Where Sea Meets Sky (9 page)

But when I asked him about it, his answer was guarded and cagey, saying stuff about going home earlier than he thought. I didn’t press it. The invitation still stood and besides, now that I’d already gone out for a beer with Amber, I had no worries about us hitting it off. She’s quiet, but I can be, too, and I don’t think any silence between us would be awkward. She also seems to just be happy breathing the air. To say she’s easy to please is an understatement.

By the time I reach Murphy’s Gym, I’m irritated and sweating up a storm. The AC in my car, a piece-of-shit Suzuki, is broken and even with the sea breeze and the windows down, it’s not enough to cool the sweat on my brow. All the parking on the side streets is taken by beachgoers or people jonesing for Mövenpick ice cream. They often parade past the gym with their dripping cones of Swiss gelato, like visitors taunting animals at the zoo.

When I finally walk into the gym, I know I look buggered, my hair coming loose from my ponytail and going haywire with the humidity. It shouldn’t bother me since most people there are sweaty and red-faced, but Nick has always drilled it in my head how important my looks are in this industry. The prettier I am, the less body fat, the sleeker my limbs, the more work and money I’ll get. It’s pretty fucking ridiculous, because really, none of that has any measure on my physical fitness—I can kickbox most men, let alone women, into the next hemisphere. But I’m not naïve. I know how the world works.

I take in a deep breath and wiggle my left hand around. Funny how I can lift weights, grip bike handles, and block a punch, but the things that really matter to me, I can’t do. In life we adjust. After the accident, I adjusted.

Once inside, I’m met with the blessed burst of air conditioning. I smile into it, closing my eyes, finding my peace and make my way over to the front desk.

Nina, the receptionist, is glued to her phone and barely looks up at me. She doesn’t mean to be rude, but when she’s reading it’s hard to get her full attention and I know that she’s using a Kindle app on her phone.

“Busy today?” I ask her.

She still doesn’t look up but she shakes her head, her brown bangs skimming her eyes. “No. I think everyone is running outside.”

“It’s hot-as though,” I say, wiping my brow.

She nods absently. “Nick isn’t in yet.”

Well, that doesn’t surprise me.

“That’s cool, I’m just going do a set and see if anyone needs me.”

“All right. Ta.” And she’s back to reading. She’ll barely remember talking to me. “Oh right, Gemma?” she suddenly asks and I turn around in surprise. She is staring at me with vague interest. “There are people here looking for you.”

I frown. “Who?”

“Dunno,” she says with a shrug. “Some American and a bunch of Germans.”

My frown deepens.
What the—?

Before I press further, I hear the door to the gym open behind me. My heart starts beating fast for no reason at all and I wonder if I’m dehydrated.

I slowly turn around and am absolutely floored by what I see. If my good hand didn’t have such a death grip on my water bottle, I would have dropped it in some overdramatic fashion.

It can’t be
.

But the guy walking out of the gym and into the reception area is tall, toned, covered in tattoos and has a mess of black hair slightly spiked at the ends. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a plain black T-shirt and checkered Vans. He has a swagger that he knows about, killer lips accented with a lip ring, and stunning eyes. He doesn’t belong here. Not in this gym, not in this country.

And yet I’m smiling wide just the same.

It’s Josh.

How the hell is this possible?

How. The. Hell?

I am stunned. I can’t move.

Then he sees me and he stops, too. We lock eyes. There is fear and happiness in his. I have no idea what he sees in mine.

I barely notice that he’s with three other guys, but if it weren’t for them I’m certain the two of us would have remained statues, frozen to the ground, tongues tied but blood pumping. At least, he’s having that effect on me.

“Is that her?” one of the guys says in a mild German accent. He’s short but good-looking and very fit. Actually, they all look athletic, but Josh is the one who doesn’t give off the health and “good for you” vibes. He gives off the hot and bad for you vibes.

Except I know that’s not true. He may look like the quintessential bad boy, and he may have a bad boy’s skills in the sack, but when I was with him for that brief time, he treated me with utmost respect. It was a combo that had my mind and body in a tizzy for days after.

“Josh?” I find myself saying, surprised I can talk. “What the . . . what are you doing here?”

He smiles at me sheepishly, and for a moment he looks away, biting his lip. When he looks back, he is all charm.

“I guess ‘surprise’ won’t really suffice, will it?” His accent, combined with the deepness of his voice, is turning me into a puddle of goo. He and his friends walk over to me. He gestures to the short one. “Gemma, this is Tibald. That’s Michael and Schnell. Schnell is actually a lot more fun than he looks.”

I barely look at the other guys. I’m staring at Josh, still trying to make sense of what’s happening in front of my eyes. The memories of that night come flooding back like it was just yesterday. The feel of his hands, the stroke of his tongue, the brush of his lips. My mouth opens but I’m not sure what to say except “what the fuck?” Luckily, the guy he called Tibald comes forward and extends his hand.

“Nice to meet you Gemma!” he says enthusiastically, pumping my hand before taking his back and looking at it. “Nice shake you got there. Listen, Josh has said . . . well, not too much about you but what he has said has been very nice.” He shoots him a look over his shoulder. “I’ve been assuring him that he’s not too big of a stalker, but I suppose that’s up to you to decide. He almost didn’t come here today.”

Josh presses the back of his hand into his eyes and groans. I can’t help but smile, even though the word stalker is ringing in my ears a bit. He’s not actually here for me, is he? I mean, I know I invited him to New Zealand but he hadn’t taken it seriously at the time.

“So,” I manage to say and fumble for the rest of the sentence. “What—what are you doing here? I mean, it’s nice to see you.” Because it
is
nice to see him. Despite how weird the whole situation is, it is almost a relief to be staring at him again.

Josh glances at the Germans, who are staring back and forth between us like they’re watching a tennis match. “Hey guys, why don’t I go and meet you at the beach?”

Even the Schnell guy smiles.

“No worries,” Tibald says with a wink. I’m surprised they don’t all go “ooooooh” like a bunch of primary schoolers. They all give us a wave and disappear out the door. Now there is only Nina, who has abandoned her book and is staring at us with keen interest as she sips her bottle of L&P soft drink. She’s probably wondering what I’m doing with this guy who so doesn’t fit in here. I know she doesn’t care enough to say something to Nick, but I’m suddenly feeling on display.

“Want to go for a walk?” I ask him, gesturing to the door.

“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt your day, I just wanted to say hello.”

“You’re not interrupting,” I say reassuringly. “And like I’d let you say hello and just leave.”

“Well,” he says, scratching at his head, his expression bordering on a wince, “after the term stalker was just used, I wouldn’t blame you for running far away.”

I give him a wry look. “Hey, I can take care of myself.”

His eyes trail over my body and I can feel the heat in them. “I definitely believe you can. You’re looking good.”

“Sweaty and gross is preferable to purple-haired and drunk?”

“You know I’ll have any version of you.”

My stomach swirls, feeling peppery and light. His gaze is back to mine, holding me in place, and I’m captivated by the icy depths of his blue eyes. His presence is doing a million things to me—bad, unacceptable things.

Nick. I’m seeing Nick. I am with someone else. I shake some sense into me and shoot him a smile but Josh is already looking away, putting a subtle amount of distance between us. It’s probably for the best.

“Come on,” I tell him, touching him lightly on his arm. His skin is both soft and warm and rough, and I want to touch him again but I shouldn’t. I don’t. I walk to the door and open it. He follows and we step outside into the blinding heat.

“There’s a park around the corner,” I tell him, “Has a lot of shade.” I glance at his jeans. “You must be hot.”

He laughs, low and rich. “Yeah, I didn’t really pack for the whole summer thing. I was at least expecting a Vancouver-like spring. You know, rain and more rain.”

“Normally we do get nothing but rain in Auckland, but summer has come early this year.” I pause and notice I’m staring at him a bit too much. I turn my gaze to the street. “So, erm, what brought you to New Zealand? I mean, how did you find me?”

He clears his throat, sounding a bit uncomfortable. “Uh, well, I guess a few things we talked about, you know,
that
night, kind of resonated with me. It took time but I couldn’t stop thinking about just packing up and leaving. Going off on my own, someplace new. The things you said . . . I wanted to feel that, discover it for myself. You gave me a push in the right direction.”

I smile. I actually affected someone. It feels good. “And your job? You were working as a cook, right?” I phrase that as if I don’t remember every single thing I learned about him.

“I quit,” he says proudly. “I got into art school for the spring semester, so I figured it was as good a time as ever to quit and do something else, something more . . . rewarding? Something less shitty and life-draining, anyway. Still don’t know what, but at least being here buys me some time to think and figure it out.”

I feel a pang of jealousy over his art school. I shouldn’t—I should feel happy for him, and I am, but it’s a bit buried under the sharp stab of yearning. That should have been my future, not the one I was currently staggering through.

“Anyway,” he goes on, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t really have any plans except just coming here and hoping to figure the rest out as I went along. I didn’t think I’d see you again because, I mean, I don’t even know your last name. But then I met Tibald and his friends last night and they kind of made it their mission for me to meet you. We figured out where you worked and . . . well, here I am, ironically in
Mission
Bay.”

He’s smiling but it’s stiff. He’s unsure of how I’m going to act. I don’t know whether to let him sweat it out a bit or tell him the truth—that I’m flattered.

I go another route. “Wait, so it was their mission for you to find me? You wouldn’t have done it without them egging you on?”

He shoots me a look of surprise, his dark brows snaking together in confusion. “Oh. Uh. Well, you see I was more concerned about coming across as desperate and stalkerish.”

“And
are
you desperate and stalkerish?”

He suddenly stops. “No,” he says adamantly. He hurriedly runs his hand through his hair and looks away. “I knew it was a mistake to come here.”

“Hey, I’m just taking the piss out of you,” I tell him. I reach over and grab his forearm, giving it a squeeze. His muscles are firm beneath my touch, his skin sun-warmed. “Seriously. You can stalk me all you want.”

He glances down at my hand on his arm but he’s still stressing. “I just wanted to say hello. I didn’t expect . . . I don’t expect . . .”

I apply more pressure. “And I’m glad you did say hello. Really. It’s just kind of crazy, don’t you think? When did you get here?”

He smiles and I realize I have to let go of him now. It’s not easy, but I manage to do it.

I should tell you I have a boyfriend, though
, I think to myself as I take my hand back.
I should tell you I have a boyfriend, I should tell you I have a boyfriend
. Hell, Nick’s not really my boyfriend, he’s just kind of my . . . whatever he is. But Josh still should know, he should know.

But I don’t say anything. This is going to bite me in the ass very soon.

“I just got here yesterday,” he says. “Everything has been kind of a blur. We went out last night but I don’t really remember where. It was loud, though, and there were a lot of drunk douchebags in dress shirts.”

We reach the memorial park at the end of the road and walk over to an empty bench under the wide shade of a banyan tree.

“You were probably at the Viaduct,” I tell him, taking a seat. I wait for a moment, wondering if he’s going to sit next to me, how close he’s going to sit. I feel like I’m a hormone-frenzied teenager all over again.

He sits close enough that his thigh brushes against mine. I suck in my breath instinctively as he turns his head to face me. I’m needing nerves of steel here and I’m not finding any. Why does the urge to lean forward so that my lips touch his feel so palpable and impossible to ignore?

“Yeah,” he says throatily, his eyes resting on my lips. “That’s where it was. Terrible place.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “So what are your plans?” I’m almost whispering, like the strength has been squeezed out of my lungs.

The corner of his mouth lifts into a dry smile. He raises his brow. “I told you. I don’t really have any plans. My vacation is an open book from now until January thirteenth. It feels kind of nice.”

You know what else would feel kind of nice? Kissing him again. That would cure what ails me. I especially want to know what that feels like now that he has his lip ring in.

Tell him,
I think
. Say, I’m seeing someone
. The words are so close to coming out of my lips. I’m afraid if I don’t say it, I’m going to do something stupid, though probably not regrettable.

“You should come traveling with me,” I suddenly blurt out. “Me and my cousin. We’re taking Mr. Orange to the South Island.”

All right, that’s it. I’m not allowed to talk anymore.

His head jerks back. “Mr. Orange?”

I sigh, trying to compose myself. I said it and I can’t take it back. “My cousin, Amber, she’s from the States. She’s here visiting. On Wednesday we’re heading down to the South Island, going to spend the month tooling around there and then come up to Napier for Christmas, maybe the North for New Years. My uncle Robbie has lent me his old VW bus called Mr. Orange. It sleeps six. Got one of those pop-up bunks up top. Would be nice to have someone split the petrol money with us.” I pause, catching my breath. “You know, if that interested you.”