Authors: Ainslie Paton
Desk Jockey Jam (18 page)
“What do you think?” said Scott, but
not waiting for her reply. “You’re a good physical match and he does look the
part. Of course, you’ll have to do all the work, girlfriend, but assuming he
can at least do what he did then, we might be able to pull this off.”
Afterwards, Alex would wonder what
she’d said in reply; she was already thinking it might be better to abandon
this idea before it took on its own life and required her to re-organise hers.
He felt like he’d been hit by a
train.
The shock to his chest was palpable,
as though something steel hard and lightning sharp had ripped through him,
leaving him open and raw and aching hot with sensation. His jaw dropped, his
lids lowered, his breathing was suddenly laboured, and every muscle was tense
with anticipation.
And despite the impression that he’d
been shoved backwards at a great rate, staggering from the sheer force of the
impact, he was standing stock still, statue still, shop window dummy still,
just like he’d been told to.
He had no idea what just happened,
why it felt like there was fire in his fingertips and his blood was circulating
four times faster than normal, why he could hear bells ringing deep inside his
head…
Maybe he was sick, this was a stroke
or an aneurysm, come on suddenly with no warning and pushing him so far off
balance he was electrified. He needed Google to check for the symptoms because
maybe that explained his unexpected inability to speak or think clearly.
He had no idea how long Scott had
been talking at him, so obviously his hearing was blown as well. It was her
hand placed softly on his arm that brought him back, rushing back, and her
honey voice saying his name that snatched him into the present again.
He snapped his mouth closed and made
some sound, more a grunt than anything intelligible, and she turned away.
Shit, she thought he was a Neanderthal and he’d just proven it. He ran a hand
through the tangle of his hair and pushed a breath out, turning to look at
Scott.
“Can you do that again, caveman?”
“Ah...?”
“Don’t over-think it. You either
can or you can’t.”
“I don’t know what I did.”
Scott groaned, “You were perfect.
Who’d have guessed, straight out of the box, never been used. You just have to
do exactly what you did then and everything will be rainbows.”
‘Rainbows!’ What was this tool
talking about? He couldn’t do that again; he wouldn’t live through the
intensity of it. How was it she appeared so unaffected?
She was over by the stereo,
nonchalantly selecting the next track, her long dark ponytail swinging over her
shoulder, cascading across her elegantly slender neck. She had her
extraordinary pale amber eyes down on the screen, leaning forward slightly, a
delicious arch in her back, one long, well muscled leg in front of the other.
She looked real and natural, made of
ordinary flesh and bone, where only a minute ago she’d seemed entirely
illusory, like air, like desire given life in the form of an exotically
beautiful girl.
He looked at Mitch and Fluke,
sitting on the floor over against the mirror. They were both grinning at him
like circus clowns. They must have felt it too then, or seen her change form
and become something supernatural.
“Dan!”
“Sorry, Scott – what?”
“We’re going to do it again.”
“No, I...”
“Okay, take a minute.”
He glanced at Alex, now discussing
something with Scott, a bright smile animating her face. He might as well have
been insect repellent for all the impact he had on her. He shook his head to
try to clear it and walked across to the boys.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,
mate,” said Fluke.
“Did you see it too?” He heard how
utterly dazed and insanely stupid he sounded.
“Nope?”
“Mitch?”
“Nah, you’re the one got stung.”
“I don’t know what just happened.”
Mitch laughed, but not unkindly, and
jostled Fluke. “You’re in trouble, Dan.”
“But I haven’t done anything. I
just stood there like they told me to.”
“Yeah, you did something.”
Dan turned to Fluke, always the ‘go
to’ for tricky things. “What did I do?”
“I think you might have taken the
plunge, mate.”
“What are you talking about?”
“She’s the one.”
“What?”
“She’s the one.”
“What one?”
Mitch jumped in, “Some pissed off
angel in a nappy shot you in the fat head with a laser beam.”
“Be serious!”
“I am. She just hit you for six,
Dan. You’re gone.”
Dan looked at Fluke to verify the
emergence of this horror, both hands up as though to ward off the danger, to
bounce the dirty truth of it away.
“Yeah,” said Fluke, “Your dog days
are over bar how fast she tells you to fuck off and how long you stay depressed
about it.”
Ainslie
Paton is a corporate storyteller working in marketing, public relations and
advertising.
She’s
written about everything from the African refugee crisis and Toxic Shock
Syndrome, to high-speed data networks and hamburgers, and for everyone from
George Clooney to Barry Humphries—as Edna.
She
writes cracking, hyper-real romances about strong women and the exciting men
who love them.
She’s
the author of the bestseller, Grease Monkey Jive, as well as Getting Real,
White Balance and other stories.
Ainslie
blogs at:
www.ainsliepaton.com.au
and tweets when
she should be working @AinsliePaton.
You can buy other Ainslie Paton titles at:
www.escapepublishing.com.au
or
at
Amazon
This
story is for readers who enjoyed surfing through Grease Monkey Jive.
Blame
it on Rhian Cahill for suggesting it and the trusty BTA for agreeing it can
make like a grommet and have its own wave.
Special
thanks to Kathryn Pryor for expert beta reading, and Rebekah Turner, mother of
Chaos Born and The Chronicles of Applecross, for the fabulous cover art.
Hail
to the girls of the Sydney Roller Derby League and roller girls everywhere
.
You really rock
.
