Chapter Four
Any minute now, Lachlan was going to wake up.
He’d open his eyes in his bedroom—its walls still decorated with the generic ocean paintings it came with and corners stacked with boxes.
Or maybe he’d be in Bel and Mitch’s house—which was still technically partly his house.
Now it would be fully his in practice for at least the next six months while he tried to get his life back on track.
Blowing his best friend’s father was a terrific start.
So much for his little secret he’d take to the grave. As he surveyed the waves from the buggy, listening to the radio calls from other parts of the beach, he still couldn’t believe Tim Bullock was here.
Picking up the buggy’s microphone, Lachlan blew into it twice with a staccato noise as if tapping it to get attention. “This is not a safe swimming area. Come straight back to shore and go swim between the red and yellow flags.”
A few people listened, but most continued laughing and splashing in the growing shore break. The Croc, the permanent rip current at the north end of Barking, would be biting soon. The sun beat down as midday approached, and he waved at the flies brought in from the desert on the easterly.
It was a hot, restless wind that matched his mood. His leg jiggled, and he perched on the edge of the buggy’s seat behind the wheel, ready to jump into action. Ready to climb out of his skin.
How was Tim Bullock here?
The image of Tim’s stunned expression under the bright fluorescent lights—followed by an unmistakable flare of fury—was seared into Lachlan’s mind. Standing there as the other lifeguards looked on curiously, he’d never wished so passionately that the floor would open up and swallow him.
He reckoned he was lucky they’d come face to face in a crowded room full of witnesses, or else Tim might’ve hauled off and punched him.
And Lachlan would’ve deserved it.
He’d known it was wrong. Deceitful. Manipulative.
“Isn’t that just like a lawyer,” he muttered. Maybe he should’ve fought to stay at the firm after all. He fit right in.
The Shark.
He hadn’t been able to shake the nickname he’d earned from other lifeguards during law school. He’d insisted heaps of times that he was nothing like a cold calculating shark stereotype.
And yet.
He’d have to give in his notice. It was the only thing to do. There was no way he could work shoulder to shoulder with Tim for the next three months. How could he even look him in the eye?
But how would he buy groceries and pay the bills? Even living at the house rent-free, he needed an income.
“Swimmers, come straight back to shore.” He kept his eye on two in particular that were drifting out farther. They’d get caught in the rip any minute. He scanned the water, checking for anyone else in trouble. Even as his mind spun, he was constantly watching.
He’d thought the night with Tim would be his secret, but the worst part—
Lachlan blew sharply into the microphone. “These two swimmers right in front of me: Go to your right and you’ll reach the sandbank.”
He watched as they ignored him.
The worst part was that his terrible lie to Tim had been exposed. Surely that was the worst part. Yes. Of course it was!
It wasn’t that for a breathless moment, he’d been thrilled to see Tim.
“Don’t you think you’re in here? Shark?”
Tim’s deep voice came from behind, and Lachlan’s heart boomed as he jolted, whacking his knee on the steering wheel as he bolted up straight like a naughty schoolboy being reprimanded. Tim must’ve walked across the beach since no buggy had approached. Lachlan straightened his sunglasses.
With arms crossed, Tim leaned a shoulder against the buggy to Lachlan’s left. The vehicles were made in America, so the wheel was on the left instead of the right.
Lachlan forced his lungs to work, though his voice sounded reedy and tentative. “Giving them the chance to rescue themselves.”
It was a regular part of their job—teaching people to help themselves in a rip in case next time there weren’t any lifeguards. He’d learned over the years when to give swimmers an extra minute to save themselves or when they needed help right away.
He hesitated. “Do you think I should go now?”
Tim’s head was blocked by the buggy roof, so Lachlan couldn’t read his expression. He was a solid, furious presence only centimeters away. Though his posture might have looked casual to anyone else, Tim’s anger was like a wave crashing over Lachlan.
“You really want to know what I think?”
Lachlan was positive that he most definitely did not want to know what was on Tim’s mind. He was going to cop a spray at the very least. God, he deserved it. Hot shame burned his cheeks. “Tim, I—”
“Don’t bloody call me that,” Tim snapped.
Lachlan watched the swimmers fighting the rip. They were still okay, though if they didn’t reach the sandbank soon, he’d be in. He spoke into the microphone again, gripping the plastic and metal painfully. “Keep going to your right. You’re almost there.”
Clearing his throat, Lachlan made sure the microphone was off and said, “Sorry. Uh, Mr. Bullock, I—”
“Jesus, don’t call me that!” Tim hissed. “Bull. Everyone calls me Bull.”
“Right. Bull.” The name felt foreign on his tongue.
“You. Knew.”
Lachlan itched to see Tim’s face as he explained. But the boys in the tower might see them, and this wasn’t the place. “I, uh—”
“I’m saying this once,” Tim growled. “It never happened. I don’t know you. I won’t know you. At work, you’ll call me ‘Bull’ like everyone else. You’ll do what I say. And you’ll never, ever tell another soul about Bali. We’ll never discuss it again. It didn’t happen. Understood?”
Mouth dry, Lachlan could only nod even as his dick tingled with a shocking rush of lust. What the hell was happening? He was losing it!
One of the swimmers bobbed under the surface. Lachlan tossed his sunglasses, peeling off his shirt as Tim stepped aside and said into the radio in a completely calm, normal voice, “Central, Lachlan’s in.”
Grabbing the rescue board, Lachlan raced into the surf, pushing past the shore break and paddling hard toward the man and woman. They reached for his board as he sat up and asked, “You right?”
“I don’t know what happened!” The young woman wiped water from her face. She sounded British. “We were suddenly so far from shore.”
“You’re swimming in a rip. It’s okay. Take a few breaths.”
The man only clung to the board and shook his head. Lachlan spotted another blue rescue board approaching over a swell, and Liam pulled up with an easy smile.
“Come over to me,” he instructed the man. “We’ve got you.”
Lachlan maneuvered the woman onto his board, nudging her shoulder so she lay down with her head toward the front.
On his stomach between her legs—a position he’d become accustomed to during rescues but was always a bit awkward—he tugged her back so they didn’t nosedive and caught a wave in.
She laughed with delight, her fear forgotten.
After Lachlan ensured she was all right, he looked around, hoping Tim would be waiting by the buggy. He’d disappeared, and Lachlan should have been relieved.
He should not have been disappointed. There was nothing else to say. Bali never happened and sure as hell wouldn’t happen again.
Hours later, Lachlan’s dick hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Lachlan’s in.”
He kept hearing Tim—Mr. Bullock—no, Bull!—saying his name. Everyone typically called him Lachie when they weren’t calling him the Shark or Sharky, so there was something special about his full name.
“You’ll do what I say.”
Under the water in the grotty locker room shower, he tried to stop thinking about T—Bull. Ryan’s dad, he reminded himself again.
All things considered, he’d gotten off lightly. He supposed Bull couldn’t fire him without a job-related cause, but it was still a relief.
“You’ll do what I say.”
Thinking of him was also unbearably hot.
Lachlan hadn’t experienced such powerful lust in ages, and apparently it’d been stored up.
Years ago, when he’d been a new lifeguard and had fallen for Jules, they’d both been closeted and had set ironclad rules about keeping it strictly business on the beach and in the tower.
Now, even though the white plastic curtain was the only thing between Lachlan and the other guys only meters away in the locker room, his dick was so hard he thought it might shatter. Even thinking about Julian hadn’t helped, and that heartbreak had been an effective erection killer for years.
There was no way he could go out there in his state, and obviously he couldn’t wank with his mates so close. What on earth was the matter with him?
Desperately, Lachlan tried to think of anything else. His sister—God, no, stop! Maths, algebra, legal definitions. Encumbrance, intestate, interlocutory application…
“You’ll do what I say.”
Lips clamped shut, he turned his back to the curtain and jerked himself, hot water spraying his chest. Spreading his legs for balance, he worked his shaft, pulling down the foreskin from his leaking cock. He was already close. It was rough with no lube, but he didn’t mind.
He bet Tim would be rough with him.
Especially if he knew what Lachlan was doing. If he knew what he was thinking. He’d be furious.
The sound of nearby muffled laughter and conversation faded over the rush of blood in Lachlan’s ears as he imagined Tim squeezed into the shower with him, pressing against his back, his hot, hard cock pushing at Lachlan’s hole. Demanding. Unrelenting. Yet still taking care of him.
“Wound too tight, aren’t you, boy?”
He choked down a cry as he came, slapping his hand over his mouth, imagining it was Tim’s. Toes curling on the dingy tile, he shook with bursts of pleasure so intense his knees went weak.
“Sharky!” Baz thundered. “Don’t you dare use up all the hot water!”
He used enough to be sure the last of his jizz was down the drain before snatching his towel off the rack and pretending everything was just fine. And it was! He’d gotten it out of his system. That was it. The end.