At the time it was a surprise, to be honest. We weren’t a wealthy family. My father inherited the property on the coast from his uncle and rebuilt it in stages. So to find out there was a large amount of money set aside for me was a shock. The estate lawyer hadn’t been able to tell me much more about it either and, in the state I was in, I didn’t have the energy to push it. I just made a vow, instead, to live my life. I chose to move to the coast not just because my parents loved it here, but also because I do. Maybe it’s morbid to live so close to the place where they lost their lives, but I don’t think of it like that. I’m living somewhere they loved, somewhere they thought was special and worth preserving, a place where they hoped to get old. There’s healing, too, in the sea, in the endless push and surge of it, the way it constantly changes yet remains the same. When Bryce said that surfing took care of any worries he might have, I understood what he meant.

I was ridiculously glad to see him when he showed up at my house this morning, as though we’d been apart for a month rather than just a couple of days. Bryce picked me up early, saying we could get breakfast first and talk about how to play things. His agent, apparently, will meet us at the event, and there are going to be photographers waiting to get some “candid” photos of us arriving. I got up early, unable to sleep, and spent the time trying to decide what to wear, reminding myself over and over again that this is a professional relationship, that I had a role to play. The fact that the role involves kissing someone I’m increasingly attracted to is something I’m just going to have to deal with.

But it’s hard to remember this isn’t real when we’re in his car on our way to Torquay, sitting side by side, music on the stereo, Bryce glancing at me with a smile as though we’re a real couple. The road turns inland, past the house where Mad Max lived in the original version of the film. I realise I haven’t answered Bryce’s question, lost in thought.

“I’m ready,” I say. “But only because I have no idea what I’m getting myself into. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“What? Been at a promo event, or pretended to be someone’s girlfriend at one?”

“Both.” I laugh, but can’t deny I’m nervous. I feel as though I’m out of my depth again, waves looming over me. At least Bryce is in this with me, like he was in the water. I just hope he doesn’t let go.

“Hey.” He reaches over to pat my leg. “You’ll be fine. It’ll be like at the nightclub the other night. Hanging out, a few photos. Just be your natural self… and try to pretend you like me.” He grins, winking at me.

It won’t be hard to pretend. My leg is tingling where he touched me. I’m wearing a short white crochet dress by Ocean’s Curl, my legs bare, tan leather sandals on my feet. I thought I’d better try and represent the label; thank god I have some pieces I bought from Anna’s. Bryce didn’t say anything when I opened the door, but he pursed his lips in a soundless whistle, looking me up and down. I think he approved.

Iwanthim to approve, I realise. But I also need to remember that this isn’t real.

If I can.

Bryce pulls off the road into a small collection of shops, a gravel car park out the front. Short Arm Café, at the end of the row, is a local institution.

“Ready for a bite?”

I am hungry, actually. I didn’t eat anything when I got up, too nervous about the day. But now, something about being in the car with Bryce is relaxing me, whether it’s the ocean or the landscape or just him I’m not sure. But I’m starving.

“Yes. Short Arm?”

“Of course,” he says. “Let’s go.”

He waits for me to get out of the car, taking my hand as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. Short Arm is busy, as it usually is most mornings, people getting coffee and breakfast rolls to go, or seated at the tables. Bryce and I join the queue alongside the food display cases, still holding hands. I try to focus on the menu, even though I know what I’m going to have.

“Hey, man.”

Bryce lets go of my hand. I turn to see a guy I vaguely recognise. He’s wearing paint-spattered shorts and a surf T-shirt, his brown hair still tousled with sleep. He has a hand out to Bryce who takes it, shaking it. “G-day, mate.”

“Listen, my kid is a massive fan. Can I take a photo?” Paint-spatters holds up his phone.

“Of course.” Bryce leans in next to the guy, smiling, a thumbs up to the camera.

“Legend,” the guy says. “Thanks mate, he’ll love it.”

“Anytime.” Bryce claps the guy on the shoulder. He leaves, coffee in hand. Bryce returns to my side. A few people are looking at us, but everyone seems pretty cool. Another thing I like about living here. Being so close to Bells Beach and on such a famous surf coast, well-known faces tend to pop up from time to time. We try to take it in our stride. I’ve served a few movie stars and soap actresses at Anna’s, some nice, some not-so-nice. It’s all par for the course in this part of the world.