Ringer (8 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Miranda

“Take. It. Off.”

Ringer stood before me
in nothing more than a black pair of footy shorts, thongs and my black cardigan
that was ridiculously stretched tightly over his muscles.

His brows rose as if he
didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. “Are you trying to get me out of
my clothes? Miranda, don’t embarrass me, your sister’s here.”

Moira snorted, causing
me to cut her an acidic stare.

Traitor.

I could feel my blood
boiling under the surface of my skin, or it could have been the baby oil frying
in the sun. No. Wait. It was definitely anger as Ringer stretched his arms
lazily to the sky, the base of my overly stretched, expensive cardigan coming
only to the top of his rib cage.

I pulled myself, rather
ineloquently, to stand before him, fuming.

“Take it off, you’re
stretching it.” I moved to grab him but he stepped away, his eyes confused
until they fell to my cardi.

“Oh, you mean this old
thing?” he said, pulling at the hem of it.

My glower deepened, the
urge to knee him in the nuts at the forefront of my mind eyeing his boyish
grin.

He looked down at me,
enjoying every minute. He stepped forward. “Do you want it?” he said lowly,
suggestively.

I cocked my head; I
wasn’t telling him I wanted it, knowing how that would sound, knowing that’s
what he wanted to hear.

Such a smart arse.

I let my silence and
murderous stare do the talking.

Ringer’s smile fell
away, but the devilish glint in his eyes remained.

“If you want it,” he
said, raising his arms up, “take it.”

I weighed it up in my
mind. Ten seconds of pleasure for a lifetime of torture, or even in this case,
at best a week or so of torture depending on how long it was until I got my car
fixed. I squinted at his smug face, his head tilted back, eyes closed, arms
stretched, as if to say, ‘I’m yours for the taking’. Oh, how right he was, I
thought, a wicked smile spreading across my face, as I stepped forward,
counting my losses one more time. A ruined top and further revenge, would it be
worth it? Before I could think it through, Ringer did the worst possible thing
he could have done: he peeked at me with one eye, his grin spreading even
wider, if that were possible. It was all I needed, as I reached out and with
all my strength pushed into his chest, sending him sailing backwards off the
jetty and into the dam; it was a large, violent splash that caused rivulets of
water to spray over me.

I dusted off my hands
and watched with immense satisfaction as Ringer resurfaced, clawing at the
water, coughing and spluttering.

“Seeing as you’re into
cross dressing, here’s a handy hint. That cardi is not tumble-dry friendly.”

Ringer eventually found
his feet, still breathless from the shock of the water. “Thanks, I’ll take that
into consideration,” he said, as he slapped at the side of his tilted head as
if trying to dislodge water from his ear.

My instinct was to run
like I had the night before, wary of a counter attack of sorts. Instead, I
didn’t feel like there was going to be one. Ringer was cool, calm, even
slightly humorous as a wry smile creased his lips as he peeled off my wet
cardigan.

“You did that, not me,”
he said, holding it up and chucking it onto the deck with a sodden splat.

He moved slowly,
eloquently for his tall stature and even though there was nothing particularly
threatening about his movements, it still caused me to take a step back. I was
ever watchful as he planted his palms on the jetty and hitched himself up with
ease. Now he wasn’t wearing anything bar footy shorts, the weight of my eyes
set on the muscled, taut curves of his slender frame. He was tall, lean, but
toned to perfection, his shoulders square and broad. I felt myself swallow and
then snapped out of my thoughts by a giggle from my little sister who was
watching me with interest.

“Are you going to be in
there all day?” I snapped. “You’re going to end up looking like a prune.”

“Hmph, never you mind
about me, go back and bake yourself stupid,” she said, kicking herself away
defiantly with her chin in the air.

I rolled my eyes,
turning to come up short and almost running into a wet torso, and flinching
back.

“Don’t stress, I’m not
going to throw you in, it’s too predictable.”

“So you’re just going
to tell me to watch my back, sleep with one eye open while you plot some act of
revenge on me?”

Ringer ran his hand
through his saturated hair, flicking the excess water away. “This may come as a
surprise to you, Miranda Henry,” he said, looking directly down at me, “but not
everything is about you.”

My mouth gaped. “I … I
never said it was,” I defended.

“You don’t have to,
everyone knows it’s the Miranda Henry show,” he said with a shrug, sliding past
me and pushing on his thongs that went flying off when he fell into the water.

I spun around to follow
him. “What would you know? You’ve been here, what, five minutes?”

“Well, let’s ask
someone who would know then, shall we? Hey, Moira, who’s the golden-haired
child in your family?”

“Shut up,” I warned.

Moira swished around on
her flotation device. “Ha! You’re standing right next to her.”

“Shut up, Moira,” I snapped,
grabbing for my towel and flicking it so violently over my shoulder Ringer had
to veer away to save losing an eye.

I was out of there. If
they wanted to assassinate my character they could do it without me, I thought.
I stormed up the jetty and made my way towards the shower block opposite the
shearers’ quarters. A nice cool shower to wash away the baby oil, and cool off
from my heated mood, was just what I needed.

***

I shampooed my hair
with vigorous, violent aggression. “Golden-haired child,” I mumbled under my
breath. “The Miranda Show” I mimicked in a bitchy, whiny voice.

I was so sick of it:
every corner I turned he was there, glorifying in making me feel paranoid, like
that at any moment he could drag me and turf me into a water trough with ease,
or making some kind of psychological assessment.

Well, fuck him.

I rinsed the last of
the soapy bubbles down my torso, watching them fall and circle into the drain;
I tried to use the symbolism of those bubbles with the aid of the cool water on
my shoulder blades as a way of trying to relax. Let the cool, soothing sprays
of the water let the tension melt and drain away with the bubbles; I titled my
head back and let the water flow back over my hair.

Bliss
.

It was working. With a
deep, contented sigh, I could feel myself letting go of all the rage, all the
tension, and it felt oh so go…

The shower in the next
cubicle twisted on. The clank of the pipes and the unmistakable whoosh of water
caused me to snap my eyes open and freeze in fear, as I suddenly heard the
unnerving whistles of … oh God.

Whistling turned into
joyous singing that echoed through the cubicles.

Lost in love and I
don’t know much was I thinking aloud and fell out of touch, but I’m back on my
feet and eager to be what she wanted …

I winced at the shower
wall.

Was he singing Air
Supply?

“You just give a yell
when you need your back washed,” he called out.

Even though we were
protected by the individual cavity of the shower cell, I still found myself
covering my breasts as my scowl deepened.

“What are you doing in
here?” I snapped.

“What am I doing in
here? What are you doing in here? This is the boys’ shower block.”

“Pfft, no, it’s not.”

“Oh, it’s communal
then, is it?”

“No.”

Fuck.

“Everything is an
argument, isn’t it?”

My knee-jerk reaction
was to reply NO. But then I stopped myself from engaging.

Nice try.

Instead, I slammed my
shower taps off and squeezed the excess water from my hair. This shower block
was definitely not big enough for the two of us.

“Just stay where you
are,” I called.

“Why, are you coming to
scrub my back?” he said.

“Ha! Not even with a
thousand rubber gloves on.”

“Well, that’s extreme.”
He laughed.

I opened my shower door
just enough to slide my hand out to reach for the towel hooked on the door, the
towel that wasn’t there.

Oh no-no-no-no.

I peeked through the
gap of the door and spied my towel sitting on the sink. I remembered now how I
had stormed into here, leaving my towel, shedding off my bikini and dumping it
all on the sink. The sink that was on the opposite side of the shower block.

Fuck-fuck-fuck.

“You need to leave,” I
shouted.

“Don’t tell me your old
man is a tight arse with water usage, is he?”

“No.” I glowered,
wrapping my arms around my torso, gooseflesh forming even in the humid shower
cavity.

“Well, I can’t leave
now until my deep cleansing hair conditioning treatment has been in for five
minutes,” he called back.

Oh my God, I hope he
was joking.

I was just about to
call him out on it when the shower taps were twisted off. It was then I really
felt the full weight of the situation. I was standing in a small confined space
with only a wall dividing us: the two very naked us. Ringer started whistling
his Air Supply tune again, as I heard him open up his shower door. I closed my
eyes praying that he would just leave and didn’t have some kind of cleansing,
toning, moisturising ritual he had to carry out after his shower.

“Hello, what do we have
here?” His bright upbeat voice echoed against the tiles.

Oh God. I had visions
of him leaving with my things, of leaving me stranded naked in the cubicle for
all eternity. Would anyone hear my screams? All of a sudden I felt hot and
claustrophobic, as I took deep breaths and fanned myself.

“Just … don’t … touch
anything.”

Deep breaths.

“What, like this?”

My beach towel was
flicked over the top of the door, it was the most beautiful sight I had ever
seen, and just as I was about to reach for it, it was pulled away with a
deep-bellied chuckle.

“RINGER!” I screamed.

Oh crap! Would I ever
learn? The ten-second joy was
never
worth it, not ever.

The towel appeared
again, and just as I reached for it, the same thing happened, this time the
laughter was louder and more out of control than before.

Fucking arsehole.

“Okay, seriously, I’m
just kidding, I won’t pull it away this time. Honest,” Ringer said through
barely controlled laughs; it didn’t inspire much confidence.

And sure enough, for
the third time it was flung over and torn away from my grasp. I sighed with
boredom. I didn’t have the energy to care or to feed him into baiting me.
Instead, I thought of a new approach. It would probably open myself up to a
whole new world of regret, but, hey, I had lived in Europe long enough to have
adopted some form of worldly confidence. I just had to channel that liberated
part of me that was buried deep, deep inside.

Oh my God, what was
I doing?

It was the only thing I
could think of in that very moment to do, and it wasn’t ideal, but if I were
quick enough, it would most certainly get my towel back. Before I had too much
time to think it through, I took a deep breath, lifted my head with pride, and
pushed open the shower door.

Chapter Fifteen

RINGER

Three times was
the limit, even I could admit that.

I was about to fling the towel over the
door for the last time, leaving it for her to snatch away from me, with a long
line of insults no doubt, so when, instead, the shower door flung open and I
was met with Miranda Henry in all her angry, naked glory, I almost slipped over
in my shocked effort to spin around so fast.

“MIRANDA!” I all but yelped as I clung to
the sink, turning my back to her, closing my eyes. “What the fuck?”

“I thought that might make you drop the
towel,” she said.

My eyes were squeezed shut, my hands
holding the sink with a white-knuckle intensity. I could feel my heart pounding
against my chest, and I felt like a fourteen-year-old boy spying a
Playboy
magazine for the first time. I went to say something, but I couldn’t think of
any smart comeback; my mind was mush, absolute mush. I had not expected that. I
was clearly in shock.

I dare not peek an eye open at the risk of
catching more flesh in the reflection of the sink mirror. As it were, I had the
vision of Miranda Henry’s breasts fused behind my eyelids. As far as flashbacks
were concerned it was a bloody awesome one, but I could feel myself going red.

Fuck! Blushing like a fucking girl.

Having only a towel wrapped around my own
nakedness, I seriously had to stop thinking about those visions if I didn’t
want to disgrace myself any further by pitching a tent. Christ, I had to
maintain some form of dignity.

“Are you a virgin, Ringer?”

“WHAT?!” I said a bit too high, my eyes
snapping open to see Miranda in the reflection, wrapped firmly in a towel,
running her fingers through her wet tendrils. Her brows raised in question, a
little smirk lining her mouth.

I turned to face her.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” I scoffed.

She shrugged, moving to stand beside me at
the sink, running a finger along her bottom lip as if applying some kind of
balm before fussing over her hair some more.

“It just seemed like you have never seen a
girl naked before,” she said.

“Oh, I have seen plenty …” I paused; okay,
that didn’t sound real good saying it like that. My brows narrowed.

“That’s none of your business.” I glowered,
moving away from her, making a line towards my shorts hanging on the back of
the shower cubicle.

God, I was pathetic, storming around
like a diva.

In one fell swoop Miranda Henry had managed
to unravel me, gaining the upper hand in the war by turning me into a
stuttering, blabbering fool. And what had I done? Played snatchy-snatchy with
her towel.

Brilliant!

“So you are, then,” she baited me. “Hmm,
how about that?”

Against my better judgment I laughed,
shaking my head. I wouldn’t take the bait; instead, I peeled off my towel and
flung it at her. It landed near her feet but she didn’t move, didn’t budge her
eye line from firmly forward as I pulled my footy shorts on, zipping them up.
Watching her with guarded amusement, I could see the stiffness of her shoulders
even when she was trying her best to seem casual.

I walked slowly over to her, bending to
pick up my towel from the floor, deliberately standing closely behind her as I
locked eyes with her in the mirror. I pinned her there with my gaze. She had
stopped fussing over herself and instead stood frozen; the only sign of
movement was the shallow rise and fall of her chest. I stood so close I could
feel the heat of her skin; I knew it was unnerving her, I could see it in the
way she latched onto the sink like a lifeline. My lips curved into a knowing
smile as I slowly but surely turned the tables around by simply eye-fucking her
in the mirror.

I half expected her to throw an elbow into
my rib cage, but she took it, she took every part of my gaze that licked every
part of her like a hot brand. It was like I was seeing her all over again, her
luminous silken skin. It wasn’t more than a glimpse at best, but it was enough,
enough to be burned into my memory for the rest of my days.

I leant into her, close enough for my lips
to graze her lobe when I whispered,

“Lock the door.”

“WHAT?” she croaked, her eyes all wide and
panicked as she spun around, looking up at me, swallowing deeply as her breaths
quickened.

A brilliant smile formed across my face,
revelling in her bewilderment. She had turned around but I made no movement to
allow her space, I let her mind race a million miles an hour before I spoke.

“Next time,” I said, flicking my towel over
my shoulder, “lock the shower block door, it will save you from deviants like
me.”

Miranda’s eyes darkened as she took in the
full weight of my words.

I mirrored her frown. “Why? What did you
think I meant?” I teased.

Miranda straightened her spine, scoffing.
“Who can ever know, you talk so much shit.”

She turned around back to the sink,
attempting with the cold shoulder, but I could see enough pink in her cheeks to
know exactly what she thought I meant.

My chuckle was the only thing that gained
her attention with a murderous snap of her greeny-blue eyes.

I made sure I held her gaze as a crooked line
tilted my mouth.

“Don’t worry, Miranda, if I was going to
fuck you, it wouldn’t be up against a bathroom sink.”

Her mouth gaped, my words causing her to
visibly flinch.

Miranda Henry speechless and furious was a
definite win for me, and I would wholeheartedly take it. Without giving her the
chance to gain any kind of composure, I gave her a parting wink and made my way
out of the shower block whistling, of all things, fucking Air Supply.