Man Drought (23 page)

Having remembered to turn the alarm off on her mobile when she went to sleep, Imogen was shocked at the time when she woke only a few hours later. Whether she liked it or not, her body clock had become adapted to early morning exercise. Unable to get back to sleep, she decided to get up and go with her usual run.

Not wanting a repeat of that embarrassing incident where she’d almost been run over by Gibson, Imogen had altered her running route after that. But today, without making a conscious decision, she found herself heading back that way.

Gibson woke in the hard single bed in Charlie’s spare room, his mind flashing with episodes from the previous night as he tried to recall why he was still there. He stared at the ceiling for a few long moments before recollection dawned. He rolled onto his side and
groaned, not only at the shocking psychedelic wallpaper (the kind that was briefly fashionable in the seventies) but also at the hard decisions that lay ahead of him regarding his granddad.

Should he confront Charlie about his worries? Should he call his parents and risk an earbashing from his mother? She’d likely have Charlie summoned to some institution in Perth. Or maybe he could just monitor the situation a little longer. Times like this he wished he believed in all that new-age craziness his sister Paris constantly rabbited on about, because right now, calling a psychic and asking for direction seemed like a mighty fine plan.

Noise from the kitchen jostled Gibson from his thoughts. He sprung from the bed, grabbed the pants he’d shucked off when he returned from Imogen’s in the early hours of the morning, pulled them on and headed out to greet his granddad, dreading what kind of confusion he might find. Yawning, he stepped into the kitchen and smelled freshly brewed coffee. Just the medicine he needed.

Charlie turned from where he’d been opening the curtains to let in the dawn and grinned at Gibson. He glanced to the empty champagne bottle on the table and chuckled. ‘Had a big night, did we? That’s why I zonked it on the couch and you couldn’t drive home. You did see Imogen home first, didn’t ya?’

Gibson blinked away the recollection of seeing Imogen home – the torturous thoughts he’d had for half the night after finally leaving her. ‘You remember Imogen was here?’

Charlie stared boggle-eyed at Gibson, like he were the one who needed his head tested. ‘Course I remember. I didn’t drink that much. We had a bonza dinner and then looked at the old photos. I didn’t drone on too much, did I?’

‘Not that I recall.’ Gibson’s head ached, trying to work out what Charlie knew and what he didn’t. In lieu of painkillers, he took two steps across the linoleum, picked up the pot of coffee, poured a mug and drank it as quickly as if he were sculling a beer. As he
slapped the empty mug down on the bench top, a knock came from the front door.

Charlie frowned as they glanced at the time on his microwave – 7:00 a.m. ‘We’re probably safe to open the door,’ he decided. ‘I don’t think the Jehovah’s Witnesses are early risers.’

Gibson refilled his mug and then, curious, he followed Charlie down the short hallway. As his grandfather peeled open the door, he caught a flash of soft red hair before his brain registered the owner of the locks. Where his mind was slow, his body more than made up for it. His groin tightened as he took in the vision of Imogen wearing those illegally tight running shorts again. He’d managed to sit by her on the couch and keep his hands to himself while she wore PJs, for crying out loud, but a pair of shorts threatened to snap his control. And how the hell did she look so fabulous after so little sleep?

It appeared he wasn’t the only male affected. ‘Good morning, gorgeous,’ Charlie flirted. ‘You’re looking mighty fine this morning. If I was only a few years younger, you’d be in serious danger.’

Imogen laughed. ‘If you were a few years younger, Charlie, you’d be the one in danger. How are you feeling this morning?’

‘Fine, fine,’ he said, seemingly oblivious to the look of concern that Imogen gave Gibson.

Gibson shook his head behind his grandfather’s back, trying to tell her that Charlie had been acting normal so far.

‘So, what can we do for you?’ Charlie asked Imogen. ‘Not that this early morning visit isn’t delightful, but—-’

‘Gibson and I arranged to go running,’ Imogen announced, looking to him to corroborate her story.

He glanced at her running gear again – muscles all over his body contracting at the sight – and tried to nod. ‘Um, yeah.’ He patted his almost-flat abs. ‘Mum reckoned I was getting a bit of a paunch last time I saw her, so Imogen invited me to go running with her.’

Charlie peered down at Gibson’s gut. ‘Hmm, she may have a point, for once.’

What?
Gibson pressed his hands to his stomach, looking for evidence of a spread. Imogen smirked and coughed, her hand rushing to her mouth to cover her amusement.

‘But you can’t go running in those pants.’ Charlie pointed at them accusingly. ‘You can borrow something of mine.’

Before Gibson could argue, Charlie turned and shuffled down the hallway. Gibson glared at Imogen. ‘Couldn’t you have thought of a different excuse? Running isn’t really my thing.’

She raised one obviously amused eyebrow. ‘Really? Then what was boot camp?’

‘You know what the hell boot camp was,’ he replied dryly.

She blushed, then leaned forward and whispered, ‘Has he really been okay this morning?’

Gibson glanced quickly behind him to check Charlie was still digging around for workout clothes and then nodded. ‘He seems completely with it. I don’t know what to think, but I’m definitely going to talk to my friend about it ASAP.’

‘Hmm.’ Imogen brushed some hair off her face. ‘I suppose there’s no need to worry your parents unnecessarily. Maybe your friend could suggest a way to confront Charlie without getting him offside.’

Gibson nodded, inwardly shuddering at the thought. He’d have to tread carefully, because whatever happened, he didn’t want to risk alienating Charlie the way his mum and dad had.

Before they could say any more, Charlie reappeared, holding a massive pair of brown, holey shorts and an oversized purple t-shirt like they were a whopper fishing catch. Gibson cringed even before Charlie thrust the items at him, and his nose twitched at the smell of mothballs. The smirk on Imogen’s face told Gibson the odour hadn’t gone unnoticed by her either.

‘These’ll be perfect,’ Charlie said. When Gibson didn’t make a move, he nodded towards the bathroom. ‘Well, go get your kit on. Don’t keep the lady waiting.’

Scowling, Gibson balled up the clothes and went to get changed.

Charlie and Imogen were chatting about the Man Drought weekend when he finally emerged, holding the waistband of the shorts so as not to have them fall around his ankles. ‘All right. I’m ready,’ he said. If they had to do this, he wanted it over quick smart.

‘What about shoes?’ Imogen looked down towards his naked feet, obviously trying to smother a giggle.

‘I’ve only got the ones I wore last night,’ he said, glaring at her, ‘and they’re not exactly made for running.’ Nothing he was wearing felt made for exercise, but if he wanted any chance of keeping up with her, he’d have to go barefoot.

She shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’

They waved goodbye to Charlie, and Gibson grudgingly followed Imogen down the garden path.

‘Are you always so chirpy in the morning?’ he asked as they turned onto the footpath.

‘Oh yeah. Especially when I start the day with exercise. Are you always so grumpy?’

‘Yep. There’s only one type of exercise I believe in starting the day with.’ He hitched up the waistband of the enormous shorts again.

‘I see.’ He thought her voice sounded slightly strangled as she strode ahead of him, her long legs eating up the pavement with each graceful step.

He averted his gaze. It was hard enough keeping pace with her when he had to keep a vice-like grip on his shorts, never mind with his libido distracting him. He couldn’t get the image of spending a whole night with Imogen out of his head. The thought was like drinking a sixpack of rum-and-cola on an empty stomach. It’d be
an incomparable rush while it happened, but he couldn’t bear the regret and discomfort that’d take root afterwards. Not when they were finally moving on from the last time.

‘Hey slowpoke!’

He tore himself from his thoughts to see Imogen a good few metres ahead of him.

‘I actually want a workout,’ she said, cockily. ‘If you can’t keep up—-’

‘Course I can keep up. It’s these damn pants. Would be easier if I was running naked.’

She stumbled on a crack in the pavement, but saved herself from falling by grabbing on to a nearby letterbox.

‘You okay?’ he asked, catching up and reaching out to help her.

‘Fine. I just can’t …’ She stopped and clutched her stomach. Close up, he realised she was laughing – tears in her deep-green eyes. ‘It’s the visual,’ she said, gasping for breath. ‘You running in Charlie’s shorts was bad enough, but naked? All that …’ – her eyes flicked down to his package – ‘flying free.’ And then she burst out in another episode of giggles.

Feeling the need to stick up for his nuts, and trying to stifle a laugh himself, Gibson put his hands onto his hips. The instant he let go of the dysfunctional elastic waistband, it dropped towards the pavement as if the ground had a magnetic force. A whoosh of warm morning wind blasted his privates as he stood there in nothing but Charlie’s old shirt and his own black jocks.

And Imogen lost it. If she’d been fighting hysterics a moment ago, now she could no longer control herself. She doubled over, her ponytail bouncing on top of her head as she laughed.

Gibson stood motionless, knowing he needed to bend over and pull up the shorts, but unable to do so because he’d finally seen the funny side. Laughter bubbled from deep within him and erupted into something he couldn’t control. They stood there in the middle
of the path, literally trembling with amusement like a couple of crazy kids.

The wall of defence she usually kept firmly around her crumbled and he realised he was getting his first glimpse of the real Imogen. More real even than when she’d trembled in his car and screamed his name in release.

And damn it felt good.

The sound of a vehicle registered somewhere at the back of his brain. He tried to pull himself out of this madness, but one glance at Imogen sent him over the edge again. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d laughed so much, and judging by the tears streaming down her face, she felt the same. His arms shaking, he reached out to touch her face, to wipe her tears with his thumbs. And that’s when the vehicle pulled up beside them.

‘Well, well, well. What have we here?’ Wazza stepped out of his ute and looked over the top. The sweaty shearer’s singlet he wore indicated he’d just come from boot camp.

Guy leaned out the passenger-side window and wolf-whistled. ‘Looks like debauchery to me, mate. The kind of depravity we ought to report to the local copper.’

Gibson stopped laughing as suddenly as if his mates had thrown a bucket of icy water over him. He yanked up the granddad pants and instinctively stepped in front of Imogen.

‘Ah … maybe,’ Wazza said, and Gibson didn’t like the tone of his voice. ‘But I say we only report them if Gibson doesn’t pay up.’

‘Oh, yeah, the bet.’ Guy grinned even more and winked at Imogen.

Gibson kept a grip on his shorts, resisting the urge to take to the road and pummel both his mates.

‘What bet?’ Imogen asked, her chest still heaving as her breathing finally began to calm.

‘Never mind.’ Gibson glanced quickly behind him.

Laughing, Wazza slid back into the ute. He shouted across Guy, through the open window, ‘I’m sure Gibson will fill you in.’ With that, Wazza hooned the ute down the street and out of sight.

‘What bet?’ Imogen asked again. Why did women have to be so damn persistent?

‘Waz and Guy’s stupid bet,’ he said, deciding to come clean. He’d never wanted any part of it anyway. ‘They haven’t grown up yet, and when you first arrived they had a bet about who could get you into bed first.’

A combination of horror and amusement flashed across her face. ‘And how much did you bet?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, you know I didn’t bet anything at all.’ He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. ‘I didn’t
want
to get you into bed. I couldn’t help myself.’

‘What the hell have you been keeping from me, girlfriend?’

Imogen balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder as she secured a towel around her body. Her phone had been buzzing when she’d stepped out of the shower following her run and she hadn’t had time to check the caller ID, but she recognised Jenna’s irate voice immediately.

It didn’t take long to work out what she was on about. The bush telegraph had grown wings and flown to the city.

‘I’ve been meaning to ask the same thing,’ Imogen said to her friend.

There was a silence at both ends of the line.

Eventually, Imogen found her voice. ‘I’m guessing you had a call from Guy this morning.’

‘Well … yes,’ Jenna finally admitted. ‘He’s been calling quite a lot, actually.’

‘So I heard.’ Imogen couldn’t help the frostiness in her voice. ‘How was your weekend?’

‘Really good,’ Jenna said on a sigh. ‘I … I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Guy rang me the night after the slab party and we’ve phoned every night since. I’ve never talked so much to a man in my life. Like, really talked. And then when he wanted to come visit me, I didn’t know how I felt. I figured I’d probably get sick of him and be desperate to send him back, and I didn’t tell you or Amy because I didn’t want you to read into it more than was there.’

‘Okay.’ Imogen could never stay angry at Jenna for long and she sounded so genuine – genuinely confused. If there were one thing Imogen could empathise with at the moment, it was confusion. ‘And did you get sick of him? He’s obviously still on your radar.’

‘Oh Imogen, there’s never been anyone more on my radar. I can’t think about anything else, never mind any
one
else.’

Imogen’s tummy flipped at Jenna’s words. She related completely; it was exactly how she’d felt about Jamie. He’d consumed her so that everything around them seemed insignificant. The fact Jenna had found someone that made her feel these things both pleased and surprised her.