an excerpt from
Give Me Love
by Kate McCarthy
Chapter One
Performing the transformation into Rockstar Goddess was quite a feat. I’d be up for Heavyweight Champion in the Makeup Application Olympics if I managed to open my eyes under the weight of all the layers. The only other alternative was to look washed out under the bright lights of the stage, so I persisted with my efforts. Many nights performing on stage should have meant I’d perfected the process, but being a natural girl at heart, I still struggled to get it right.
The granite of the bathroom vanity was cool on my near naked form as I finished lining glue on the furry black eyelash, leaning close to the mirror to tack it on as quickly as possible. Time was escaping me, and Mac, my fierce and predictable best friend and roommate, would be busting down the door with impatience soon. I didn’t mind too much because I needed her to kick my ass into gear on a regular basis.
“Hurry up, asshead!” I heard her shout from outside the closed bathroom door. It was accompanied by a few loud thumps for emphasis causing me to jump in fright and attach the lash to my eyebrow by mistake. It wasn’t exactly the look I was aiming for.
“Macklewaine,” I complained loudly.
Mac took it as an invitation to enter because the door burst open hard enough for the knob to whack the back wall with a loud thud, making a dent in the perfectly painted plaster.
“Oh shit!” Apparently, Mac wasn’t anticipating an unlocked door.
I folded my arms and flared my nostrils but she just let out a snort of laughter at my expense.
At twenty-four, Mackenzie Valentine was the same age as me but far more beautiful than any one person needed to be. She was tough and direct, leaving me to believe that when God was handing out the looks, she not only jumped the queue, she muscled her way to the front in order to take more than her fair share. She was golden all over, from the shimmery blonde strands of hair to her luminous skin, down to the golden sparkle of polish on her toes. Her eyes were like green emeralds, and not a single blemish marred her perfect complexion. Love her or hate her, there was no in between for a person like Mac. In her defence, she had three older brothers, hence fierce determination wasn’t just a way of life, it was a matter of survival learned from the tender years of childhood.
When it came to appearances, the only thing Mac and I shared was height and shoe size, but considering the footwear collection she housed in her wardrobe, this made me a very lucky girl indeed. My hair was dark brown to her blonde, with highlights of caramel littering the strands from the sun. It hung down my back, almost to my waist, in waves of imperfect wildness. My skin was not golden but olive with a hint of rose, and my eyes were a dark chocolate brown. I wouldn’t ever call myself beautiful, constantly lamenting my nose was a little too wide and my lips not full enough, however, Mac always told me I had an inner radiance that drew people in, and with such a look of “smouldering sex appeal,” she felt prim and proper in comparison. I guess I could deal with that.
“What the hell happened to your face?” Mac said after she finished laughing at me.
I put my hands on my hips and glowered at her but the whole furry eyebrow look was ruining my attempts to look fierce. “You. You happened to my face. Everything was going fine until you busted in here like a fucking SWAT team.”
It wasn’t really going fine, but she didn’t need to know I was struggling or her impatience would reach even greater heights.
I turned back to the mirror and peeled the furry caterpillar off the neatly pencilled arch of my eyebrow. The eyelash was ruined now. Gluey dried clumps coated the surface. I leaned forward and began picking the glue remnants out of my brow. Dastardly stuff.
“You’re bathroom hogging again,” she complained, and I didn’t deny the obvious. It was taking me at least a year to achieve Rockstar Goddess status, but defeat and I were not friends.
Mac put the toilet seat down, sat on the lid, and began buffing the already perfect nails on her left hand while I picked at the glue. I watched her warily through the mirror as I began to re-apply a new set of eyelashes. Something was churning through her brain. I could feel the waves of it powering towards me like a tsunami. I waited for her to get to the point since she wasn’t known for taking winding side trips through the willows.
I raised a brow as I turned to look at her properly. “Can I help you?” I prodded, just wanting to get whatever it was over with already.
At my question, she tried to feign nonchalance, but she could never manage to get the expression right. Her eyes went a little too wide, and her shrug a little too exaggerated.
“I just got off the phone with Jared.”
Hearing his name made my heart pitter patter, and then plonk somewhere down in the vicinity of my toes. That explained Mac’s willow trip. Being direct on the subject of Jared hadn’t gotten Mac anywhere in the past. In fact, coming at me sideways on the subject of Jared hadn’t gotten her anywhere either. It was a no-win conversation as far as I was concerned.
I turned back to the mirror, finished tacking on the eyelash with smug triumph, and stepped back, doing some rapid blinks to make sure I hadn’t glued my eyes together.
Don’t laugh. I’d done it before. Granted, the emergency glue I pilfered from the shit draw in the kitchen probably wasn’t a good idea.
“Oh?” I replied back with an offhanded casualness that belied the churning of my insides.
Jared is Mac’s older brother by three years. Out of her three brothers, Jared is the one she is closest to, and of the three, he is the only one I look at and feel like time has stopped.
“He said he’s coming tonight to watch the band.”
I was about to burst out with “That’s not fair!” but wisely held my tongue. Tonight was an important night for us and required focus, not distraction, and Jared would be a distraction. Of that I was sure.
It was my band’s debut in Sydney tonight at the White Demon Warehouse, an uber cool venue to hear up and coming indie rock bands. This meant my stomach was already on the verge of dancing the twist and the slight tremor in my hands was making this eyelash attachment a nightmare.
I sucked in a few deep breaths. I could do this. I could.
I am a cool cucumber.
No, fuck that. I am Snoop Dogg. You can get no cooler than that.
Satisfied that one eye had achieved full Rockstar Goddess status, I leant forward to begin layering liner on the second eye. All the while, I could feel Mac’s eyeballs burning into my back, assessing my reaction to her words.
“Is that so?” I murmured, doing my best not to react.
She stopped filing her nails to gift me with a smirk, making it apparent that my lack of reaction was answer enough. Damn! I wasn’t good at game playing, and she knew me too well.
“Yes that’s so,” she replied.
I didn’t have the time or the inclination for a man in my life for important reasons. The first of which was that I had a career in the music industry as a lead singer in a band that was going places. Music wasn’t just my therapy, it was my life, and as long as I had that, I had everything I needed.
My band had been a family for six years; the four boys were like my brothers. We took it seriously, working long days—and even harder nights—and weekends, playing, creating, and evolving into what I chose to believe was a musical fucking force of nature that would eventually take over, if not the world, at least Australia to start. If we worked hard enough, it would mean months of travel—nationally and internationally—hours, days, and months of recording time, and if successful enough, we’d generate acres of fans and album sales. All of that so we could keep feeding our souls by doing what we loved most in the world.
“That’s nice,” I offered.
Besides music being my world, my heart had already been broken twice in the past, and I had no intention of revisiting that pain. Once by my ex Wild Renny and subsequently by my ex Asshole Kellar. Deciding that the third time was apparently the charm, I changed mid-stride and began dating dorks like they were my new religion. As long as they didn’t fit what seemed to be my type—tall, hot bad boy with the consistent ability to put my life in danger—I was safe. No broken heart there. I had needed to change my ways before I started university because my life was spiralling out of control based on my lack of ability to make good decisions.
I met Jared for the first time during my first year at university when he came to check on his little sister, my very new roommate and soon to be bff. After that, avoiding him became my new mission in life because by appearance alone, he seemed to fit my type. All I had to do was ensure that wherever Jared was, I wasn’t. Not an easy feat considering he was Mac’s brother and co-owned a business with my older brother Coby, but the fact that he lived in Sydney while I lived in Melbourne kept him at arm’s length.
The trouble now was the whole distance thing no longer existed since we moved to Sydney a week ago which placed me directly in Jared’s determined path.
I risked another glance at Mac through the mirror. She appeared distracted from her current topic choice and was now eyeballing my underwear with a narrowed gaze. It was a vintage blue and black lacy affair with a demi cup bra and little black bows and satin gathering that was both pretty and sexy and so expensive my purse gave out a feeble bleat of protest when exposed to the price tag. I’d only ventured to the shops to pick up milk and bread, but unfortunately that was when all sense went out the window.
“New underwear?”
I nodded because “This old thing?” never worked. She knew more about the contents of my wardrobe then I did. “I bought it yesterday.”
“Um, sorry? I thought I just heard you say you bought it yesterday.”
I cringed at the unhappy tone of her voice. What meditation was for some, shopping was for Mac. She didn’t mind doing it alone, but for some reason, if I shopped without her, I might as well just take myself directly to hell and save the time of waiting around for her to do it.
“We only moved to Sydney a week ago and you’ve gone shopping without me,” she hissed.
When I started putting the eyeliner on in a panic so I could make a quick escape, Henry, my other best friend and roommate, banged hard on the bathroom door to hurry me along.
I jumped again at the noise, eyeliner running wildly up my eyelid, and I wanted to scream in frustration. I’d never achieve Rockstar Goddess at this rate.
“Effing hell, Henrietta,” I screeched and tore open the door. “Can a girl not work her freaking Rockstar Goddess magic in peace?”
“Holy shit, Sandwich,” he muttered.
Sandwich was their nickname for me because of my surname Jamieson. Jam. Jam Sandwich. Now it was just Sandwich. It wasn’t really the best nickname, but you just had to roll with what you got because if you kicked up a fuss, you’d likely end up with something worse.
I pursed my lips as his eyes did a full body scan before finally resting on the eyeballs that were glaring back at him.
“Finished?” I asked tersely.
Henry had long since declared Mac and I as asexual beings, so I took his body scan as the insult it intended to be.
“Tonight’s theme is Tartmonkey?” he asked.
Did he think I was planning to hit the stage in underwear alone? Before I could open my mouth, Mac beat me to it, snorting from her seated position on the toilet.
“That’s rich coming from your manwhore status, isn’t it, Hussy?”
He burst out laughing. “What the hell happened to your face, Evie?”
I raced back to the mirror to see a mad streak of liner, not unlike another furry black caterpillar, trailing up my eyelid and over my brow.
Was the universe trying to tell me something about my eyebrows? I raised them experimentally and turned my head left to right.
“Fucksicles, the pair of you. I have to start over now.” I grabbed for a makeup wipe.
“What’s with you, Mactard?” Henry asked.
I gave Henry a warning look as I threw the wipe in the bin. It conveyed the message that Mac was on the warpath, and that it was too late for me, but save yourself.
Mac stood up to inspect her perfect make-up job for any flaws as she replied, “I’m stressed and need an outlet. I need shopping, I need chocolate, and I need alcohol. Any order will do.”
Mac is like Ellen Ripley of Alien, capable, fierce, and downright scary, but being our band manager, not even those attributes could shield her from the stress levels the job entailed. She had me to deal with, didn’t she? And if I wasn’t bad enough, there was Henry and Snap, Crackle, and Pop, our other band members, otherwise known as Frog, Cooper, and Jake: the Rice Bubble trio.
Mac became our band manager when we finished uni, having long since given up her lifelong dream to kick ass on the police force like her dad, Steve, and eldest brother Mitch. I think it was all fun in theory—hot bad guys, guns, shoot outs, hot bad guys—but she eventually realised that the whole premise of having to be an upstanding citizen put a crapshoot on that idea.
“Start with alcohol,” Henry ordered.
“There’s bubbles in the fridge. Get me some too, please,” I added.
“Me too,” said Henry.
Mac smoothed her already perfectly smooth golden blonde waves and vacated the bathroom, making sure to inform Henry that Jared was coming tonight before she left because Henry and Mac rode the same wavelength on that particular topic.
Who did the two think they were? The love fairies? I gave a snort as I re-pencilled my brow. The Laurel and Hardy duo was more their speed.
Henry smirked and got out his phone to start texting whoever. “Looks like your avoidance plan hit a snafu.”
“Snafu?” I snorted. “That’s something my Great Aunt Dottie would say.”
“You don’t have a Great Aunt Dottie.”
“If I did, she would say that.”
I finished adding the second set of eyelashes to my eye and blinked rapidly as Henry read a reply to his text with a faint smile.
Henry was the lead guitarist in our band and the ultimate pretty boy. A real live Paul Walker with his white blond hair and blue eyes, and left girls a bit tongue tied. Not me though. I’d known him since the age of five when he was a dirty little snot nosed grub. I got into a fight with Johnny in the schoolyard. I called Johnny a bumface (he’d looked up my skirt), and a shouting (him), name calling (me), hair pulling (him and me) match began. Our interaction had drawn quite the crowd by the time I got in his face and smashed my knee into his boy bits. Everyone laughed, as little kids do, in the face of seeing a bully go down, especially at the hands of a girl.
More yelling (me again) ensued and at that, Johnny’s friend came over and pushed me into the dirt. I heard a boy yell out and looked up from the pile of rubble to see a little blond boy leap onto the back of Johnny’s friend and pull him into a headlock. I got up and dusted off my hands, ready to jump into the fray, when our teacher Mr. Paul came racing over to pull everyone apart.
We bonded after the mayhem, and afternoons found us trading the guitar we’d bought together with saved pocket money back and forth, or driving our matchbox cars through little dirt tracks we had painstakingly dug out in the backyard. Mum hadn’t been impressed about that because we’d turfed up a fair whack of lawn, and after the Big Wet (it had bucketed down rain for two weeks straight) it left quite the mud pit in the backyard. A few of our precious little cars, including my prized black Trans Am, got buried.
“Earth to JimmyJam,” Mac sing-songed, waving a glass of bubbles under my nose.
I snatched the glass out of her hand with a thanks and took a sip, followed it with a loud delighted sigh, and finished with a lip smack.
“Big crowd expected tonight, Macface?” I asked.
Henry looked up expectantly from his text fest.
We’d played quite a few large crowds at venues and festivals throughout Melbourne, but The White Demon Warehouse was our biggest break yet and was well known as the launchpad for two bands now headed into the stratosphere of Planet Success. We had high hopes.
“Packed house, bitches.”
I grinned at Henry. Henry grinned at me. Mac grinned at both of us.
“Just add a scout to that mix and I’ll give you a big pash,” I said to Mac, pouting my lips in a come hither if you dare expression.
“Christ, don’t say that. You’ll ruin my lippie. I spent like ten minutes on it.”
I looked at Mac’s lips. They looked like she’d spent ten minutes on them.
“Do mine,” I ordered.
I guzzled the rest of my bubbles while she scrabbled around in the vanity drawer, producing a lip liner, a tube of lip plumper, base lipstick, top lipstick, and a sparkly pink gloss.
Henry, absorbing the seriousness of what we were about to embark on, rolled his eyes. “Aren’t we like in a hurry?”
The front door slammed and the Rice Bubbles could be heard banging around in the kitchen, pillaging our fridge and pantry.
“Christ, Henry!” Mac waved the lip liner around in a panic. I moved my head back, fearing another furry eyebrow fiasco, this time in Perverted Pink. “Go hide my chocolate stash will you? If those troublemakers so much as breath on it, I’ll have them eating through straws.”
Henry left with an eye roll, drinking his bubbles and texting madly as he went.
Mac turned to me with an evil grin that evoked feelings of great fear.
“Now, back to Jared,” she began.
“Mac,” I warned sternly with a finger point. “Don’t even go there.”
Mac, having heard my warnings before, rolled her eyes.
What was this? The Eye Rolling Convention?
She grabbed my finger and shoved it away. “Bet your sweet ass I am going there. I’m tired of your silly geek parade, Sandwich. You might have no trouble lying to yourself, but I’m not lying to you when I tell you that you’re being a giant, fat, retarded idiot.”
Mac had obviously decided the indirect route was for the weak.
“Just give it to me straight, Mac, okay? Because I’d hate for you to waste time taking tact pills in the morning.”
“Better than the stupid pills you seem to have been overdosing on the last God knows how many years. Come on, Evie, I know you think the dorks you’ve been dating are safe, and I won’t deny that they are because I’ve seen you more involved in watching paint peel from the walls, but it’s no way to live. I don’t care about Hairy Parry’s time space continuum theory or Beetle Bob’s thesis on the evolution of insects and its problems for Darwinism.”
Frankly, I didn’t care either, but it was hardly the heady stuff that would lead your heart down the garden path either, was it?
“Hairy Parry was cute.”
“Was he? How were you able to tell under all that hair?”
I chuckled, disrupting Mac’s efforts at layering liner along the edges of my lips.
Hairy Parry had a calm, quiet demeanour and also a beard and a long wavy mane that rivalled my own. I think dating a man with so much hair was more a novelty than anything else, but we did enjoy each others company. I was loud and he was quiet, and we somehow managed to find a middle ground that worked for the both of us.
Mac smoothed on the base lipstick.
“Rub your lips together, Sandwich,” she ordered.
I rubbed my lips and offered a pout as she inspected and then continued with the top coat.
“Beetle Bob was really sweet.”
“Beetle Bob lavished more attention on Draco than on you!”
This was true. Draco was one of Beetle Bob’s pet bearded dragons, a very social little Australian lizard that would bob his head and swish his tail whenever I visited. Surprisingly, Beetle Bob’s little creatures were entertaining and somehow soothing, but they did require constant care, so many nights would find us cozied up on the couch watching television while they overran the house.
“I miss Draco,” I muttered. “Maybe I should get my own little lizard friend.”
Mac snorted. “You don’t have the time involved in caring for one of those freaky little critters and don’t change the subject.”
With a “Voila,” Mac finished slicking gloss on my lips and shoved me out the door and towards my walk-in wardrobe before I could even pout in the mirror to inspect the results.
Hands on her hips, she stared at the contents. “What are you wearing?”
“Well I thought I would—”
“No, you thought wrong.”
Of course I did, considering her control issues filtered down into telling me what I should and shouldn’t wear.
I pursed my glossy Perverted Pink lips, and let her have her way, flopping down on the bed as she made her way into the wardrobe.
Henry wandered in, phone at the ready. “Top up?” he asked, indicating towards the empty champagne glass I still clutched in my hands.
“No,” Mac shouted from somewhere within the dark confines. “She’ll ruin her lips.”
True. Perverted Pink Perfection was not created in mere moments.
Henry shrugged and walked back out.
“I think that you should ask Jared out,” Mac shouted.
“Are you high? Because I’m pretty sure I heard you telling me I should ask Jared out.”
“Here!” A pair of Sass and Bide croc-print skinny jeans slapped me in the face.
I winced. Those were going to be hot, as in sweaty. I stood up and began the struggle of wedging my legs into the tight material.
“No, I am not high. Okay, don’t. He’ll ask you. I’m sure of it. Now that we’re living in Sydney, there’ll be no more avoiding him.”
That was what I was worried about, especially after the incident at the Zen bar two weeks ago in Melbourne that simply confirmed my lack of control around the man.
I lay on the bed, sucked in my stomach with everything I had, and zipped up the jeans. As I rolled off the bed and onto my knees, a manoeuvre performed because simply sitting up in said jeans was unachievable, a silver and Lucite studded baby doll top slapped me up the side of my head.
Mac emerged from the wardrobe as I struggled to my feet.
“What are you doing?” she asked in disbelief, as though flopping around on the floor like a trout was something I was doing for fun. “We need to get going.”
I glared. “I’m trying to get dressed, asshead.”
I smoothed the long curls of hair that ran down my back, an attempt at fixing the mess created from clothing whiplash, and flung the babydoll top over my new lacy creation. As I moved to examine my appearance in the full length mirror behind the wardrobe door, Mac came to stand behind me.
“Just say yes.”
I heard a quaver in her voice and had no doubt she believed with all her heart that Jared and I were meant to be. I couldn’t help but feel partial responsibility for that particular belief.
I met her eyes. “No.”
“Sandwich,” she growled. “I want you happy. I want Jared happy. The two of you together would equal giant rainbows of happiness.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at her earnest, yet idiotic expression which changed to hopeful when I didn’t reply.
Mac nodded her head approvingly and pointed at me. “Shoes.”
At that, she spun on her heel and vacated the room.
I clambered for a pair of black stilettos from the chaos that was now my wardrobe and gave up breathing as I bent over to slip them on. These shoes were the David Copperfield of the stiletto world. They might have looked like skyscraping gems of leather strappage, but in reality it would likely take threats of scissors and at least half an hour to get them off later tonight.
I stood up with a gasp, my face red from the exertion of performing magical deeds.
“Hurry up, asshead!” Mac shouted up the stairs.
I rolled my eyes, because this was the Eyerolling Convention after all, grabbed my bag, and headed down the stairs to the car where everyone was waiting.
Chapter Two
“Up and in the shower, Sandwich!”
Mac’s voice sounded far away because I was happily burrowed deep beneath the fluffy white mounds of my bed, busy reflecting on last night’s success.
The White Demon Warehouse had been filled to capacity just like Mac assured us it would be. The venue was more than worthy of launching our band, Jamieson, into success. Only a repeat booking would provide the concrete evidence, so we’d remain on tenterhooks until Mac had spoken to their manager Marcus and received some feedback.
The White Demon was located in the heart of the city, just a drunken stumble to Central Station, and displayed a retro red brick façade, white panelled windows, and high lofty ceilings for acoustical brilliance. Several bars dotted the interior, allowing enough alcoholic lubrication to launch a rocket, and burly bouncers swarmed the four entry points, ensuring drunken degenerates were given the boot.
I felt hands make contact and give a tickle to the body protected by the thick white covers. I chuckled and burrowed in further.
“She’s awake.” I heard Henry’s muffled voice.
The covers were whipped off, and I shrieked at the sudden bright rays of light, squinting at Mac and Henry as they piled on my bed.
I squeezed out a squeal as I yawned and stretched aching muscles, exhausted after last night’s efforts. It felt far too early to be doing something as energetic as getting in the shower like Mac suggested.
“What’s going on?” I muttered tiredly.
“Mum and Dad are having a barbecue lunch today. Spur of the moment. They were disappointed they missed seeing you last night, so they want us there.”
I was disappointed I’d missed seeing Steve and Jenna too. Mac’s parents were like my surrogate mum and dad since my own were no longer around. My dad—a very loose term—Ray, was big on sailing, and when I was five, he’d gotten on his boat one day and never returned. It would be nice to believe that the choice of leaving us was out of his hands, even if that meant he’d died, but there’d been a couple of random sightings of him by family friends, so the truth was that he just didn’t want us anymore. Sometimes, I think it must have broken my mum’s heart more knowing that rather than if he’d died. For me it doesn’t hurt, not in a devastating break your heart kind of way, because I didn’t know him. There was just an empty space where a dad was supposed to be. Random snippets sometimes flitted through my mind of him on the boat as the harsh sun beat down, laughing, directing my older brother Coby on hoisting sails, urging me out of the way, but they were blurry, and sometimes I wondered if they really happened.
My mum, Nance, wasn’t around much. She worked long hours in an investment banking firm. That had never been an issue for me because when she was home and with you, she was with you. Her focus didn’t waver, and Coby and I knew, without her needing to say, that we were the most important part of her life. The hard work was done for us, a single mother trying to do it all for her kids.
She died the day of my sixteenth birthday. She’d left at four in the morning just so she could get through her work to leave early and help set up for my party. I was bitterly disappointed when she hadn’t arrived and set about doing it all myself. I left school early that Friday to be there and angrily strung up balloons, thinking that I’d never asked for much, just Mum’s time, and on the day of my sixteenth birthday party of all days, work had come first. Only an hour after the party was under way, Coby found me in the kitchen chatting to my friend Cam. His pale, anxious face and the fact that he’d snatched my wrist, dragging me upstairs to my room without a word, was cause for alarm. When he delivered the news that Mum had died in a car accident, I didn’t cry or turn hysterical. Adrenaline kicked in and I nodded quietly and returned to the party, realising Coby had told Henry first because guests were already disappearing en masse towards the door. I calmly accepted hugs and tears from closer friends, and when the door closed behind the last guest, Coby and Henry looked on, their eyebrows drawn together in similar expressions of worry as I set about pulling down balloons, binning rubbish that littered the house, and packing food away in the fridge. I still looked back on my response that day and marvelled at how I managed to just pack it away and pull myself together. Apparently, I was good in a crisis.
Later that night, Coby and Henry urged me into the shower, thinking that maybe the shock of the water might alleviate some of the adrenaline and let the emotion through. The fact that I sat on the floor of the shower for over an hour as the water beat down on my curled sobbing form told me their idea had been a good one. Unfortunately, I’d packed it away again the next day, and that was when my life had started to spiral out of control. Turning to both men and alcohol wasn’t the ideal way to heal the horrible sensation of abandonment, but it certainly helped me forget, and for brief moments I felt wanted. Thankfully, Coby forgave me for those years even though I’d put him through hell. At seven years my senior, and in the middle of finals, I figured being saddled with a sixteen year old female was probably already hell in itself.
“Earth to space cadet,” Mac sing-songed, snapping her fingers in my face and I blinked away the memories.
“They’re putting on a barbecue just for us?”
Mac’s parents lived in the Sydney suburb of Balmain, still in the same house Mac grew up in until she moved to Melbourne on scholarship and found us. They’d been excited about coming to our first Sydney show last night, but we hadn’t finished playing until well after midnight. Being in their early fifties, they weren’t the die-hard mosh pit types, well not anymore, and they left at a sensible hour.
“Yep,” she replied.
“That’s really nice, but um, why does that mean we need to be up at the hour of…whatever hour it is?”
Henry and Mac shared a meaningful smirk.
“Because Mac wants to head over there early to help Jenna set up,” Henry offered as he stole the pillow out from under my head and propped it behind his back.
“Hey!” I made a grab for the pillow. “Does she want me there to help too or do you need a lift?”
Mac didn’t own a car and neither did Henry. They hadn’t needed one in Melbourne. Most places had been within walking distance, and I had my Toyota Hilux and the Rice Bubbles had their van, so they borrowed either when needed.
“No…no, but maybe you can make your slice?” Henry suggested, pressing his back hard into the pillow as I tried to pry it away from him.
My lemon coconut slice was popular on the Melbourne uni circuit because it had the perfect ratio of biscuit base to lemon icing and had a tart chewy crunch that almost made your toes curl.
“Sure,” I said on a yawn, stretching again, and when Henry shifted, I snatched my pillow back in triumph. Fluffing it and then tucking it back under my head I asked Mac, “But how are you getting there then?”
Henry and Mac once again looked at each other with raised eyebrows, and before I could make threats of violence to find out what they were up to, a voice called out from the stairway and my question was answered.
I jabbed an angry finger at both Mac and Henry as they crowded my bed. “You sneaky interfering fuckers,” I hissed. “You both need to worry about your own damn love lives and stop interfering in my own.”
Shit.
“In here, Jared,” Mac shouted.
Double shit.
I’d successfully managed to evade Jared last night, but it wasn’t through any magical tricks from my bag of, well, magical tricks. After the show, my band mates had left the dressing room for the bar, the roar of the DJ thumping through the air as they’d made their exit. I’d stayed behind, mostly because I was still in the throes of avoiding Jared and somewhat because my makeup had sweated off under the blinding bright lights of the stage and needed a serious overhaul. Then Mac had busted through the door, in the way only Mac could, and delivered the news that Jared and Coby had been called out for work and exited the warehouse half an hour ago. I squashed the feelings of disappointment like a pesky bug and summoned up a smile of delight to put Mac off the scent. Jared was likely off to shoot at a few criminals before blowing up a small building or two.
Jared earned his living dealing in mayhem and chaotic violence, just like my brother Coby. They both co-owned Jamieson and Valentine Consulting here in Sydney, along with Mac’s other brother Travis. Coby fitted in well with the Valentine brothers, having met Jared when he’d visited Mac in Melbourne one weekend a few months after she’d moved. Happy I was settled and doing well at uni, and seemingly done with my years of spiralling out of control, Coby moved to Sydney and their consulting business was born. To be honest, none of us were sure what the consulting part meant; the term was conveniently vague in my opinion, but I knew they had contracts from various government agencies and mostly dealt in hostage negotiations, kidnapping, and ransom.
After being in business for five years, their operation expanded and they now had a huge team in place as well as gaining another co-owner, Casey. I knew they’d been shot at on more than one occasion. Travis was actually hit once in the shoulder. Jared was knifed two different times, and Casey rolled his car during a full-on, hair raising, police flashing, siren screaming car chase down Motorway 5 in Sydney’s south-west. It seemed they had their fingers in every dangerous pie across the city of Sydney and would soon be running out of hands. Once, while I was busy trying to recuperate from a hangover on the couch of my Melbourne apartment, I saw Coby on the news running full pelt down a back alley, shouting and gun in hand, before it cut to the news reporter on the street. My heart almost closed up shop and moved to another city. I told Coby he had to remove consulting from their sign and change their name to Jamieson & Valentine: Badass Brigade.
Henry laughed and Mac smirked as I tried to smooth the birds nest that was my hair and hurriedly wiped under my eyes to make sure no smudged mascara residue lingered there.
Why hadn’t I jumped in the shower like Mac told me to? I was now desperately lamenting my laziness. The first time I’d met Jared I’d fared no better.
It was the first time Jared had visited Melbourne and became friends with my brother. Henry and I hadn’t known Mac before uni; she answered our online ad to share a three-bedroomed apartment with the two of us. Jared had stopped in for a weekend visit from Sydney to see with his own eyes that Mac was happily settled and not getting into any trouble. He didn’t actually say that last part, but it was definitely implied. The fact that we were uni students in a band meant that troubles did abound on a regular basis, however, we weren’t housing any plans on announcing said troubles to an overprotective older brother. We had a party apartment. It was within walking distance to the uni bar and featured lots of timber flooring that forgave rivers of vodka spillage and unfortunate barfing with reckless regularity.
His arrival was unannounced, so when the knock came at the door, I was prone on the couch, Mac was on the floor, and Henry was somewhere in between both. The three of us were hungover, motionless, and watching a music video marathon with all the enthusiasm of a goldfish on Christmas day.
A quick and silent rock, paper, scissors ensued, and the loser, which was always me, staggered off with a numb backside to open the door.
My pickled brain and my unfortunate choice of hangover wear (comfy cotton shorts with a hole in the ass, ratty faded to grey Rolling Stones singlet top, hair half dried and frizzed in a ball on top of my head) left me speechless and feeling the immediate burn of embarrassment when I’d flung the door open.
Jared stood there in all his delicious glory, and that, for me, was when time had stopped. The man was absolutely exceptional and not just because of how he looked because I’d already seen photos, and it was evident he shared the same genes as Mac. His eyes were the same shade of emerald, and his skin just as golden, but where Mac was all blonde, his hair was light brown, the ends only slightly blond from the sun. It was obvious he needed a haircut. Most of the photos I saw featured him with shorter hair. I liked the length, how it hung in his eyes and made me want to brush it across his forehead, my fingers itching to feel the silky strands that caressed the back of his neck.
His clothes were nothing special, an old vintage t-shirt and soft worn jeans, but he wore them well. The shirt stretched across a broad chest and revealed the tanned muscles of his biceps. The jeans rode low upon lean hips, leading down the long length of leg to a pair of motorcycle boots that had seen better days.
He didn’t appear heavily tattooed, but when he lifted his right arm to scratch at the back of his neck, the underside of his bicep revealed an inky swirl of words you just knew meant something important. I was dying to know what it said, what it meant to him.
It all made up a tantalising package of man, but it was his eyes and his demeanour that spoke to me of something special. His posture exuded a strong, capable determinedness, serious and unwavering, but his eyes radiated laughter and passion, and when they locked on mine, my mouth went dry and my heart quickened to a beat of epic proportions.
Then those eyes did a full body scan of the wonderment that was me in hangover mode, and I watched the corners of his lips curl up in a lazy grin so hot it was a wonder I wasn’t already a pile of ash on the floor.
I sucked in a deep breath, letting it out in a whoosh when he opened his mouth to talk and his deep voice rumbled across my skin like rich honey.
“You must be Evie.”
I shivered, nodding mutely because upon hearing that voice, I decided I’d be whoever he wanted me to be as long he kept talking.
“Can I come in?” he asked, green eyes watching me intently.
When his voice set off more shivers, I once again nodded dumbly, deciding he could move in if that was what he wanted.
“I’m Mac’s brother Jared,” he offered, even though I’d already known, and he moved through the doorway. For the third and final time, I nodded because I decided he could be whoever he wanted to be as long as he was standing in my apartment.
“Jared,” Mac squealed and leaped into his arms when I’d guided him into the lounge room like a dumb mute.
Mac’s squeal was a like a sucker punch. It pulled me out of a time warp that had me sucked in so hard I’d forgotten who I was, leaving me filled me with horror. No man had ever left me at such a loss the way he had done in just a matter of moments. I promptly vacated the room, got dressed, and did what any self-respecting girl would do when faced with such a predicament.
I went shopping.
One pair of shoes, two sets of silk and lace underwear, a dress, and two new kitchen implements later, I descended on Hairy Parry’s apartment for the weekend. A good dose of dork was exactly what I needed to break Jared’s spell.
The next morning I’d woken up all tangled in Hairy Parry’s hair to a text message from Mac.
M: Did you have to disappear yesterday?
E: Yes. Yes, I did 😛
I rolled over to my stomach in the darkened room so I wouldn’t disturb Parry with my messaging.
M: Why?
I sighed as I thought about my response and decided to just come out with it. God knew she’d get it out of me eventually anyway.
E: Your brother is hot.
M: Your point is?
E: Hello? Did you not see me yesterday? <– social retard alert.
M: You like him???!!!
This time my sigh accompanied a cringe of embarrassment.
E: Like is a strong word, Mactard.
M: We’re going out for lunch. If you don’t come with us, I’ll tell Jared you like him and give him your number.
I couldn’t help but feel I was somehow revisiting my high school years and resisted the urge to message Mac and tell her to suck it. Instead, I got up, showered, and left Parry a note telling him not to leave town because I had plans that involved him and bed for later that evening. I ignored the loud voice telling me to call Mac’s bluff. So what if she gave him my number? Were the tickets on myself that big that I thought he would use it anyway? I saw him for all of ten minutes!
I messaged Coby, inviting him to lunch too. If Mac was going to have her brother there, then by God, so was I. With Coby there I was sure I’d be less likely to make an idiot of myself around Jared. Besides, it was entirely possible my initial reaction to him was simply my brain cells not firing at full speed due to the hangover I’d been suffering.
The four of us met at a café and sat in the sun at a pretty, outdoor table. After finishing lunch, I realised my mistake in not trusting my initial instincts. Jared hadn’t looked any less hot, and I hadn’t acted any less stupid. Thankfully, most of the conversation was carried by Jared and Coby, making my lack of speech less noticeable. Whenever I looked anywhere other than my plate, it was in Jared’s direction, and every time, his eyes would meet mine with an expression I wasn’t able to decipher.
Eventually, I was able to relax a little and join in the conversation. At one point, I even had Jared laughing with a story about Cooper’s latest stage diving attempt when we played at a small, local festival three weeks ago. It had left Cooper with a twisted ankle and a bunch of female groupies dragging him to safety as he gave us the thumbs up.
As the afternoon wore on, I let my guard down. I decided I could happily sit there for hours and listen to Jared talk. When I was able to forget myself, I could respond freely or talk and laugh loudly with Mac in our usual banter. Then I would find his eyes on me again and clam up until he directed his focus away, speaking to Coby and laughing.
It got to the point where I was gazing freely at Jared, and he must have felt it because he offered me a wink while he kept talking with Coby. By then I knew it was time to go. I stood on shaky legs and informed the table I was going out and that I’d see them tomorrow.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jared frown. Coby shook his head at Mac, mouthing “Hairy Parry?”
Feeling annoyed, which I attributed mostly to the fact that I wanted Jared and wasn’t allowing myself the chance, I snapped out, “Yes, Coby. I have a hot date with Hairy Parry.”
Mac snorted as though the idea of hot and Hairy Parry together in one sentence was outrageous.
I glared at Mac, and Coby stood up, kissing me on the cheek and telling me to be safe. I offered a smile and a quick hand wave to Jared, not quite meeting his eyes, and left.
I’d only gotten a few steps when I heard, “Wait up, Evie.”
I turned, seeing Jared jogging to catch up to me, and my heart skipped a beat. Okay, it skipped a couple. I raised my eyebrows in question.
“I was wondering if I could get your number?”
My first reaction was that I was going to murder Mac, weigh her body down, and throw her over a bridge. Well maybe that might be a bit much, but at the least there would be pain. Did she put him up to this?
I folded my arms. “Did Mac put you up to this?”
He gave a slight head shake, appearing confused. “Ah, no? Actually, I was going to say I have a friend who lives here in Melbourne. His little sister is getting into singing, and I thought maybe if I passed on your info, you could be like a mentor or something. It’s just a thought,” he added.
Deflated and embarrassed, I made a show of digging around in my bag for a pen to cover the flush. Of course Mac had been all talk, and of course Jared wasn’t interested. I wanted him to want me as much as I wanted him, even if I wasn’t willing to act on it. How stupid was that?
“You can just tell me you know. I can type it in,” he said.
I peered up from the depths of my bag, flush returning as he stood there holding his phone with amusement crinkling his eyes.
“Right.” I wiped my sweaty hands down my shirt in the pretence of smoothing wrinkles as I gave him my number.
He typed it in, then casually tucked his phone into his back pocket. “Thanks. So uh, Hairy Parry, huh? He’s your boyfriend?”
I nodded, avoiding his gaze because it was giving me shivers.
He stepped closer, tipping his finger under my chin until I met his eyes. The light touch and the heat from his body left me feeling breathless, but it was nothing compared to the burning heat in his eyes. “Hope he knows he’s a lucky guy. Well, enjoy your hot date, Evie.”
“Um, thanks,” I replied, wondering if he’d now ruined Hairy Parry for me, and quite possibly any other man.
Jared turned and headed back to the table, and unwilling to return my gaze to Mac and Coby for their reaction to that little whatever it was, I left for Hairy Parry’s.
That evening found me wearing my slinkiest, shortest black dress and highest heels and dragging Parry out to Verve with some casual friends. The plan was to drink and dance the night away in my best effort to remove Jared’s image from my head. The barely there underwear I’d worn worked well in capturing Parry’s attention, but later that night, naked in bed after sex, I’d felt like an absolute shit girlfriend for wishing it was Jared’s tongue that was tasting my skin and his mouth that was doing wicked things to my body.
I woke again the next day, closer to lunch time than morning, to another message as Parry lay snoring at my side. This time though, it wasn’t from Mac.
Leaving for Sydney this morning, Evie. Just wanted to say bye and thanks for letting me stay at your apartment. Jared.
I swallowed the lump in my throat at the thought of Jared leaving and typed a casual response.
E: Have a safe flight home!
A safe flight home? Like he had any control over the aircraft? What an idiot.
J: Thanks. How did your hot date go?
What was I supposed to say to that? Shitty, because I wished it was you I was on the hot date with?
E: Great! We went drinking and dancing at Verve with some friends.
J: So can I assume that Hairy Parry’s name is because he’s hairy?
E: You can. Hair almost as long as mine.
J: So you like guys with long hair? Should I grow mine?
What did that mean? He wants me to like him? He likes me? My pulse raced, making me feel worse because I was lying in bed naked with one man while I was burning up inside for another.
I ignored the question, not sure how to respond, and instead changed the subject.
E: Hey, I didn’t ask you what your friend’s sister’s name was?
Jared replied to my question, and we messaged each other on and off for the rest of the day. I enjoyed the banter. He was witty and smart, and considering he lived such a long distance away, surely chatting to him this way was safe enough.
Then the next day he asked me about a band he was seeing that afternoon with friends and if I’d heard of them. I hadn’t but I looked them up, and their songs were fantastic. I commended him on his taste in music, and the rest of that day found us messaging each other on and off, and then the next day, and the next, until it seemed we struck up some kind of texting friendship where the two of us couldn’t seem to go a day without texting the other.
Like when I found a particularly expensive, but necessary pair of shoes. I’d snap a photo and message it.
E: Should I buy these?
J: Only if you promise to send a pic of you wearing them.
I would get a message late at night.
J: Drowning in paperwork. Do you know first aid?
E: Mouth to mouth is my speciality, but alas, you will be blue by the time I arrive. Call the medics.
When I’d broken up with Hairy Parry six months later, I found myself forlorn but naturally not heartbroken.
J: Do you need me to break his face?
E: I would, but you would be hard pressed to find it under all that hair.
J: lol
E: Don’t you have any girls I can break a face for?
If that wasn’t fishing then I wasn’t Rex Hunt.
J: I don’t do relationships.
E: Why not?
J: That is a story for another day.
Six months later, I met Robert the insect fiend who we’d promptly nicknamed Beetle Bob. Mac and Henry had chortled with glee when they found out our first date was to the Melbourne Museum to view the Bugs Alive! exhibition.
Later that night, Jared’s message arrived.
J: How was your first date at the museum?
E: Beetle Bob was very attentive & I got to see a feeding demonstration. Very cool.
J: Cool, huh? What was your favourite bug?
E: Praying mantis, I think. Those things were pretty cute.
J: Don’t they bite the head off the male after sex?
E: Oh gross. They do?
J: lol. Didn’t you learn anything at the exhibition?
E: I guess not!
Four weeks later, I actually received an invitation inside the inner sanctum that was Beetle Bob’s house and promptly met Draco. Draco liked a good piece of mango and hung out on my arm while I made him watch So You Think You Can Dance. He really seemed to like it. I snapped a photo of Draco head-bobbing and texted it to Jared.
E: Isn’t he cute?
J: Is that Beetle Bob? If so, he’s much better looking than Hairy Parry.
I laughed like a loon while Beetle Bob gave me the freaky eye, and Draco just kept on head-bobbing on my arm.
Then six months later, Jared got knifed in the side by a drugged up lunatic who thought waving it about inside a store and locking up customers seemed like a good way to earn money.
Panicked and scared, it almost got me on a plane to Sydney.
E: Are you okay?
J: Just a scratch. I had worse at ten years old when I jumped off the roof of our house.
E: What trying to be Superman?
J: Wolverine. His thing is an accelerated healing process. Sadly mine took a metal pin and eight weeks in plaster.
Four months later, our Melbourne festival appearance hit YouTube and received a really decent viewing. That night found us at the local university watering hole dancing and singing and liberating the bar of all alcohol. Unfortunately, Beetle Bob, as usual, decided to leave early to tend the insects in his care, and while the thought was admirable, for a brief moment, I was tired of coming second best to a bunch of creepy-crawlies. Thus began a knock down drag out shouting match that levelled the entire building to silence.
I left in a drunken snit and promptly messaged Jared when I got home.
E: Beetle Bob has been effectively crushed. I will miss Draco.
J: Plenty more dorks in the sea.
Two weeks later, Beetle Bob came by, Draco in tow because he knew I’d do anything for the little lizard dude, apologised, and told me he would be a better boyfriend.
I immediately felt bad because it wasn’t like we were in love, and I was being a bit of a selfish mole, but Beetle Bob was otherwise a good person, so I took him back. I snapped a photo of me holding Draco and messaged it to Jared.
E: Beetle Bob is back on.
J: You just want him for his big lizard.
E: Guilty 😀
It was six weeks later when I saw Coby on the news as he rushed some random dilapidated brown weatherboard house.
E: What the hell are you up to?
J: You know I can’t discuss details. We are all good.
Two weeks later he messaged a photo of what was left of Casey’s car after his high speed chase.
J: Walked away, the lucky bastard.
E: He must be the real Wolverine. Lucky you weren’t in the car. You would have been in traction for months.
J: Har har.
A few inane messages.
J: What are you doing?
E: Face mask. Can’t talk.
J: In that case, a string walks into a bar several times and asks for a drink. Each time, he is turned down by the bartender. Finally, the string asks a stranger to tie him in a knot and frazzle the ends a little. The string walks back into the bar and the bartender asks him, “Hey aren’t you the same string I just turned down?” The string replies, “I’m a frayed knot.”
I snorted water out my nose, and my mask promptly cracked into a thousand pieces at his lame, dorky joke.
Six weeks later, I met Herringbone, Beetle Bob’s new baby python. His greeting was simply a pair of beady black eyeballs peeking out from the inside of my running shoe. I snapped a photo and messaged Jared.
E: So I thought I’d go for a light jog this morning.
J: Nice snake shoes. Bet that made you run fast.
E: Like you wouldn’t believe.
Two months later.
J: Finally, a weekend off. Thought I’d come visit.
I panicked.
A long distance friendship was all good and well from the safety of another state, but we all knew how well I managed in Jared’s real life presence.
E: This weekend? What a shame. Beetle Bob and I will be away visiting his sister and brother-in-law in Canberra.
We weren’t, but Beetle Bob had been making noises about it, so no time like the present. I messaged Beetle Bob, and in a matter of moments, our weekend was arranged.
Two months later, we arrived at the conclusion our musical career would take off better in Sydney and made the decision to move.
J: Mac tells me you’re moving to Sydney.
E: Yes, our band is going to be the next big thing.
J: Does this mean we get to hang out?
E: You should be so lucky.
Three months later found us all set to move. Over the internet, we picked out a newly renovated duplex based in Coogee, a pretty beachside suburb just out of the city and a short walk to the beach. It had three bedrooms on one side and three on the other with a joint basement that housed a shared laundry and tons of space for musical equipment. It was perfect for the six of us. Coby did the inspection and when he gave us the nod telling us it wasn’t really a fallen down ramshackle in a desperate state of disrepair, he arranged the rental for us. That simply left us with four weeks to pack up our lives in Melbourne and make the move.
Two weeks later, Beetle Bob and I decided to part ways. Long distance visiting was simply not feasible when it came to the care of his creatures.
J: So you and Beetle Bob, huh?
E: Draco and Herringbone will fill the empty void that I leave behind.
One week later, Jared and Travis arrived for an overnight stay to help move some of the heavier furniture. The plan was for us to follow in a few days with the rest of our possessions and the band equipment.
Unfortunately, on the afternoon of Jared’s arrival, I’d received some snide comments from Beetle Bob’s friends at the local store, and feeling angry and a little let down, I met up with Henry at the Zen bar, our new local watering hole since graduating uni.
It was later that night, after five Metropolitans, that Mac arrived at the bar, Jared and Travis in tow. Metros were like Cosmos but better because they were made with black-currant vodka. I had been busy happily bashing Beetle Bob’s friends to Henry to make myself feel better. Henry, who was trying his best to offer support but not used to Metros, was having trouble keeping his seat.
My first thought when I saw Jared venture into the bar alongside Mac and Travis, was thank God I finally looked decent. My long waves of hair were curled into lush waves that very morning. My skin was tinted rose from the summer sunshine. No longer donning ratty pyjamas or the last minute wrinkled outfit worn to lunch, I was dressed in tailored grey shorts with pink pinstripes, a loosely fitted cream blouse, and strappy lemon coloured wedges. It was the perfect ensemble: casual, chic, and pretty.
My second thought was that he hadn’t changed one bit since I saw him last. His effect on me was as st
A.R. Wise was born in Indiana and has lived in Florida, Texas, and now Colorado. He is married to an unreasonably understanding and beautiful wife and has two wonderful little girls.
He has been writing since he was young, but the daunting task of facing rejection after rejection in the traditional publishing world always kept him from pursuing his passion. The new eBook revolution has given him a chance to put his work out there for everyone to enjoy, and he has been shocked at the reception it's received!
A.R. Wise's series of zombie fiction, Deadlocked, has enjoyed massive success on Amazon. Five Star reviews continue to pour in and the success has encouraged him to continue to write. If you enjoy his work, you have the eBook revolution to thank for it!
