Strike (2 page)

I move my other hand over hers, and rub my thumb over her knuckles. “I won’t lie, April. You’re beautiful. Don’t shoot the messenger.” She rolls her eyes, then lets out a long breath through her nose. I give her hand a gentle squeeze. “Come on. Tell me something about you.”

She slides her hand out of mine, and tucks her long hair behind one ear.

“My mother wanted me to be a ballerina.”

I resist the urge to zoom in on her A-grade cleavage, because I know for a fact I’ve never seen a ballerina with a pair of tits like that.

“So, are you one?”

She laughs, like I’d imagine an angel would, sweet and melodic. “God no. I don’t know what you know about the ballet, but typically ballerinas don’t have boobs. I had trouble finding outfits that didn’t make me look like a chorus girl. Not a good look. Besides, I’m more of a tomboy, and tomboys don’t do tutus.”

I let out a low chuckle. I imagine she’d look more at home in a pair of steel-capped boots. I’m sure she’s wearing boots now, although I don’t wanna stick my head under the table to check. Or maybe I do.

“Bulimia seemed to go with the territory. I couldn’t starve myself. I love my food, but most of all I couldn’t pretend to love something I didn’t.”

Ain’t that the truth
. “Yeah, I get that.”

“So what’s your issue? Everyone has one. Is yours a mother or father issue?”

Not the kind of question I was expecting. “Father.”

“What’s the deal there?”

“Family business. I’m expected as the only son to take over. Finance is growing on me, but I just don’t know if I can do it for the long haul. It’d crush my Dad if he knew the way I feel, let alone what it’d do to him and the business if I left.” And the reality is, I don’t think I could do it.

Why the hell did I just blurt that all out? Whatever possessed me, it kind of feels … good to vent. Even if it is to a complete stranger. Maybe that’s why it was so easy. I’m not about to go blurting out about riding, though. When girls find out about I’m a professional motocross rider, that’s when they go silly. Although on first impression, I don’t think April would have silly in her. But I’ve been wrong before. Very wrong.

“Do you ever get the feeling sometimes you live your life to please other people?” I ask her, hoping for an honest answer.

“I used to, Spencer. Not anymore. I learnt a long time ago to do things for me. It took a few life lessons though.”

She turns over her wrist, and moves her hand towards me. A tattoo on the inside of her wrist, in black cursive writing simply says ‘free’.
Nice
.

“When I realised that, I got this as a permanent reminder.”

Unable to stop myself, I run my finger over her inked skin. She shivers with the touch, but lets me continue.

“I like it,” I say, my voice low and hoarse. “Do you have any more?”

She leans in closer. “Yeah, but before you ask,” she whispers, “I can’t show you here without getting arrested for indecent exposure. Besides, we just met.”

I groan low in my throat, imagining all the little places she could mean. I now have a new quest in life—to have April splayed out, buck naked on my bed, so I can personally inspect those damn tattoos.

The same blond-haired waitress comes to our table, rudely interrupting my wicked thoughts. Regretfully, I take my hand from April’s wrist. The waitress places an empty plate in front of each of us, and one small dish with food in the middle. She gives me the once-over, and then looks to April.

April’s eyes light up, like she’s been delivered a gold bar on a plate. “The pork belly here will change your life,” she says, batting her long eyelashes at me and smiling. She serves some on my plate, and then her own.

It’s not the pork belly I’m worried about changing it. I clear the lump in my throat, and try to think of something intelligent to say.

“Looks good.” That’s all I’ve got. She’ll think I’m a dumbarse.

I’m still staring at those lashes. And the tiny freckles dotted over her button nose and across her cheeks.

“For a long time I was always trying to please someone.” She frowns, and I wonder exactly who she means. “But finally, at twenty-five, it’s all me.”

I’d thought she was pretty much that age, but damn it if I was going to ask. Most girls hate to reveal their age. I still don’t get why.

I take a small piece of the pork belly, and the soft, deliciously sweet meat melts in my mouth. “Holy fuck, this is good.”

“Told ya,” she says.

“How come I haven’t seen you ‘round the neighbourhood before?”

“That depends. Where do you usually hang out?” she asks, and I watch her lick her finger after swirling it in the remaining sticky Asian sauce on the plate. Why’d she have to do that in front of me? Now my brain wants to concentrate on my dick rather than the conversation I am
trying
to have.
Get with it, brain. I’m trying something new here!

“There’s a few clubs and bars ‘round here. I usually go out a couple of times a week … if I’m around.”

“That’d be part of the reason. Aside from my girly night, I don’t go out much. As I said, it’d been a while. I’m not big on clubs as a place to meet people. Generally the kind of people I want to meet aren’t there.”

“Are you making a generalisation about people who go to bars and clubs?” I frown, and wonder if she’s having a go at me. I don’t need her to tell me some of those joints are seedy, and typically I know the kind of woman I’m gonna find there. Most of the time, that’s the point.

“No, I’m not. Each to their own, but call me crazy, I find a conversation is a good way to get to know someone, not yelling at the top of my lungs while a bunch of pissed blokes grope you while you get a drink.”

“Fair call.”

“Besides that, I’ve been travelling overseas for the past year for work. I’m a photographer. I’ve not long got back.”

“Photography. Cool.” Sounds interesting. I would have pegged her to be into something like that. She seems the artistic type.

“Yeah, I love it. I’ve been lucky enough to travel the world and get paid to do it. Have you travelled much?”

“Yeah, the States, bit of Asia, but I’m keen to do a tour of Europe.”

Another dish replaces our empty one: a plate of crispy chicken wings with slices of red chilli and shallots sprinkled over the top.

“Mmm,” she mumbles. “I hope you like chilli, because these suckers are hot. Sorry, I ordered mainly finger food, so I hope you’re prepared to get dirty.”

“I’m prepared alright, as hot and as dirty as you want.”

Chuckling, she squirms in her seat, rubbing her leg against mine. “Don’t take my thoughts there, pretty boy,” she says, pointing an accusing finger at me.

“Why not?” Is she sitting there thinking sexy shit about us, because damn it if I’m not doing that myself.

“Never mind,” she says. The corner of her sweet mouth curls to the side. She picks up a chicken wing, and takes a bite. I probably should do the same rather than just stare her while she eats.

She picks up a napkin and dabs at her lips. “So, where’s the most amazing place you’ve ever been?”

“Mmm … I went skiing in Japan, that’s definitely gotta be up there. What about you?”

“Last year I went to Pamplona in Spain … went running with the bulls.”

She did fucking what? She says it like she’s telling me what she had for lunch. Like it was no big deal. Not even I would have the balls to do something like that.

“You’re shitting me,” I breathe, putting my wing down on my plate before I take a bite. Beautiful and ballsy. I’m thinking I’ve just found my new type of girl.

“Close to the biggest rush of my life. Came close to one of the suckers too.” She giggles, and shakes her head. “You never know how fast you’re capable of running until one of them is behind you. It was complete and utter chaos. With the crowd cheering and runners screaming … my heart was thumping so hard in my ears it almost drowned out everything else.”

“I can’t believe it … Be fucked if I could ever do something like that.”

“Life’s too short to sit on the sidelines.”

She’s right, and I’m far from doing that, it just sucks to have my parents to remind me at every opportunity what I should be doing with my life.

“Yeah, I agree. So what did your parents think of you doing that?” There is no conceivable way that my folks would ever let me do something like that. Even at my age. I’m too precious a commodity for the CJ Capital ‘empire’ to continue.
An empire I couldn’t care less about.

“My dad had done it himself back in the day, so he understood why I had to do it.”

What kind of family had she come from? Ballerinas and running with the bulls. Fuck me.

“Oh, and the La Tomatina festival in Bunol, Spain, was pretty cool. Twenty thousand people from all over the world, smashing tomatoes. Needless to say, I went off tomatoes for a while after that.”

I saw footage on the news about the last festival: guys with their shirts off and girls wearing white soaked from head to toe in tomato juice, wildly wrestling in the streets. I bet there were some mad orgies that followed. I wonder if that’s her scene. If I had her, I’d be damned if I’d share her with anyone else.

“Come on, eat up,” she says, and I realise I must have been staring.

I take a wing, and the chilli zings like a bitch on the tip of my tongue. I grab the water glass and gulp it down, but it does little to soothe the burn. “You weren’t wrong about hot.”

“Aw, too hot for you, huh?” she says and laughs.

“Nope,” I say, trying to strangle the cough in my throat.
Yes it’s fucking hot, but I’m not telling her that
. “Let’s get some wine or something to wash these down.”

“I like beer with wings,” she says, and picks up another wing.

Beer. She drinks beer. Not a girly pink drink, but beer. Is there anything about this chick I won’t like? She licks her fingers, but this time she’s teasing me. She must be. My dick sure as hell thinks she is. I get the attention of the waitress and order two beers.

“So obviously no girlfriend?” she asks, and blinks a few times in quick succession.

“Nope.”

At twenty-seven I’d barely had anything you’d call a proper relationship. The longest was three months and that was a
long
time ago. I’d been so used to playing the field, always presented with a smorgas-board of beauties. I was always moving onto the next one in line. Commitment was scarier than anything. Especially with the girls I’d had involvement with.

“What about you. No boyfriend?”

“Not anymore.”

“What’d ya do to him?” I blurt out, and then wish I could stuff the words back where they came from.

“Why would you assume it was me?” she snaps.
Fuck, I’ve overstepped the mark here.

I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “I dunno, just thought maybe he couldn’t keep up with the bulls … or you tried to kill him with chilli.” Hopefully that’ll smooth things over. I don’t know what she thinks I’m assuming. I don’t even know myself. I should just keep my mouth shut and let her do the talking. Might keep me out of trouble.

“Let’s just say he was one of the ones I was trying to please, but I ended up getting bitten on the arse.”

“Bitten in a bad way, then.”

“Yeah, not in the way I
usually
like,” she says softly.

Now I have a visual of just that. I’d like to bite that neck of hers, and keep moving south. I could bite her wherever she wanted. She wouldn’t have to ask me twice.

I crook my finger. April moves in closer, and draws her bottom lip between her teeth. The light above us casts a spotlight on the soft skin of her delectable cleavage. This time, I don’t care if I get caught staring at those puppies.
And now, I’m hard.

“You need to stop teasing me, April, otherwise I’ll have to take you to the back seat of your car.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try,” she scoffs.

What did that mean? That she wouldn’t give me the opportunity or does she think I wouldn’t have it in me? I could take her, anywhere she wanted, but at this rate, my ‘performance’ would be over as soon as it started. This girl is making me hornier than I’ve been in weeks.
Is it the conversation?

“We’re just talking, Spencer. Try and keep your shit together.”

I shake my head and laugh. “I’ll try.”

The waitress brings another dish, with ribs covered in a dark glazed sauce that gleams under the overhead light. How does she stay so slim eating food like this? Did she order it thinking it would be more my style or is this
her
style?

“Ah, the ribs,” she says, rubbing her hands together. Her grin grows wide across her face. “Shit’s about to get messy.”

I laugh out loud, and pick up a rib. I like this girl.

We talk for a while about our travels and adventures overseas. I can’t say I’m not jealous of the stamps in her passport. I enjoy watching her lick every last drop of sticky rib sauce off her fingers. A little too much.

“Do you want another beer?” I ask, hoping she’ll stay longer. She’s looked at her watch a few times now, so I’m not overly hopeful.

“Nah, I’m going to have to go, sorry. But thanks.”

My disappointment slaps me in the face. Hard. Then it kicks me in the guts.

“Surely you can stay a bit longer?”

“I’d love to but I’m supposed to send off some shots tonight for a magazine proof.”

“Okay,” I mutter.

Is she trying to get rid of me? Surely I didn’t come across that bad. I could’ve really turned on the charm, but instead I actually toned it down. I just enjoyed talking. It’s been … different. I’ve been more myself with April than I have with anyone else in quite a while.

“I’d like to do this again, April. Why don’t you give me your number?”

She eyes me suspiciously. “Nah … I don’t think so,” she says.

“Why not? Don’t you trust me?” I give her a smile, the one that usually has girls melting in their seats. It doesn’t seem to work as I’d hoped.

“No, it’s me I don’t trust.” She sighs, as if waging some internal battle. Whatever happened with her ex, it’s obviously scared her off having a new relationship.