Strike (6 page)

“April, I’d be doing that anyway.”

“Ha ha,” she mocks. She tries to take the tea towel from me, but I snatch it away.

“Let me clean it up.”

“Sure,” she says, leaning back against the counter, her hands on her hips.

I carefully dab at the stain with the wet towel. She pushes her chest out to me, which is expanding faster than it was a moment ago. When her tongue darts out and wets her bottom lip, I can’t stop myself from pressing up against her. She moans as she pushes her hips into me, dropping her hands to her sides. The bulge in my pants is once again obvious to the both of us.

“Spencer,” she breathes, my name on her lips like sweet music to my ears.

I drop the towel and lean into her neck, and momentarily drown myself in the sweet blossomy smell of her skin.

“April,” I say softly, running my lips up to her ear before sucking on the lobe. I continue dotting kisses around her jaw, and then press my forehead against hers. I try and control the racing of my heart by taking slow breaths. I need to keep it together. “You need to set the pace, April, because I’m about to lose it and take you on the kitchen bench.”

“You’d need to clean it first,” she says and laughs. She takes my face in her hands, and gazes into my eyes. “Make it through dinner, and we’ll have a bit of
fun
later.”

“Fun?”
What the fuck kinda fun?

“I need to get changed. Come on, you can look at some of my shots while I do.”

I follow her into another hallway, with large prints hung along both sides. The first one is a close-up of a skydiver, just above the clouds in first light. It’s an amazing shot. Is it of her? It’s hard to tell with the goggles and shading. She skydives. She must. Fits with everything else she’s told me.

“Is this you?”

“Yeah, I took that with my trusty wrist GoPro. It was in Le Marche, Italy, just near the Adriatic Sea. One of the best jumps ever.”

“You’ve jumped more than once?”

“Yeah. One of my earlier obsessions.”

“Fuck. I’m not bad with heights, but I don’t think I could do it.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing. Can’t beat the rush.”

We take another step, and there’s no mistaking the next shot is definitely April, drenched and standing in a pool of red with masses of bodies frolicking around her.

“That’s from the tomato festival, in case you were wondering what I’m covered in. Waterproof casing certainly held up that time.”

The large frames are solid black with a rounded edge and textured design, and the angle the stark white inserts are cut at, really brings the photos to life. “Yeah, I get that. Where did you get the framing done? They look awesome.”

“There’s a little framing shop around the corner. The right frame really brings photos to life.”

Read my mind, why don’t you?

April walks off to the end of the hallway, presumably to her bedroom. She doesn’t bother to shut the door.
Tease
. I walk along the hallway to look at another photo, but a flash from the mirror in her room draws my eye. I move a little to the right and it gives me a front-row seat to April getting undressed. My feet frozen in place as the mirror reflects her from behind, I watch as she lifts the dress over her head.

Lace. My kryptonite.

She’s wearing a white lace bra and G-string, and her perfect tan extends over that firm arse. Does she sunbake in the fucking nude? I know that’s no spray. I’ve seen the orange glow more times than I care to remember. But a real tan, it’s delicious.

She leans over and picks up something black off the bed, and I have to remind myself to breathe. I should stop looking. I’m only torturing myself. She’s hasn’t told me she’s ready yet, but I’ve never been more so. She slips something over her head, smoothing it down over her hips. It’s a casual dress, like a tank top but longer, the hem resting halfway down her thigh.
Nice, I still get to see those legs.

“Have you lived here long?” I choke out, trying to divert my nasty thoughts.
I have to make it through dinner.
I turn to the next photo, and it’s an action shot of her running with the bulls. I still can’t believe she did it. Maniac.

“I bought it about five years ago. Best investment I ever made.”

She walks into the hallway, and then looks back at the reflection from her room.

“Hmm,” she mutters. “Did you get a good look?”

“Not really. You didn’t change everything.”

“Keep up this broody thing you’ve got going on, and I’ll have to change my underwear.”

Wet panties
. Fuck, I need to think about something else. She’s killing me.

“Dinner nearly ready?” I ask, swallowing the lump lodged in my throat.

“Just about,” she says, swiftly kissing me on the cheek and taking my hand in hers.

When I get closer to the next photo, I have to stop. Her arm is extended like she’s taking a selfie, probably the GoPro again. April is covered in mud, wearing a tiny black crop and tight shorts, her taut stomach beautifully bared. Every delectable toned inch of her upper body is on display. The only bad things about the shot are the two buff guys beside her. One is kissing her on the cheek, and the other has his arm wrapped around her shoulders and he’s smiling like a lunatic. Whoever they are, I instantly hate them.

“You don’t mind getting dirty, do ya? Where’s this?”

“Tough Mudder in Scotland last year,” she says and smiles as she focuses on the print.

“Is there anything you won’t do?” I ask, dumbfounded by the courage and guts of this girl.

“Mmm,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “Knitting. I don’t have the patience or the headspace for that shit.”

I laugh out loud. “I’ll remember not to ask you to knit me a sweater, then.”

She winks. “Deal.” April squeezes my hand and pulls me into the kitchen. “Time to eat.”

****

Seeing April work her way around the kitchen is a different experience entirely for me. A date. A beautiful girl cooking me dinner.
A first
. Of course, I’m beginning to realise that she can make anything look sexy. She tastes. She seasons. She tastes again, and makes these little yummy noises that make me want to eat
her
instead of the damn paella.

April pushes aside jars of spices and a chopping board covered in onion skins and discarded vegetables to make way for another mixing bowl on the bench. A metal spoon falls from a neighbouring dish, and clangs on the floor. She picks it up, and tosses it in the sink, which is overflowing with bowls, plates and cups.

This kitchen should be determined a natural disaster zone. I don’t cook, really, so I have no clue, but is it always this messy?

“Do you want me to help you clean up or something?” I ask, not knowing where in the hell I’d start.

“We’ll eat first, then see how we feel. I don’t wanna waste our time doing dishes.”

Sweet. Me neither. Not when there are
other
things I’d rather be doing.

“Sure,” I say.

I look over to the small dining table she’d set up with cutlery and wine glasses.

“I’ll make myself useful with the wine, then.”

“Good idea. Sit down, I’ll bring dinner over.”

I pour us each a glass of red and sit down. April places the bubbling paella dish on a heat mat in the middle of the table. She wanders off and returns with two shallow white bowls and a serving spoon.

“Dig in,” she says, smiling proudly as she hands me a bowl.

“After you,” I say. What, am I trying to be a fucking gentleman now? Usually acting less than gentlemanly gets me what I’m really after.

April serves some on her plate, and then on mine. I don’t wait long before I take a mouthful. The flavours all sing in harmony on my tongue.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

“Is that a good fuck or a bad fuck?” she asks, tilting her head.

“Definitely a good one. This is … oh, God … it’s like heaven in my mouth.”

She laughs out loud. “Yeah, it’s not bad, huh?”

“No, you’re an amazing cook.”

“Yeah, I’m just that awesome,” she says and chuckles before wrapping those lips around her fork.

This girl gets closer to perfect every time I see her. She can cook. Not just anything, but a mouth-watering, hard-on inducing paella, with a variety of different seafood cooked to perfection. I’ve been to practically every high-end restaurant in Sydney and this is unbelievable.

Our conversation comes to a standstill while we eat, but every now and then I freeze, and stare at April as she indulges me with varying degrees of yummy noises. I swear sometimes it’s like I’m doing rude things to her instead of just eating dinner.

We eat, and talk some more as the wine goes down a treat. When we’ve eaten enough, April orders me into the lounge room. I refill our wine glasses and take them with me.

I melt into her plush sofa, after having perhaps one wine too many. Red wine seems to send me into a more relaxed state than anything else I drink.
Or maybe it’s the company.

April sits a plate of chocolate-coated strawberries on the coffee table and sits on the end of the sofa, swinging her legs over my lap.

Fuck yeah. Time for dessert. And I couldn’t care less about bloody strawberries.

“You should massage my feet. I’ve been slaving away all day, cooking for you.” April reaches for a strawberry, and runs it seductively over her lips before baring her teeth and taking a bite.

I look down at her tanned feet, her dainty little toenails painted black. A silver anklet clings to her delicate ankle. Sexiest feet I’ve ever seen. Not that I generally look at girls’ feet. It’s usually higher up their body I’m focused on.

“How can I say no?” I say. Taking the foot closest to me, I gently rub the pads of her soft feet, increasing the pressure as I get into a rhythm. She makes a low moaning sound as she melts back into the cushion behind her. “You can’t do that, April.”

“Do what?” she asks, blinking those long lashes.

“Make those noises. If you keep making them I’ll end up bending you over this couch.”

She laughs softly, and my chest suddenly squeezes tight.

“Sorry,” she says and presses her lips together. And I’m hard. Again.

“So have you always lived alone?” I ask, changing the subject.

“No. My ex-boyfriend, Todd, lived with me for nearly three years, but I prefer it on my own now. It’s just … easier.”

What kind of a fucking name is Todd? I bet if I looked up its origin it would translate to ‘dickhead’.

“Yeah, I agree.”

Although my reasons for living alone were mainly selfish. Mainly so I could bring home whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Luckily, financially I could afford to live alone. I had a flatmate for a while—a girl—but not surprisingly, that arrangement didn’t end well.

“What happened with him?” I ask, not particularly want to talk about him, but I need to know more about April so I can understand her. Women can be so puzzling, and I’m no mind-reader by any stretch.

She lets out a loud sigh, and snuggles in closer. “It started out well. I was only twenty-one and for some reason I thought the sun shone out of his arse. I thought he loved me, but what he loved more was the idea of me. He was basically a lazy slob, and I ended up supporting him while he went to uni. I put a roof over his head and fed the prick.”

“How come you stayed with him for so long?”

“I dunno. I’d never really had a long-lasting relationship before. I just thought what we had was what a relationship was like. Everyone says they’re hard work. When it comes to a lot of things I’m not a quitter, so apart from that, I guess I was trying to prove to myself that I’m not like
her
.”

“Who?”

Her whole body tenses. “My mother,” she says flatly.

“Oh,” I mutter, not knowing whether I should delve further. It’s obviously a sensitive topic. We sit for a moment in silence, April not offering anything else, so I try and move the conversation on. “Well, I’d say it’s a good thing he’s out of your life, then.”

I can’t believe the April I know, what little I know about her, would put up with someone treating her like that. I guess that’s why she wants to take this slow. It’s starting to make sense.

A mix of emotions run through her eyes. I take her soft hand and trace my fingers over her knuckles. Her gaze shifts to my hand, and she watches each soft stroke. I hope bringing him up wasn’t the wrong thing to do. I hope she’s okay. Maybe I should have just kept my mouth shut.

“I’m gonna come out and say it, Spencer. It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you, but I like sex. A lot. Todd wasn’t into sex like me, or so I thought, until I came home from overseas a week early and caught him mid-fuck with my best friend. Turns out he was into sex, just not with me. The two closest people in my life had been diddling each other behind my back, and I had no clue.”

“Shit,” I blurt out. I try hard not to picture it, but I can conjure that shit up in a millisecond.
Bet it was doggy-style.
“What’d you do when you caught him?” Is he in pieces floating around Sydney Harbour?

“I kicked his arse out, and threw his shit into the street. Not that the moocher had much. It was something I should have done a long time earlier, anyway. After that I decided to go back overseas.”

“So that’s when Sophie looked after your place.”

“Yeah. Going overseas was the best thing I ever did. I really let loose, but at the same time I learnt a lot about myself. One thing I know for sure is that I won’t be put second again. I won’t let someone drag me down with them.”

I can’t believe anyone would put her second. Girls like April are rare.

Suddenly I feel uncomfortable in my own skin. I’m an arsehole. As big as they come. I’ve treated girls a distant second all my life, so many I can’t even put a number on it. Some whose name I never even bothered to catch.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” I say crooking my finger. She moves in close, the corner of her pretty mouth curling at the side.

“Fire away,” she says, her voice dripping with sexy tones.

“I like sex, too.”

“You do, huh? I don’t think that’s much of a secret, Spencer. I already gathered that.” She raises her eyebrow, and chews on her bottom lip.