Out of Chances (8 page)

Indigo raised one eyebrow. ‘Look, I don't need a pity date. And I don't expect anything from you.' When the words were out she heard how harsh they sounded. She'd wanted him for ages, been to every concert, and now she was pushing him away. What was wrong with her? ‘Um, let me try that again. Why would you want to take me?'

Great, now she'd just handed him a platter so he could serve up her humiliation.

He considered her for a moment. ‘I'm single, my ex hates me and I don't really want to date anyone. I would, however, like to go to Ripley's performance with someone and I certainly had fun the other night.'

‘You want more sex?' She placed the other beer down and rang up the till.

No-strings sex with a rock star. That could be fun. No, it
would
be fun and it was exactly what she wanted.
Play it cool
.

‘You could attend events as my not-a-date date.' He smiled hopefully.

‘Like rock star type things?' She was going to hyperventilate.

He gave a half nod that could've meant anything. ‘We can have fun until we move on.'

That made her pause, as he was already admitting this wasn't going to go anywhere. It was a short-term good time. It was what she liked, but this time it chafed. Was she not good enough for more?

Her crystal clear lines were starting to smear and she didn't like it. It was because of who he was, that was all. She was being dazzled by the spotlights.

She shook her head and handed back his change, her fingertips brushing his palm for a split second. If she was seeing someone, it would get Maddy off her back and shut her up. Then she'd be lying to her friend.

She didn't want a fake boyfriend. She didn't want one at all.

And Dan wasn't offering to be one. She'd be rebound girl. All the fun without the ties and the drama.

Dan put his hand over his heart. ‘I'm a mess at the moment, my heart is bleeding all over the place. Don't make me beg. I'll never hear the end of it from him.' He indicated his friend.

Indigo glanced at the guy fiddling with his phone at the table. ‘What did you say to him?'

‘Nothing. I looked at you and he'd seen you looking at me and he joined the dots.' He placed his hand over his heart. ‘I'm many things, but I don't blab about what happens in private.'

She almost believed him. ‘I'll think about it.'

‘You have until Friday. Got a pen?'

She handed one to him, expecting him to ask for her number.

‘Can I borrow your arm too?' He looked at her hopefully. His blue eyes bright and an almost smile on his lips. He held her wrist as he wrote his mobile number on her forearm in neat small numbers. His number was on her arm.
She was going to die.

‘You're enjoying this.' Her voice sounded a little too excited.

He glanced up as though caught off guard. ‘Yeah, I am.' He sounded surprised. ‘Thank you. I'd forgotten what it was like to have fun.' He gave her the pen and picked up the beers. ‘Call me.'

He gave her one last grin before turning away. Indigo looked at her arm. She quickly snapped a photo in case it rubbed off during her shift. He'd given her his number. She had Dan Clarke's number. Assuming it was his number and not a fake one.

No, it had to be real. He wanted her to go to the ballet on Friday.

She'd never been to any ballet. Kalgoorlie wasn't exactly culture central. Wait, what had he said about his friend performing? She stole a glance at the guys as she served another customer. Her boring little life was now intersecting with a world she had only seen in the gossip pages.

All the haters back home would die of envy.

But the question was who would get bored first? It had to be her.

Who in their right mind would throw him out of bed? She couldn't think of a single reason. Which was a really good reason not to call him.

Chapter 7

Thursday morning, after checking out the band's social media and Dan's separate accounts—researching, not stalking—and deciding she would be throwing away a chance of a lifetime if she didn't call him, Indigo sent him a text message. She wasn't quite ready to call him.

What should I wear tomorrow?

If he'd given her a dud number there was no harm in that message.

From what she'd seen, the band was gearing up for a new release and the making of the clip. She'd have a front row seat and she'd be getting laid on a regular basis. It seemed like a win/win situation. Which probably explained why she was so hesitant.

Nothing went her way.

Nothing was ever this good.

Nothing this good ever lasted.

At some point there would be a price to pay. There always was, but she didn't know what it would be or when it would come. She hated not knowing things like that. How was she supposed to make an informed decision?

Something nice. I'll pick you up at 6

Define nice. What were the parameters of this event?
No dinner

No dinner, this isn't a date

Good. At least they both knew that. She sent him her address and hoped she wouldn't regret it, then she pushed him out of her mind and got ready for her day job. Two classes and then a private PT session before lunch. After that she got to meet with the plastic surgeon for the first time.

And she still had to arrange a shift swap for Friday night at the bar, but that shouldn't be too hard as one of students would want the extra money. She paused. She was blowing off a shift for Dan. She hadn't been willing to do that for her sister.

This was one shift, not a whole weekend, and VIP to the ballet was very different to going to Kalgoorlie. What if he saw she was little more than a country bumpkin pretending she was city chic?

She blew out a breath. He just wanted someone pretty on his arm. He'd basically said that. He wanted her on his arm. She swallowed down the doubts as they surfaced. He'd asked her because she'd been there. And because they'd had sex and he knew she'd put out afterwards. She shut off the nagging voice that said she wasn't good enough. He'd asked because he knew they wanted the same thing … at the moment.

How nice was something nice for the ballet? She glanced at her wardrobe. Nothing too short. Nothing too shiny. Little black dress with red heels? Was he expecting black heels and pearls? Crap. She had no idea what the etiquette was.

‘Keep it classy, Indy.'

There were some who would argue that she wouldn't know class if it bit her on the ass. They were probably right.

Her meeting with the doctor was kind of surreal. There was more to increasing the size of her breasts than putting in a blob of silicone. Behind the muscle or in front of the muscle, shape, texture and where to place the incision. The easy bit had been trying on the bra to get a feel for the different sizes and what they'd look like on her. It was very different to wearing a padded bra, or even going up a size by slipping in what she lovingly called her chicken fillets. They looked a bit like chicken fillets but were silicone bra stuffers that were a cheap temporary solution she used when going out. She didn't use them at work—if one fell out she'd be mortified.

The post-op pain and the time she'd have to take off work were also a bit more than she'd expected. She'd to save up more than she'd thought. At least another six months of saving. If she had a desk job it wouldn't be such an issue.

The nurses there had all had implants and they had all said that she could easily go to a D without it looking unnatural. As she'd stood there, looking in the mirror with the try-me-out-bra on, she'd her first doubts about the process.

They would have to be replaced every eight to ten years. That meant that if she lived to eighty she'd be committing to major surgery at least six times. That meant saving up and taking time off work six times.

At home she had checked herself out again. She turned to get a better look in the mirror as she got ready for the ballet. She had breasts. They were small, but nicely shaped. What if she decided to have the implants removed, what would her boobs look like then? She put on her bra and slipped in the fillets, upping her bust size. Was it false advertising, the way one guy had claimed?

The increase gave her clothes a better shape and made it look as though she had curves. She turned again, examining her body. A couple of the other fitness instructors had implants. She'd only discovered after she'd mentioned looking into it. They had all recommended it, had claimed it was well worth it.

Indigo wasn't sure. It wasn't that she was afraid of surgery or worried about the cost, although it was a major expense; she just didn't feel good about it. Maybe the nerves were natural. Fear was a good thing. She forced a laugh. It was right to be a little worried; after all, implants were more permanent than stuffing her bra.

There was still another appointment before the surgery. She had time to think about it, and only half an hour to get ready.

She quickly slipped on her dress and stockings, making sure that they were going to stay up. Should she have got a garter belt and done it properly?

No, this wasn't a date. Lingerie was not required. But she was wearing it because she was hoping tonight ended in sex. It had better end with sex.

With her hair painstakingly straightened and more make-up than she'd usually wear in a month, she hoped she'd pass as sophisticated. Or at least as though she belonged.

‘Please don't let me embarrass myself.' She picked up her shoes, the red and black pairs, and put them by the front door. Her bag was a small black number with just enough room for her phone and wallet. Her wallet was a ten-year-old denim surf brand that was well past its lifespan. She stared at it as though it was a traitor, letting down the whole charade.

She needed a new wallet. It was too late now.

Someone jogged up the stairs to her flat. Her heart echoed the footsteps. It was him.

Dan Clarke was about to pick her up. Nerves made her hot then cold. She was going to throw up. She ran to the bathroom but nothing came up. He knocked on the door and her stomach clenched.

It took several slow breaths before she was able to walk to the door. Another before she was ready to open it. She shouldn't be feeling nervous. It wasn't a date. They were … not friends … two people going to the ballet. Nothing weird at all.

They were strangers who'd had sex once.

While she'd wanted to see him again, she hadn't planned on it being like this.

Indigo opened the door.

Dan looked at her, obviously shocked. Had he not imagined that she'd scrub up okay?

‘Do I look the part?' She cocked her hip to the side, daring him to disagree.

He dared. ‘You straightened your hair.'

That was what he noticed? Not her bigger boobs or the dress or her lack of shoes. ‘I thought I'd better tame it.'

‘Oh.' He seemed disappointed.

Good job she wasn't dressing for him. Although not straightening her hair would've saved her half an hour in prep time. Next time she wouldn't bother. If there was a next time.

‘It looks good …' He went in for the save.

That made her smile. He didn't have to say anything nice, he wasn't her boyfriend.

He, on the other hand, was looking every inch the polished attendee. Suit, waistcoat, no tie. And his hair was perfectly styled, the way she was used to seeing him on stage. He looked comfortable, as though he did this every other day. She felt like a bogan playing dress-ups.

This was getting awkward, standing in the doorway. ‘Red shoes or black?'

He glanced down, as if only just noticing her lack of footwear. She wriggled her toes in the nude stockings.

‘I want to say red … but …'

‘Black it is. Better to be boring and safe than stand out for the wrong reasons.' She sighed and put one foot into the shoe, lamenting to herself that she wouldn't be wearing the red ones.

He reached out and put his hand over her wrist. ‘Red. I don't care about being safe and proper.'

She looked at him. He wasn't trying to make fun or get her into trouble. At least, she didn't think he was. No, it would only reflect badly on him if she screwed up. Her stomach bunched. ‘If you're sure.'

He nodded.

‘Do you have a thing for red shoes?

‘I think I might.' He frowned and watched as she put them on. ‘My ex … I don't think I ever saw her in coloured shoes.'

‘Or underwear?' The words tumbled out before she could think. Indigo bit her lip before more fell out. Dissing his ex in the first five minutes wasn't going to win her any points. She'd seen pictures of his ex. Dark hair, dark eyes. She looked like an Italian fashion model—with a degree.

His ex smouldered, while Indigo smirked.

His gaze lifted from her toes. There was no anger or hurt in his eyes. He thought for a moment. Then nodded. ‘She would rather be beige and fit in than be herself.'

‘Next time I'll leave my hair curly.' It was meant to come out as a little flirty but instead her voice was soft and made her sound as though she cared about what he thought. ‘Straightening takes too long.'

His smile returned, but she wasn't sure if he'd bought her hasty cover-up.

He offered her his arm. ‘Shall we go?'

It was then she realised she'd never invited him in. They'd had the whole conversation at the front door. Truly, she had no social graces. She grabbed her handbag and locked the door before wondering what to do with his arm. She hooked hers with his and hoped that was good enough.

Tonight good enough was all she was aiming for. Good enough that he wanted to do this again. She wanted a peek into his world—which was obviously about a million miles from hers. The moment she'd seen him in the bar she should've known that once wouldn't be enough.

‘So … aside from working in the bar, and at the gym what else should I know?' He glanced at her as he drove toward the city. That was really all he knew about her. That and she was a fan. He wanted to know who she was and what she did in her spare time, if she had any.