Chapter One #2
Ryan had been gutted to miss it, and honestly, Lachlan would’ve begged off if Ryan hadn’t made him promise to make sure Daz had the best bucks’ weekend ever.
They’d all been mates since primary school even though Lachlan didn’t have much in common with them anymore.
It wasn’t that Lachlan didn’t love Daz, Jacko, and their gang, but Ryan was the glue holding them together.
Despite the clashes with his father, Ryan had followed his footsteps into lifeguarding, and a concussion the week before during a rescue had meant no trip to Bali.
Lifeguarding at Barkininy Beach south of Fremantle—known to the locals as Barking or just Barkers—had been a great part-time job during uni for Lachlan. He’d never imagined he’d be back doing it now after everything at the firm went to hell.
The familiar sour swell of tension and regret threatened to drown the thrill at seeing Mr. Bullock again. No sense in thinking about any of that right now. It was the last night of his holiday, and he wanted to enjoy the rush as he pretended with Mr. Bullock. Why not?
Lachlan added, “Got a last-minute deal this morning, so I figured I’d treat myself.”
Mr. Bullock smiled wryly. “Just a bit more flash than Kuta.”
“You’re telling me. My room’s a ‘garden view,’ but it’s more like a jungle. It’s incredible. And there’s a butler! He offered to unpack my suitcase. Said no since it’s full of dirty jocks.”
Oh, Jesus. Was he truly talking about his used underwear? That was sexy as.
Not that he was trying to act sexy with Ryan’s dad!
Mr. Bullock—Tim—gave another wry smile before sipping his beer. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and dark chest hair peeked out. A brown and blue beaded necklace brushed the tops of his collarbones. Lachlan watched Tim’s throat work as he swallowed.
“Pleasure?” Lachlan blurted. He managed to add, “Or business?” a moment later.
“Neither. A wedding.”
Ryan hadn’t mentioned it, though if he wasn’t attending and wasn’t in touch with his dad, why would he? “Not a bad spot, though. Beats renting out the RSL in—” He stopped himself just in time from saying Barking Beach.
Mr. Bullock—Tim—hadn’t asked where he was from, so no need to mention Barking or the Perth area. Not that he was hiding it. Nothing wrong with talking to Mr.—Tim as an equal.
“What do you do?” Tim asked.
“I’m a lawyer,” Lachlan lied, guilt prickling his skin.
Well, not a lie—he’d earned his degree at ECU’s School of Business and Law. He’d dutifully passed every test and had been admitted to the profession in Western Australia. Scored the dream job that would’ve made his father proud before it all went wrong.
When Tim said nothing, Lachlan asked, “What about you?” This kind of play acting was surreal, but why not have a drink man to man? No harm in it.
Ryan wouldn’t like it—he’d hate it, in fact. But their mates were still partying in Kuta, so he’d never find out. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, it was a conversation in a bar. It was only polite.
Lachlan couldn’t deny he was reveling in being at the St. Regis with Tim, a world away from the messy drunks and hawkers selling tourist junk. What was wrong with being someone else for the evening? Being a proper adult again.
The fact that it was a lie was what was wrong with it, yet he kept quiet.
“Lifeguard by trade.” Tim’s expression had slightly hardened, as if he was waiting for Lachlan to tell him that wasn’t a real job.
Here it was—the perfect opportunity to say, “You don’t have a son named Ryan, do you? Thought you looked familiar, mate. I’m actually a lifeguard again too at the moment.”
Instead, Lachlan found himself asking, “Oh, where?” He ignored the squirm of guilt for playing dumb.
“Gold Coast.”
“Gentlemen? Are you joining us?” asked a smiling young uniformed woman who ushered them onto the terrace, which was one story up from the perfectly kept flowering trees on the ground.
Humidity closed its fist around Lachlan, the air still thick with rain. He regretted his black T-shirt immediately, the cotton instantly sticking to his skin. The woman led them to a table for two by the glass-fronted railing, and Lachlan hesitated even as Tim took a chair.
“Sit.”
Knees threatening to give out, Lachlan did. It was incredible how Ryan’s father could imbue a single word with both welcome and command. As Lachlan settled into the padded chair, pride rushed through him at the thought that Tim wanted to spend more time with him.
The young woman brought small dishes of roasted nuts and cassava chips just as the sabering began. They stood and turned to watch a man with a champagne bottle resting in his left palm with a neatly folded white cloth underneath, the cork pointing away from him.
Sword in his right hand, the man announced, “This tradition is said to date back to Napoleon Bonaparte and his officers using a sword to open champagne and celebrate their victories in battle. Here, at the St. Regis Bali Resort, we use this tradition to celebrate the transition from day to night.”
He slid the sword up and down the frosted bottle once, twice—and on the third pass used more force to cleanly slice off the top of the bottle in a froth of bubbles. The guests applauded and waited for their small glasses of champagne.
Thoughts ricocheted through Lachlan’s mind. He reckoned there really was no reason for Ryan’s dad to remember him. He’d shot up to six feet in year twelve, his voice had deepened, and his skin had cleared halfway through uni.
Now that he’d fled back to the lifeguard service, he was getting back into shape. Two years of working ninety hours a week at the firm and living on flat whites, dark mint Tim Tams, and endless bags of chicken Twisties had left him eager for training sessions and lots of veggies and protein.
He’d been told he resembled the lead actor from the movie Crazy Rich Asians, which he thought was a stretch, but he’d take the compliment. He’d always had good hair—thick, glossy dark brown from his Chinese dad.
His white mum had been a pale, willowy ginger with freckles he’d inherited across his nose and cheekbones over his light brown skin. She’d called them “sprinkles of cinnamon” when he’d complained about them as a kid.
Lachlan thought of his parents now with bittersweet love, regret, and an ache that never fully healed. The accident had happened when he was seventeen, and there was so much he’d never had a chance to say. His dad hadn’t seen him follow in his footsteps and become a lawyer at the same firm.
Though it was certainly a relief Dad hadn’t seen him turn around and lose that job.
“Sir?” The young woman held out a tray holding his champagne flute.
“Thank you!” He snapped back to the present and managed to pick it up, too aware of Tim’s intense eyes on him.
Why not be someone else for an evening? Indulge in a little wish fulfillment of those daydreams from years ago. He hadn’t seen Ryan’s dad since he’d moved to Queensland, and he’d most likely never see him again. They’d have a drink or two and that would be that.
Lachlan took his seat next to Tim and sipped from his glass. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had real champagne before. A fresh yellow frangipani sat in a bowl on the table, and he had to stop himself from touching the smooth petals. He was pretty sure guests didn’t manhandle the flowers at the St. Regis.
“That was weird, hey?” he asked, then immediately regretted it. This was a classy hotel, and he was supposed to be a lawyer. A sophisticated professional who had his shit together.
Tim glanced around before leaning closer, his voice low. “Weird as hell, mate.”
Lachlan exhaled. “What does Napoleon have to do with anything?”
Tim’s sexy smirk sent goosebumps over Lachlan’s arms despite the heat.
“Beats me, but as you said, I’ll take the free champers.
” He had a sip, and his lower lip glistened.
“They’ll do a show soon.” He nodded to the courtyard on their right at the bottom of the Grand Staircase beyond the terrace railing. “Fire dance.”
“Oh, if you’ve seen it already, I don’t want to…” Lachlan motioned with his hand and almost spilled the champagne that likely cost more than his weekly pay.
“Nowhere else to be.” Tim watched him intensely and took another sip of the bubbly as his Adam’s apple bobbed.
Had Tim undone another button? Yes, there was definitely more chest hair on display, a reddish hue showing in the setting sun. Three—no, four buttons undone now. That was down to the humidity, surely.
Ryan’s dad still watched him. Here it was—he was about to say that Lachlan looked familiar. Was about to connect the dots that Lachlan was his son’s annoying mate that hung around too much playing Xbox and begging for surf lessons.
“Why isn’t it a pleasure?” Lachlan asked. His face burned as he added, “The wedding, I mean.”
Tim lifted a shoulder in a shrug. He ran his fingertip around the rim of the champagne glass.
“My mate’s daughter married a bloke who’s richer than God thanks to his father and Bitcoin or some kind of internet bullshit.
Don’t know many guests. The groom paid for all of us, which is the only reason I’m here. ”
Lachlan sipped the crisp bubbles. “I can see why. This place is incredible. There’s not a leaf out of place.”
Tim nodded. “Never had service like this. Shudder to think what the wedding cost. We’re all staying in the beachfront rooms. Though this beach is shit compared to home.”
“Agreed. The sand is grainy as.”
“Have you been in the saltwater lagoon? It’s massive. Just keeps going and going.”
“Not yet. I should go tonight—but it might be closed soon.”
“Nah, it’s open twenty-four hours. All good.”
“Sweet. I guess that kind of service is worth paying for. Although the only reason I can afford to be here is because of the rain. March is half the price of high season.”
“Aren’t they still paying lawyers an arm and a leg these days?”