Desk Jockey Jam (15 page)

Dan spun his board so he
was face and chest to the sun as well.  It had some bite in it, even this
early.  “I hear you.  I’ll find a buyer.  You can borrow the Valiant until you
get the cash for new wheels.  And with any luck you’ll be the proud sponsor of
a roller derby team by the end of the week.”

14:      Fresh Meat

Ant was late getting in
Tuesday morning, so it was disconcerting Bree wasn’t at her desk doing active
avoidance duty.  He did a subtle cruise of the office.  She wasn’t in the
kitchen, the copier room or any of the meeting rooms.  He couldn’t hover
outside the ladies but he felt like he should.  Just to see if she was all
right.

By 10am, she still hadn’t
shown up and her pc was dark.  He hit the staff directory and sat looking at
her mobile number on the screen.  Like she’d answer if he used it.  Like she’d
not think he was doing some weird stalkerish thing.  Which is precisely what he
felt like doing, and he couldn’t summon any disgust for the feeling.

By lunchtime, he found an
excuse to wander around to Bree’s workstation and catch Chris’ eye at the same
time as making a surprise face at Bree’s turned off pc.  Chris totally bought
it. 

“She’s in Melbourne. 
Lucky girl.  BHP briefings.  Not back till Monday.  She gets to shop all
weekend.”

Monday.  Shit.  There was
no bout this weekend to bring her home early and Monday was to the moon and
back.  How was he supposed to hold out that long?

“What’s wrong, Ant?”

He shook his head. 
“Nothing.” 
Lots
.  Like not being able to apologise and try to make
things right for a whole week.  Like not being able to see her face and make
her crabby with him again.  Like living in hope he might one day get to kiss
her, have her in his arms, and know that she did like him—even a little bit.

“Geez, you can’t possibly
be jealous she got to go?”

“I’m not.”

“I suppose that’s right,
if you meant what you said at dinner Friday?”

He pulled out Bree’s chair
and sat.  “I meant it.  I’d never thought about it before, but I get it.  It’s
about time the ruling class shared their toys.  Not that you chicks are getting
any free rides on the slippery dip.”

Chris bristled.  “Not that
we’re asking for any.”

He grinned at her.  He
wondered if she knew about Kitty Caruso.  He was itching to talk about how
amazing Bree was.  When he’d realised it at the bout he’d been speechless.  The
gang twigged to what was going on, but they only knew half the story, thinking
he was reacting to the surprise his polite, shy colleague was a roller doll who
pushed people over on the weekends.

“For an Italian mamma’s
boy you’re all right, Ant.”

He laughed.  “For a ball
buster, you’re all right.”

Chris grinned back.  “Don’t
let her spiny anteater act put you off.”

He feigned confusion. 
Chris smacked his arm.  “You know what I mean.  I think you’d be cute
together.” 

“Cute, like kittens,” he
grimaced.

She giggled.  “Yeah, cute
like kitties.” 

He sat forward. 
“Kitties?”  Chris knew, he’d bet an arm on it.

She wiggled her head. 
“Don’t you tell.  She’s paranoid about it getting out.”

“How did you figure out I
knew?”

She laughed.  “You just
told me.”

He smacked his forehead. 
“Shit!”  This being flipped out about a woman was making him soft in the head.

That night, late, after a run
on the beach with Dan and Mitch, he rang Toni.  “Do you know where Bree will be
this weekend?”

“Stalker.”

“So.”

“Do you have the money?”

“What is this—an extortion
racket?  You either know where she is or you don’t.”

“Pagano, Gambese—of course
it extortion.  You either have the money or you don’t.”

He throttled his laugh. 
Last thing Toni needed was encouragement.  “I’m getting it.”

“She’ll be helping with fresh
meat try-outs on Saturday afternoon at the stadium.”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t tell you that. 
She’s not going to make it easy for you.”

“I’d be disappointed if
she did.”

He rang off on Toni’s evil
snicker.  He had three and half days to get through before he could see Bree
again.  No pressure, but Dan had three and a half days left to sell the Alfa. 
And he had three and a half days to work out what the fuck he was going to say
to Bree that was more poetic, more acceptable than what he wanted to say, which
was along the lines of, ‘you’re the most irritating woman I’ve ever met but I
fucking love how strong and fearless and competitive you are, and all I want to
do is bite you’.  But since that was likely to get him socked in the jaw or
kneed in the groin, he had a great deal of thinking to do.

·
      
 

Bree’s knee was the colour
of a hail storm over the ocean, mostly purple black with a strange accent of
green.  But it was bending again, and after treating it with a combination of
arnica and ice over the week, she was able to skate well enough to put the
freshies through their paces. 

She had a group of ten
newbies practicing standing starts to the sound of on old Peaches and Herb
track,
Shake your Grove Thing
, when she noticed him, but he might’ve
been there for a while.  He had a newspaper and a coffee, as though he was
prepared for a wait. 
Well good
.  He could wait forever.  She had no
intention of talking to him.  She couldn’t imagine why he was here, other than
to torture her with how goddamn gorgeous he looked, tanned and casual, slightly
rumpled as though he’d just come off the beach.  He had a pair of aviator
sunglasses on top of his head and sat with one arm draped across the seat back.

And he was distracting her
girls.  She skated to the edge of the track nearest where he’d settled.  He
looked up from his paper and smiled; healthy white teeth and handsome face. 
Mischief laser lit in his dark broody eyes.  She shouted up at him.  “If you’re
here to tell me you’re going to keep my secret you can forget it.  I’ve decided
it’s not worth keeping.”

He put the paper down and
leaned forward.  The track changed, Devo’s
Whip It
.  There were three
rows of seats between them but she was sure she could smell the salt on his
skin.  “You’re going to tell them?”

“Nope.  I’m quitting.”

“No.”  He sounded disappointed. 
“Why?”  And crazy inquisitive.

“None of your business.”

“You love it.”

“You wouldn’t have the
first idea what I’d love and I’m not talking to you anyway.  Go away.”

He picked up the paper. 
“I’ll wait.”

“I’m busy.”

“I know.  I’ll wait.”

He could wait all he
wanted it made no difference to her if he wasted his day off.  She shrugged and
skated back to her class. 

One of the cherry poppers
said, “Who’s the hunk?”

She shook her head.  “No
one.  Stickyfoot.” 

Another said, “Can I have
him?” and the group laughed.

Bree shot a look over her
shoulder at Ant.  He was watching; he smiled that cocky ‘I could run the world’
grin.  He was wrecking the peace she’d spent all week trying to create after
the argument in the copier room.

She said, “Be my guest.  He’s
a slimy bastard,” while the track changed to Adam Ant’s
Goody Two Shoes.

That got another laugh and
started a discussion about drawing straws to have a go at tempting him.  Bree
knew it was all talk, but it made her unhappy all the same.  It was irrational,
but she thought she could quite easily scratch the eyes out of any girl who managed
to hold Ant’s attention.  And that was ridiculous.  How did he even know she’d
be here?  And if he thought she was a lesbian why was he chasing her around? 
What could he possibly want now she’d comprehensively smashed any notion they
could be friends or lovers?

An hour later, the newbies
were dropping from exhaustion, so she turned the music off and sent them to
Damo for a sit down on the rules and a briefing on insurance before they went
home.  Ant was still there.  He’d switched from the paper to his iPad.

She skated over, stood in
front of him with her hands on her hips, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. 
He didn’t.  “Why are you still here?”

He put down the iPad. 
“I’m waiting for you.”  Then he looked her up and down with enough heat in his
gaze to make her knee throb.  If he thought seduction by eyeball was going to
work for him he needed to get out more.  She glared back at him, then went to
collect her weapons.  If he wanted a fight, she was going to bring it.  Two
minutes later she’d cajoled Damo into giving up his skates and pads by agreeing
to clean them for him in time for him to ref next week’s bout.  It helped Damo
was distracted by the class.  She went back to where Ant was watching and threw
the gear on the track in front of him.  Damo was a big bloke too, the pads
would fit, if the skates didn’t that was tough.  If Ant wanted to talk he was
going to do it on wheels.

“I’m only interested in
fresh meat who want to skate derby.  You want to talk, you skate.”

“Ah.”  He looked amused,
then his smile back-flipped.  “You’re serious.”

But not stupid.  She
skated to the other side of the track and stood behind Damo’s class pretending
to listen to his drill on safety, but watching Ant retrieve the gear and drag
it to the first rise of seating.  He studied a skate, then he took off the shoe
he wore and tried it on.  His foot went in.  His head came up and he met her
eyes.  He very clearly said the words, “Game on.”

He had no trouble sorting
the knee and elbow pads out, or the wrist guards.  She hadn’t bothered giving
him Damo’s helmet, she wasn’t wearing one herself.  She didn’t think he’d be
doing much more than sitting on his arse.  He didn’t try to stand.  He donned
the gear and waited and made no pretence of not watching her.  Bree waited till
Damo finished and sent the freshies off for the day.  He gave her a knowing
shake of his head she probably should’ve paid attention to, as he handed her
the door key and made for his car.  Then there was just the two of them; one
pretend lesbian and one arrogant ingrate, who should’ve known better than to
try to take her down on her own turf.

She skated up to him,
annoyed to see he didn’t look the least bit worried.  He looked relaxed.  And
annoyingly edible.  If he already knew how to skate this was a dumb idea.  The
last thing she wanted was to have to pit her skills against his in a last
person standing competition.  One of them would end up in tears and it wouldn’t
be Kitty.

She fisted her hands on
her hips, frowning at him.  “You skate?”

“Skateboard.  And not for
a long time.” 

She tried and failed to
keep the smile off her face.  He wouldn’t be as hopeless as she thought, but
skateboarding and skating were still very different.  “Prepare to feel pain.”

He shook his head and held
onto the seat to stand.  Sitting back down with a thump as one leg shot out in
front of him.  “Shit!”  The floor was fast for obvious reasons.  She skated in
a circle to stop from laughing at him.  When she faced around again he’d gotten
to his feet.

“Okay.”  He clapped his
hands, one sharp sound reverberating in the large quiet space.  “So far so
good.”  He gave her his world domination grin.

Much as she was keen to
see him flounder, her trainer’s skills kicked in.  He could be badly hurt if he
fell.  “You’ve really only skateboarded before?”

“Yep.  I prefer a wave
under my feet.”

She moved closer and held
out her hands.  This was probably a mistake.  “If you pull me down with you
I’ll hurt you more than the fall will.”

He hesitated, gave her
another head to toe with those know-it-all dark eyes, making her feel self
conscious in her shortie hip hugging cut-offs and the skimpy singlet that
didn’t meet the waistband of the denim.

“Got it.”  He took her
hands, but didn’t grab them like a lifeline.  He eased his big paws over hers
and she knew he’d let go as easily as he held on.

“Keep your knees relaxed. 
The more bent the better.”

“The lower my centre of
gravity, the better.”

“Right.  I want to see you
go down on one knee.”

He laughed.  “So soon?”

She snatched her hands
back and he let one go, but gripped the other.  She glared at him, but he
wasn’t cowered, his eat shit grin stayed in place.  “Moron, it’s the safest way
to fall.  Do it.”

He bent his right leg till
his knee touched the track.  Then he stood, rock solid, not a wobble.  That was
his surfing skill coming to the party.  “When you feel like you’re going to
fall, lean forward, keep your arms tight to your body and go down on your knees.”