Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Claire
The drive to Melbourne seems to take even longer than usual. Yes, there’s traffic, but it doesn’t help that I’m a bundle of nerves. Bryce offered to come and pick me up, but I told him I’d rather make my own way there.
I need time to think.
I’ve done a lot of thinking already, but I still can’t get my head around what I’m about to do.
It feels like the wildest sort of madness, as though I’ve suddenly decided to step out of my life and become someone else entirely.
Someone who takes chances, who trusts people they barely know. Who isn’t scared to open their heart.
I blow out a breath, turning up the music in the car as though it can drown out my troubled thoughts.
I just got out of one terrible relationship, and now I’m going to pretend to be in another?
With a famous surfer of all people? I should just turn around, head back home and forget I ever met Bryce.
As I say, I do think surfing as a sport is awesome.
But I’ve always resisted the other side of it, the partying and drunken behaviour I’ve seen, over and over again, played out at local pubs.
A drunk surfer killed my parents. Bryce, with his endless photos falling out of clubs and into bed with one girl after another seems like the epitome of the partying surfer boy.
But there’s another side to him, a side that seems lost, somehow, yet is decent and kind.
That’s the side of him I want to get to know, even if this is a fake relationship.
It’s also a chance for me to get past this bias, because it’s unfair of me to tar everyone with the same brush.
After all, look at Simon. Part of the initial attraction for me had been the fact he didn’t surf.
He liked playing soulful songs on his guitar and hanging out at his parents’ beach house, where he lived most of the year, writing poetry and drinking coffee.
God. Looking back on it now, I wonder what the hell I was thinking.
He’s not a surfer, doesn’t drink, yet he’s been terrorising me for the past year, even though we broke up six months ago.
That’s also a big part of why I’m doing this, I remind myself.
Bryce has already proven he’s more than capable of handling any of the shit Simon might throw at me.
Warmth blooms in my chest at the memory of his arm around me at the pub.
The way his lips felt on mine. How natural it seemed, having him at my house.
And there lies danger.
We’re meeting up tonight for our first “date”.
A friend of his is opening a nightclub, apparently.
Something low-key, before our “official” couple debut at a surf event in Torquay.
It didn’t stop me packing and unpacking my bag about half a dozen times before leaving, my wardrobe suddenly seeming completely inadequate.
Joss and Sal are basically foaming at the mouth waiting to know the details of what’s been going on.
I knew I’d have to have this conversation with them.
It was inevitable as soon as Bryce and I shared the photo of us kissing, on our socials.
My follower count increased almost immediately, as did the rude comments.
I’ve already set my accounts to private.
I imagine things will get even more frenzied after tonight, and I don’t need that stress in my life.
So I told them that, when I get back from Melbourne, they can come over and I’ll tell them everything.
Apart from the fact that this is a fake relationship.
I tell myself it’s because of the NDA I signed, even though I know I can trust them not to tell anyone anything.
Not that I have much to tell beyond that, I guess.
We’re staying at a hotel in the centre of Melbourne.
And I imagine we’ll be sharing a room, to keep up appearances.
I have no idea how I’m going to navigate that.
Hopefully there will be a couch or something I can sleep on.
I feel like I did when I went swimming with Bryce, when the ground disappeared from under my feet, leaving me floating in dark blue.
He was there, though, holding me. Keeping me safe.
I have no reason to think he won’t do the same here.
This is to benefit him as much as it is me.
But as I pull into the hotel a short while later, leaving my car to be parked by the valet, and I hurry into the lobby where Bryce is waiting, for a moment it feels like something more.
He’s leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone, his brows drawn together.
But when I say his name, his head snaps up and his expression brightens.
He hurries over to me, taking my bag, kissing me on the cheek, and it’s just …
easy. I remind myself, again, that it’s all for show.
It feels like it’s going to be a long month, though, while at the same time not enough time at all.
Bryce
I’m absolutely bricking it as I wait for Claire in the foyer of the flash hotel.
I pass the time scrolling through photos on my phone, replying to a few messages and ignoring the rest. I pause on the shot I took of Millie at Luna Park, my heart swelling at her smile, at the bright sun on her face.
It feels like a sign, that she’s come back into the light again.
I have to make sure that’s the case, though, before I head off again and leave Mum to manage things.
Then I get to the photo of Claire and me, kissing on her deck. Damn. She was so good about it when I apologised afterwards. I couldn’t help myself, even though that’s not usually my style. But it makes the butterflies start in my stomach again.
What if she changes her mind? She’d be well within her rights to do so.
It had just felt like the right thing to say, sitting in her warm kitchen, seeing the light in her eyes as she talked about her parents and their dream.
I don’t know how she does it, to be honest. Losing her family like that, plus dealing with that shithead Simon.
I want to be there for her, support her. It’s a weird feeling.
But when I hear her say my name, when I look up and see her standing there, in a denim mini skirt and the turquoise tube top she wore to the pub, it all seems to click into place.
It seems completely natural to take her bag, to kiss her smooth cheek, to watch her ass as she walks to the elevators. Like a real girlfriend.
Christ. This is going to be a long month.
A short while later we’re in the room. I booked a suite, a bedroom with a separate living room. I realise this is putting Claire in a tight spot, but hotel staff talk to the tabloids, if they’re paid enough. And no girlfriend of mine would be staying in a separate room.
There’s a moment of awkwardness, then Claire heads over to the long sofa and puts her bag on it. “I’ll sleep here,” she says. “If that’s all right with you?”
“No, you can have the bedroom.” Christ. I wish we could both have the bedroom. “This is a pull-out, I think. And I’ve slept on plenty of couches.” I grin at her, wanting to put her at ease.
She frowns, a little line appearing between her brows. “Are you sure? You’re paying for this, after all, and—”
“And you’re helping me out. Honestly, it’s fine. Go on.”
Her frown clears, but she’s still hesitant. I pick up her bag and carry it into the bedroom, placing it on the bed.
“See? All sorted.” I turn around. She’s standing there, biting her lip, and it’s all I can do not to pull her into my arms. It seems like madness that I’m going to be sharing a room with this beautiful woman tonight, yet we’ll be sleeping apart.
I rub a hand over my face, feeling the need to do something to release this pent-up energy.
Normally I’d head out for a surf, let the waves pound it out of me, but there’s not much chance of that here.
“Are you all right?”
“Er…” I pause, clearing my throat. “Yeah. Fine. I’m thinking of heading up for a swim. You want to come? You did bring bathers, right?”
I let her know the hotel had a pool when I made the booking. Yes, as a courtesy, but also because I want to see her in a bikini again. I know I’m a dick, but something about this girl is pulling at me.
“Oh! Sure. But I think I forgot to bring my cover up, though.” She chews her lip, glancing back over her shoulder, like it might be lurking there.
“Just grab a robe. You’ll be sweet. It’s a few floors up in the lift.”
I head out of the room before she can protest any more, closing the door behind me.
I unzip my bag, pulling out the contents.
There’s not much; a shirt and jeans for tonight, toiletries and underwear, and my board shorts for swimming.
I get changed, all the while acutely aware that Claire is in the next room, doing the same thing.
I give her a minute, then knock on the bedroom door. A moment later she opens it. Her cheeks are pink and I want to kiss her immediately. She’s wearing one of the hotel robes, tied tightly, her feet bare. My groin stirs.
“I’ll get the other one for you,” she says, going to the cupboard and handing it to me. A few minutes later we’re both in the lift, clad in robes. I don’t think about how that might look until the lift stops on another floor and a small group of men get in, their eyes immediately going to Claire.
“How’s it going, fellas?” I drawl, moving closer to her.
“Not as well as you, mate,” one of them laughs, openly ogling Claire. She frowns, pulling her robe tighter at the neck. I grin, but put a bit of shark into it, while dropping an arm around her shoulders.
“What can I say?” I raise an eyebrow, holding his stare until he looks away.
The really shitty thing is that I can remember being like that myself on a couple of occasions, when I was young and stupid and the worse for wear.
Looking at a woman like an object, an extension of the man she was with.
I soon learned what bullshit that was. My sister made sure of that.
The men get off on the next floor, but Claire stays close to me, her soft warmth comforting. She doesn’t say anything until we reach the rooftop, the heated pool glimmering in the sunshine.
“You want a drink?” I drop my stuff on one of the sunloungers, and she takes the one next to it, untying her robe. There are fresh towels piled on a table nearby; I grab a couple, handing one to her.
“I might have a juice,” she says. “I can get it myself, though.”
“I know you can.”
She holds my gaze for a moment, those ocean eyes of hers unreadable. Shit. Maybe she doesn’t want someone protecting her. Maybe she’s had enough of that with that asshole ex of hers.
But then she smiles. “Those guys were dicks.”
I laugh. “Yeah. You okay with me stepping in?”
She shrugs. “Of course. All part of the boyfriend experience, right?” Something softens in her gaze. She slips her robe from her shoulders, revealing her lush curves clad in a bikini the colour of a summer sky, beautiful against her tanned skin. “Orange, please,” she adds.
I blink, realising I’m staring. “Uh, the juice? Yeah, I might grab one too.” I tap the app, placing the order, all the while conscious of her arranging her slender limbs on the lounger, sunlight caressing every curve the way I want to.
Fuck the juice. I need cold water. I put my phone down and, without pausing, dive into the pool. I emerge, flicking water out of my hair. The pool is heated, so it’s not doing much to calm the raging feelings inside me. Claire is sitting up, peering at me over her sunglasses.
“What?” I flash her my best shit-eating grin.
“You splashed me.” She’s grinning too, though.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I shouldn’t ogle her, because she’s not my girlfriend.
But she’s pretending to be, so perhaps that comes with the territory.
But what the fuck does that mean? Does it mean I can climb out of this pool and go over to her, run my hand down her smooth stomach, kiss her satin shoulder?
I realise we need to talk about this. About where the lines are, and how far this can go.
Because otherwise I’m not going to make it through this month unscathed.