Max (14 page)

And Ringer smiled; leaning his head down I
heard him whisper against my neck, “That a girl.”

Before what felt like at first a soft kiss
against my neck, and slice of hot tongue that caused my breath to hitch, before
inhaling with an unexpected bone-melting pleasure as he threaded his hands into
my hair, moving my head aside to gain better access as his hot, searing mouth
began to apply pressure, pulling my skin against his teeth, eliciting a groan
from him, one that caused my hands to fly up and fist into the fabric of the
front of his shirt.

Ringer pressed me against the wall, my eyes
flinging open not for any other reason than blind panic that I was enjoying
this way too much; my breaths were laboured and I could hear myself groaning at
the feel of his hot mouth on me. It was too much, too much and not enough all
at the same time, and just as I felt my knees begin to tremble, Ringer broke
away, taking in a deep breath of air as if he had been deprived of it, and in a
way he kind of had.

It took me a moment to gather my thoughts
together, enough to do the basic things like breathe, stand, blink, speak.
Ringer still held onto me, a small knowing smile curving his lips.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” I croaked, my hand instinctively
moving to the warm, damp spot on my neck, expecting there to be some kind of
tell-tale sign.

Ringer grabbed my chin and tilted my head
to the side, exposing my neck to the moonlight as he admired his handiwork.

“Nice,” he said, nodding as if pleased by
his efforts. “A strange plan but it’s sure to get the boyfriend talking,” he
said, stepping back and grabbing for the cigarette again from behind his ear
and tapping it on the back of his hand.

I scoffed. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Ringer’s eyes narrowed. “Then who is this
for?”

There is something to be said about the
aftermath of having someone’s mouth intimately placed on your skin; it lulls
you into a false sense of security that you can trust and therefore say too
much. This was one of those times. “If I tell you, will you promise not to say
anything?”

Ringer shifted, his brow curving with
interest. “Is this another blackmailing scenario?”

I shrugged. “Well, I do know about Sean, so
it would probably be mutually beneficial for us to adopt a zipped-lip policy.”

“Fair enough. I promise not to breathe a
word. Who are you trying to make jealous?”

“Not so much jealous as trying to seem less
invisible.”

“Interesting, I could probably think of
other ways, go on …”

“Let’s just say I am really looking forward
to a certain Max Henry’s expression when I walk into that bar tonight.” I
lifted my chin, an air of cockiness at my genius—okay, Amy’s genius—plan.

A cockiness that soon fell away as I took
in the horrified expression on Ringer’s face. “Max?” he said, as if hardly
believing.

“Y-yeah.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

I blinked, shocked by his outburst. “W-what?”

“Amy didn’t tell me it was about Max, she
said it was to make your dick of a boyfriend from Ballan jealous,” he snapped.

Oh shit.

“I told you, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Ringer cursed, rubbing his hands through
his hair.

“What’s the matter?” I pushed my hair around
the side, all of a sudden desperately wanting to hide all evidence.

Ringer scoffed. “You don’t get it, do you?
Max is a mate; if I had known you were using this to play games with him I
would have never … I just, this was a mistake.” Ringer held up his hands,
backing away from me and turning around the corner of the out building.

“Ringer, wait!” I ran after him, grabbing
for his arm, trying to gain his attention. “Ringer, stop!”

He did, spinning around with a dark stare. “Jesus,
Mel, be quiet,” he said, his gaze shifting around; long gone was the cocky,
confident boy from before. Now he looked ashamed, which made me feel even
worse.

“Don’t say anything, will you?” I pleaded.

Ringer scoffed. “Now I have two secrets I’m
keeping from my mates, some friend I am, huh?”

“Just, please don’t say anything. I am
really sorry to put you in this position. I just thought—”

“Yeah, well, you thought wrong. Don’t
worry, sweetheart, your secret’s safe with me, but a word of future advice? Be
careful who you choose to go loitering around the back of sheds with, because
the next bloke might not be a gentleman like me, and he might not agree to keep
your secrets.”

“There won’t be a next time,” I whispered.
Mortified. That’s what I felt. Why on earth had Amy thought this would be a
good idea? She knows how close these boys are with each other.

What the hell have I done?

“Yeah, well, I would lay low if I were you.
Head back to Ballan and stay out of trouble,” he said, backing away before
turning toward the direction of the Onslow.

His parting words hit me like a physical
blow. Now the last place I wanted to go was back to work. All of a sudden, Max’s
reaction was the last thing I wanted to see.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Max

Now was as good a time as any to stock
the cool room. I thought it might at least do something to simmer the rage that
was threatening to bubble under the surface.

What was she playing at?

The bar was packed. Chris, Adam and I were
dodging and weaving the narrow galley strip behind the bar. Even amidst the
chaos I kept a watchful eye on the front door; anytime the door would open I
was expecting Melanie to appear—she had only asked for an hour off, and I don’t
think she would dare push her luck with Melba.

“I’m just going to take the bin out,” I
called to the others, gathering the overflowing black plastic. Pushing down the
bottles and tying it up, I swung it over my shoulder like a demented Santa. I
moved out toward the restaurant, cutting through the sliding door in the beer
garden, out of the side gate to where the skip bin was near the back of the
kitchen door. I dumped the bag in, rolling my shoulder and kinking my neck from
side to side. I could feel the knotted-up tension in my muscles. Breathing in a
deep, calming breath near a giant rubbish bin was not the smartest idea.
Cringing, I stepped away, only to pause as something in my peripheral vision
caught my attention. I stepped back behind the bin, craning my neck to see.
There on the fire escape steps leading up from the beer garden was a white
flash in the shadows, an image that became clearer as the figure made it to the
top landing of the back door on the top storey.

There she was—Mel was sneaking up the back
fire escape into the Onslow. A crooked line creased my lips as I shook my head.

Seeing her creep her way and disappear in
the back door meant she was back and wherever she had been I didn’t much care,
but if she wanted to paint an image of herself in order to impress people then
so be it. Yet she didn’t have to impress me. I just wanted her to be herself,
whoever that was. I
was
going to find out.

***

Placing a couple of Raspberry Cruisers on
ice, there was a residual feeling of relief once the last of the drunken
customers piled out of the hotel.

“Bloody hell, what a freak show,” said
Stan, propped up at the bar.

“Business is certainly booming,” said Adam,
who earned himself a brotherly swipe to the back of the head. “Hey, what was
that for?”

“Don’t jinx us,” said Chris, which only
began the traditional brotherly banter.

“Oh, cut it out, you two. Honestly, I swear
I just want to knock your heads together most days,” scolded Melba who waddled
her way into the bar, placing the empty glasses from the kitchen.

“Want a gin, Melba?” I asked, taking in the
weary lines of her face.

“Not tonight, after the night we just had I
think I’ll call it a night.”

“Busy, huh?”

“You could say that again. Of course, being
short-staffed didn’t help the matter.” Melba gave me a pointed look that made
me pause.

“Short-staffed?”

“Your little Ballan girly didn’t show up
for work.”

“What?”

I glanced to Amy, who seemed just as
intrigued and surprised as I was.

“When she didn’t show I sent Heather to
check on her. Apparently she had a fight with the boyfriend and just wanted
some ‘alone time’,” Melba scoffed. “Wouldn’t we all love that?”

I turned my focus to Amy. “Did you know
about this?”

Amy shrugged. “I knew they were having
problems, so I am not surprised,” she said.

Now doubt was creeping into my mind. Was I
on fucking crazy pills here? Ben Erickson didn’t exist, I had suspected enough
from all the dodgy evidence, but what did I actually know? I suspected Mel had
a crush on me, and that she had made up Ben to try and impress. But what I did
know was that she was probably avoiding me, given her heading for the hills
last night when I wanted to kiss her. Fucking hell, this was more complicated
than a game of Cluedo.

I tampered down my rambling thoughts, and
took stock at just acting indifferent until everyone had cleared out, then it
was fucking game on.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Mel

I surveyed the damage in the mirror.

Good God, what had I done? There it was: my
first hickey, loud and proud, the purple circular bruise. There was no way I
was going to be able to work tonight, or ever, for that matter. When Heather
had knocked on my door and I opened it barely a crack, I took it upon myself to
initiate plan C myself. I was going to exorcise Ben Erickson out of my life
once and for all.

I was grateful to have long hair that swept
forward over my shoulders in an effort to hide my neck, but it wouldn’t be
enough. I dabbed the bruise with coats of Amy’s foundation she left me from my
makeover earlier. Aside from the hickey, I still looked semi-decent. Makeup
still in place, I was still having a good hair day, yet here I was all dressed
up and no place to go. My heart ached. I was even more a prisoner than ever
before, but this time by my own doing. Oh, the irony. With the couple of days
it would take Dad to drive back to Onslow I knew my time was running out; I
also suspected that a hickey didn’t disappear overnight. God, I was an idiot.
Didn’t think that one through much, not that I had been given much of a chance.
I had been so hell-bent on proving to Max I wasn’t a liar, but then cemented
what a massive liar I was on such a wide scale. Enough was enough, I simply had
to be truthful, from this point on. What did I have to lose? In a few days I
would be gone, out of Onslow and out of Max’s life. As much as I wanted to
avoid him now, more than ever with this bloody monstrosity on my neck, the other
part of me wanted to march straight to his apartment up the hall and finish
what he wanted to start last night. Seriously, I was so completely and utterly
over it all. And if Amy had any more horrific ideas, I would be saying a big
fat ‘hell no’ to them. I scoffed looking in the mirror—this is what happens
when you are socially isolated. Any attempt to be normal and try and integrate
with society was a disaster, and hence the layers of foundation I was about to
wear to bed. Ugh.

It was way past midnight, the beat of the
jukebox from down below had stopped, and the hotel had been plunged into
silence. From the lack of foot traffic in the hall it was a guess that Amy was
staying at Sean’s again, and I was actually quite relieved. I didn’t need to be
interviewed right now, I just wanted to be left alone, hide out in this room
until it was time to go.

But just like anything you wanted, it was
usually not going to happen. An insistent series of knocks thudded on my door,
causing me to flinch, more so because it was unmistakable who they belonged to.

Oh shit.

My eyes darted around, searching for a
place to hide.

“Mel, open up, it’s Max.”

Like hell I would, I thought. Thinking I
would just sit silently on the edge of the bed. Maybe he would think I was
asleep and leave; no such luck as the door whipped open.

“Hey, what the hell?” I yelled, standing. “Get
out!”

Max shut the door behind him. “It’s my
room.”

I glowered, ensuring to casually sweep my
hair to the side to cover my neck.

“We need to talk,” he said in all seriousness.

“It’s a bit late for that,” I said.

“Why?”

I sighed. “As in literally late, do you
know what time it is?”

I really just wanted him to leave. I hoped
the dim lighting of the bedside lamp was enough to disguise my hickey along
with the inches of foundation and hair.

“I just want to ask you something.”

Oh great, questions, incriminating,
embarrassing questions, and now I was oh-so defiant, to be truthful; how the
hell was I supposed to answer them? How was I supposed to look into his
beautiful face and not want to break down with the immense frustration of
knowing that he would always be the boy to love from afar, that I had so
completely and utterly destroyed any hope of anything more, that I would leave
Onslow with him thinking I was this crazy, pathological liar.

“What?” I gritted, just wishing he would
just go, leave me be.

So when he actually asked me something so
completely unexpected I did a double take.

“Are you okay?”

Huh?

“You don’t have to look so shocked.”

I closed my mouth that was slightly ajar. “I
guess you don’t expect bad boys to be nice, that’s all.”

Max smirked, his eyes flicking down in a
coy moment I had never seen before. “Oh, I’m not, you were right. I’m
painstakingly good; it’s quite infuriating.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that. Being
good, I mean.”

Max stepped closer, causing my heart to
pound so dangerously fast it was robbing me of breath, just like he did anytime
he was near me.

He stopped before me, his eyes looking
unapologetically down into mine. “You know what? I think being good is
seriously underrated,” he said, a ghost of a smile spreading across his lips
and a wicked glint in his eyes. I don’t think he was playing, at least I hoped
he wasn’t. There was only one way to find out, to sort out exactly if he wanted
to be here because he actually wanted to, or because he wanted to find out the
truth; well, I was going to make it easy.

“Max, there’s something I want to tell you.”

He gently lifted his finger to my lips. “Don’t,”
he said before slowly lowering his hand.

“But I want to—”

“I don’t care.” His words cut me off,
shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter … not tonight.”