Back Into It excerpt
His best friend was flirting with another man, and Patrick was fine with that. At least that’s what he told himself as he drained the last of his scotch and soda. He leaned over the edge of the yacht and pretended to be looking for non-existent seals and snuck another glance at Cheryl.
She was minuscule, his best friend. Even in sparkling stilettos. Cheryl’s red dress clung to her flawless body, showing off her big tits and tiny waist. Her plump, round ass. Her dark hair was loose, curling to just above said ass. It was the kind of hair you couldn’t help imagining spread across your pillow and wrapped up in your fist. But then she piled it in a bun on top of her head and looked so adorable, Patrick just wanted to tuck her into his pocket. She had huge dark eyes like a sugar glider and when she smiled, it was like the sun coming up over the ocean.
He watched her sip her sparkling wine, her lips liquid red and pouty.
At a black-tie yacht party full of WAGS, influencers, and models, Cheryl was still the hottest thing for miles. The prettiest girl he’d ever seen. Would ever see. He’d known that the night they met. He’d been high as balls on MDMA, wandering around a techno gig looking for his mates when out of nowhere came a goddess. He and Cheryl locked eyes and the chemical haze in his head lifted.
It’s her, he’d thought. The one. Holy shit.
… And then he’d made a total cock of himself and earned a one-way ticket to ‘never gonna happen, champ.’
She liked him. They were great friends, but in the back of his mind, he’d hoped she’d see him as something more one day. He’d clocked in four years hoping it. If his football stats were as shitty as his romantic ones, he’d be banned from professional sport.
He was so fucking in love with Cheryl.
He was so fucking screwed.
The man she was talking to was old. Everyone Cheryl hit on was old. This dude was at least fifty, in douchebag wayfarers and a three-piece suit. He kept touching Cheryl, his wrinkly hand brushing her gold-skinned one. She didn’t seem to mind. Of course, she didn’t. Cheryl had a thing for older guys, and he had a thing for her. A million things.
Cheryl’s ancient drinking companion touched her forearm, and Patrick clenched his jaw. He wanted to march across the deck, throw Cheryl over his shoulder, and carry her off, but he had no right to do that.
In her mind, they were friends. In everyone’s mind, they were just friends. Cheryl and Patrick. Patrick and Cheryl. Joined at the hip in the most PG-13 way possible. It didn’t matter that they’d gone on hiking trips, slept in the same tent at music festivals, and had lunch every Sunday unless he was playing footy. They were Just Friends.
Last year she’d come home to Western Australia with him for New Years and stayed up all night drinking whiskey with his brothers.
“She’s a firecracker,” his dad said the next day. “Whoever marries her is one lucky bloke.”
No one was under the impression that bloke was him. Especially not Cheryl.
And if he needed more proof that she saw him as a friend and not a man, it was the way she cuddled up to him like a koala, kissing him on the cheek when they saw each other, snuggling into him on the couch, wrapping her arm around his waist as they walked.
He didn’t mind. The cost of touching Cheryl was worth any price. Same with hanging out all the time. He’d rather be with her than with anyone else, even if it sucked that it was never more. At least that’s how he usually felt.
He’d invited her to Derek and Mara Hardiman’s yacht party, expecting to spend the afternoon drinking together. But then he’d been pulled into a massive chat with an ex-football commentator and now Cheryl was drinking wine with some asshole, and he was trying not to follow her around being weird.
“Oi, Psycho!”
He glanced over his shoulder. In Rockingham he was ‘Patty’ but there were already two Patricks playing for the Sharks when he arrived, so Willow nicknamed him ‘Psycho.’ It was an ironic reference to his last name and “that American cunt who cuts people up—he’s a Patrick, too.”
Patrick loved the nickname, but he was pretty sure he’d have loved it if Sloan ‘Willow’ Williams had dubbed him ‘Fuckhead Jones.’ Playing professional football alongside the guys he’d worshipped as a kid was a dream come true. It had taken months to stop stammering like a nervous wreck whenever Derek Hardiman spoke to him.
“Over here, Psycho.”
He rotated forty degrees. Willow and Derek were approaching with their kids. Willow, carrying his daughter Jupiter upside down, Derek wheeling his twins in a stroller. It was their first birthday and the reason for the yacht party.
Patrick bent to smile at Adam and Sean Hardiman who were dressed in baby tuxedos for the occasion. “Are they liking the party?”
Derek shrugged. He wasn’t much of a talker.
“Well, thanks for having me,” Patrick went on. “The weather’s great.”
Willow cackled. “Fuckin’ weather chat? You need to up your game, Hardo. This party clearly sucks.”
Derek ignored Willow, as everyone generally did. “How’s your pre-season looking, Psych? Gonna have another blinder?”
Patrick ducked his head. He’d done well this year, but praise from Derek still choked him up. “Fingers crossed. Coach wants to change things up a bit.”
“Well, he’s new.” Derek leaned on the back of his stroller. “What are you thinking? One more season with the Sharks, then a trade?”
Patrick hesitated. It was kind of taboo to discuss trades with teammates, but Willow and Derek had been retired for a few years now.
“Not sure. I’ve had a few offers, but I’m hoping it’ll work itself out.”
Derek’s brow furrowed. “It won’t. Call your agent. Get a new deal.”
Patrick blinked. “I dunno. I’ve got time, don’t I?”
“You think you’ve got time. No one knows how long they’ll last. Don’t blow your opportunities.”
“Or do and marry rich.” Willow turned a giggling Jupiter in the air. “Become a house husband, like Hardo.”
Derek glared at him. “I’m not a house husband.”
“Oh yeah? What do you do exactly?”
Derek’s glare intensified. There were rumours he was writing fantasy novels under a pseudonym, but no one from the Sharks was brave enough to ask him about it.
“I’ll think about a trade,” Patrick said, mostly to break the awkward silence.
“Good,” Derek said. “You only come up once. Capitalise on it.”
Patrick was reminded of his dad’s ‘always wear a condom’ lectures. He gave his friend the same solemn nod he’d given his old man. “I will.”
“Ah, lay off.” Willow lifted Jupiter over his head. “Psycho’s only twenty-three.”
“Almost twenty-four,” Patrick said. “Mid-twenties.”
Willow snorted. “Yeah, that’s super fuckin’ old. Get your walking frame ready. Why are you out here by yourself, anyway?”
Before he could come up with something that wasn’t ‘trying to figure out if Cheryl is gonna bang some old dude’, a loud, feminine laugh caught Willow and Derek’s attention. Cheryl was doubled over, tilting her wine glass as though the old guy was so hilarious, she might spill her drink. But it wasn’t her real laugh. Cheryl’s real laugh was deep and kind of snorty. She was performing for the old fuck, trying to win him over. Patrick gripped his empty scotch glass tight enough to crack it, then realised Willow and Derek were watching him. He tried to rearrange his face to neutral, but they’d already clocked exactly what was going on. Their expressions were all too familiar: pity with a shot of ‘this is fucking hilarious.’
“So, Cheryl Karalis-Walker’s out here,” Willow said to Derek. ”What an interesting yet totally unexpected turn of events.”
“Leave it,” Patrick warned. “We’re mates.”
“You sure are.” Willow jerked a thumb at Cheryl. “She looks happy.”
Patrick kept his grip tight on his scotch glass. “Something you want to say, Willow?”
“Not at all, mate. Live and let live, that’s my motto.”
Cheryl fake-laughed behind them again, and Derek’s expression grew even more pitying. “She come with you?”
“As friends.”
Derek’s lips twitched. “Right.”
“So, you’re not still holding out hope?” Willow asked. Unlike Derek, he didn’t bother hiding his shit-eating grin. “Not still hoping she’ll get drunk and give you one?”
“No. I’m?—”
“Burning one fuck of a torch. What’s it been? Three years since you guys started hanging out?”
More like four, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “We get along. It’s not a big deal.”
“Of course not.” Willow put a struggling Jupiter on the ground. “What’s up, baby girl?”
“I go mumma?”
“Of course, princess.” Willow watched Jupiter run across the deck, beaming proudly. “She’s amazing,” he said to no one, before laser-focusing back on Patrick.
“But you know, Hardo,” he said, his big, stupid smile getting bigger and stupider. “This Cheryl thing reminds me of something. A word, maybe. Or like, a phrase, but I just can’t think what it is…”
“You’re right,” Derek said slowly. “It’s like… some kind of district? A region?”
“A zone.”
“Ah, yeah. A zone. And Psycho’s near it. Almost in it, you might say.”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Yeah, ha-ha. Don’t you assholes have milk to heat up or something?”
“I’m good here,” Derek said. “Willow?”
“Happy to hang around. So, what’s your plan, Psycho? Hover by the deck and watch the old boy work his game or…?”
“Drop it,” Patrick said.
“Yeah, drop it, Willow,” Derek said evenly. “Old mate’s locked in, and he looks like he hasn’t touched a tit for twenty years. Don’t ruin it for him.”
Willow tutted. “That’s not nice, Hardo. Cheryl won’t abandon Psycho at a fancy party. She’s the Padmé to his Anakin. But, like, when Anakin was a child slave who did pod racing and Padmé had to babysit him.”
At this, his friends fell over each other howling with laughter. Patrick turned to face the water. He could take shit. You couldn’t play footy, any team sport, and not take shit, but when it came to Cheryl, he didn’t have much of a sense of humour. Maybe Derek and Willow knew it because their laughter faded.
“Sorry,” Willow said, wiping his eyes. “It’s Derek’s fault.”
“Cheers.” Derek squinted at Cheryl. “Seriously, Psycho, I know she’s a stunner, but you’re not actually…?”
Patrick knew exactly where this was going but fuck if he was going to make Derek’s job easier. “Not actually what?”
“You know. Girl’s gotta be, what? Thirty?”
“Thirty-two,” Willow said promptly.
Derek gave a low whistle.
“The hell are you whistling about?” Patrick snarled, surprised by his own anger.
Derek blinked. “Sorry, mate. Just… don’t you think she’s a bit old for you?”
“It’s not even a ten-year age gap and Cheryl looks way younger!”
“Yeah, but…”
Derek didn’t need to finish his sentence. Patrick knew what he meant. “Yeah, but Cheryl’s the age when girls get married and have kids and you’re the age where guys drink beer out of their own shoes.”
That’s why his family didn’t see him and Cheryl getting together. That’s why no one in the whole fucking world saw them getting together. As far as everyone who wasn’t him was concerned, he and Cheryl might be on the same track, but they were miles apart and they’d never end up in the same place at the same time.
“It doesn’t matter that Cheryl’s in her thirties,” he said, trying and failing to not sound defensive.
“Does it matter that she seems pretty invested in fucking the elderly?” Willow asked. “Like, to the exclusion of all dicks born after 1975?”
Patrick put his glass on the railing before it shattered. “She doesn’t?—”
“How do you know that?” Derek demanded of Willow. “She’s chatting to that old guy but that doesn’t mean she only rates old guys.”
“I went on tour with her, remember? Back when she was Eden’s media chick?” Willow rolled his eyes heavenward. “There were non-stop listeners of talkback radio coming out of her hotel room at three in the morning. I don’t think a single one of them could have synced an iPhone to save themselves.”
Derek laughed and Willow joined him, and Patrick debated pushing both of them overboard.
The kids, he told himself. Think of their kids.
“Sorry,” Willow said, wiping his streaming eyes. “I don’t wanna be a dick, but it’s just too funn?—”
“Afternoon, boys.” Bethany Myers appeared at Willow’s elbow. Her dark red hair was twisted into an elaborate crown and her usually friendly face was stern. “Are you enjoying the party?”
Derek and Willow exchanged nervous looks.
“Hi, Beth,” Derek said loudly. “How are you?”
“I’m wonderful.” Beth stroked a hand over her pregnant belly like an evil genius petting a cat. “Mara was telling me your new book is doing really well in Japan.”
Derek looked like he’d just sucked a lemon. “She did, huh?”
“Yes. I didn’t realise they had such a big fantasy market. You must be so happy!”
“I… am,” Derek said through gritted teeth.
Patrick stared determinedly at the ocean so he wouldn’t laugh.
“Mara said the sequel has twin dragons in it,” Beth went on. “Is that because of your baby twins? That’s so sweet.”
Patrick couldn’t help it. He laughed. Derek shot him a filthy look and clicked the brake off his stroller. “I’m going.”
“Bye!” Beth called after him as he pushed the twins away as fast as he could.
She rounded on Willow who was wearing a choirboy expression. “Sloan Williams, I heard you fell through a window at Temperance Bar last week. How pissed were you, anyway?”
Willow dropped the schoolboy act in a hot second. “Not that pissed!”
“Eden said a guy got glass in his foot and wanted to sue you and you had to give him two hundred dollars to go away.”
Patrick started coughing, he was laughing so hard. Willow rubbed the back of his neck, opened his mouth, closed it, then turned on his heel and ran after Derek.
“Well,” Beth said lightly. “That was easy.”
Patrick didn’t know much about Beth, except that she was married to Derek’s mate, Byron, and had a podcast, but he appreciated the assist. “You’ve gotta teach me how to do that sometime.”
“It’s an innate talent, I’m afraid,” Beth said, still stroking her belly. “Besides, now that I’m pregnant, taunting football players is my last guilty pleasure.”
“Does that mean it’s my turn?”
Beth laughed. “No, I just saw Dumb and Dumber dishing out what they can’t eat and thought I’d come fuck it up for them.”
“Well, thanks.” He glanced over his shoulder. Cheryl was still deep in conversation with the old guy. “I might head to the bar. Do you want a drin?—”
“Actually, that’s not true. I thought it was about time someone took control of this shit show between you and Cheryl.”
Patrick almost knocked his glass off the yacht railing. “Sorry?”
“Cheryl.” Beth’s expression became steely again. “Derek and Willow have no idea what they’re talking about. She is into you. You need to make your move.”
“I don’t… are you serious?”
“One hundred percent. Let’s talk strategy.”
Patrick felt like he’d missed a step going downstairs. “Look, I don’t know what you think is happening, but me and Cheryl are just friends.”
“No, you’re not.”
Something about her set, freckled face made it impossible to lie. “Okay, we’re not. But it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t see me that way and Derek and Willow are knobs, but they’re right. Cheryl likes dads. Old men. She’s gonna go home with that sunglasses prick.”
“How do you know?”
He let out a sigh he felt like he’d been holding for over four years. “Let’s just say this isn’t the first time I’ve watched it happen.”
Beth gave a sympathetic little hum.
“Yeah, poor me,” he said and, hearing the bitterness in his voice, added, “She won’t keep him around though. The whole time I’ve known her, there’s been three guys who lasted longer than a weekend: Stupid Tom, Shithead Steve, and Dickhead Daniel.”
Beth made a face. “That’s a lot of alliteration.”
“I’m not a podcast host, Beth! I’m doing my best!”
She grinned. “So, Cheryl’s got no idea you’re into her?”
“I dunno. Sometimes it feels like there are signs… but nah, I don’t think so. Pretty sure it’s all in my head. Sometimes I think I’ll get over it, but it’s been…”
“Years,” Beth said promptly. “Well, have you tried dating? Getting some air?”
“That was the plan two years ago.”
“Two years ago?”
“Yup. Me and Cheryl hang out most Sundays and I was sick of reading between the lines and realising she’d come straight to mine after getting drilled by some insurance executive. I thought if I was hooking up, she’d work it out and get jealous too.”
“Oh dear…”
“Yeah, it wasn’t a smart move.”
“Did you at least have fun?”
“Not enough for how awkward it gets on the apps. And Cheryl didn’t give a fuck.”
Beth put a hand to her mouth. “Shit. Sorry. I’ve been there. I had a crush on this guy at work and I tried to make him jealous by banging his best mate.”
“Did it work?”
“He got my name wrong in an email a week later.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, he still thinks I’m called ‘Bianca.’” Beth shuddered. “Dark times. So, what about going for something more serious? Getting a girlfriend?”
“Everyone I’ve dated has, uh, hated the way I am with Cheryl. They usually do the ‘me or her’ thing.”
“And you choose her?”
Patrick raised his empty glass in a mock toast.
“Hmm,” Beth looked him right in the eyes. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
Patrick choked on nothing. “I don’t… I mean, that’s crazy. You can’t love someone if…”
Again, Beth’s clear brown eyes made it impossible to lie.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I just hoped I was hiding it. Making it look like a dumb crush.”
“You’re not,” Beth said. “Everyone knows. Everyone except Cheryl.”
“Shit…”
A waiter passed a tray of Aperol Spritz in front of them and Patrick ditched his empty glass and took two. If ever there was a time for double parking, it was now. He downed the first, wondering what he’d done to get a pregnant redhead to stare right into his soul at a yacht party.
Beth laid a warm hand on the sleeve of his tux. “I have good news, Patrick.”
“You know a hypnotist that can stop people from having feelings?”
“Better. I can make it happen between you and Cheryl.”
Patrick frowned. If Beth wasn’t pregnant, he’d ask if she was drunk. Instead, he felt his time was better spent draining his second Aperol.
“Seriously,” Beth said. “I have magical powers. Ask anyone.”
“‘Kay,” Patrick said thickly. “So what’s your plan?”
“All will be revealed, but first, I need to know something.”
“There’s always a catch…”
“Why do you love Cheryl?”
He blinked. “Sorry?”
“Why do you want to be with Cheryl? Why do you like her?”
The hugeness of that question, the randomness of it—along with a shitload of prosecco and orange liquor—made it hard for him to speak.
Beth took that badly. “Is it because she’s beautiful and you can’t have her? Is it because you don’t know how to have female friends? Are you trying to prove some point to Willow and Derek?”
“No. Christ, no.”
“Then why? Because I only use my powers for good and there are a lot of girls in the world.”
“Not like Cheryl.”
“True, but you’re a twenty-three-year-old football player, and neither of those things are famed for long-lasting sexual relationships. So, spell it out for me. Why do you want Cheryl?”
Patrick wasn’t an angry guy but the way she was talking like he was some dumb kid with no sense of loyalty sparked his temper. He put his empty Aperol glasses on the railing with more force than necessary. “Who the fuck wouldn’t want Cheryl? She’s funny and smart and driven?—”
“Driven?”
“Yeah, she’s always thinking, like, ten steps ahead. She never forgets anything. She remembers my mum’s birthday and how I have my coffee and she always asks about my brothers’ kids?—”
“So, she pays attention to you?”
“Yes,” he snarled. “But it’s more than that. She knows me and I know her. We’re happy together.”
“Maybe that means she’s just a good friend?”
“No. Before Cheryl, I was wandering around waiting for something to happen. The second I saw her, I knew. She’s what happened.”
“Okay, that’s pretty sweet.”
But he wasn’t done. Now that he’d started, words kept pouring out of him.
“The second we were talking, it was the easiest thing in the world. We fit together. Where I’m shit, she’s amazing. Where she needs help, I can help her. We work together, and I swear she feels it too, she just fights it. And I can wait. I will wait, it’s just… it’s fucking hard sometimes.”
He turned back to the water, face burning. He’d kept what he’d just said inside for so long only to blurt it out at the wrong woman.
“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t… yeah. Sorry.”
“That was really beautiful.”
The watery note in her voice made him glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, she was crying. “Shit. Did I upset you?”
“In the best possible way.” Beth wiped her eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m just full of hormones. Anyway, are you ready to fuck Cheryl?”
Emotional as he was, her about-face made him laugh. “There’s no way. Sorry, I like you, but there’s no way this is happening.”
“Patrick, you’re hot and tall and nice and everything, but you really don’t understand this situation. I do. Trust me.”
Still smiling, he shook his head. “Okay, I’ll trust you. What now?”
“Come with me.” Beth took his free arm and steered him toward the middle of the yacht.
He turned to look at Cheryl as he left. She was still talking to the old guy, unaware anything had happened. His stomach sank and he wished he’d kept his mouth shut to Beth. Even if everyone did know he was in love with Cheryl, at least he’d have denial on his side…
Beth led him to the main cabin, where most of the guests were hanging out. Three bars surrounded a big dance floor, and he spotted Derek and Mara swaying together, each holding a twin. The scene was so cutesy, he wanted to turn on his heels and run. “I might go talk to?—”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Beth said, tightening her grip on his arm. “There. You need to go talk to her.”
The woman in question was a short brunette chatting to Willow’s wife, Eden. She had a sleek corporate look. She was also at least forty.
“Ah, why her?”
“Are you not attracted to her?”
The woman was pretty. She reminded him a little of Eva Longoria. “I mean, yeah. But I told you, trying to make Cheryl jealous doesn’t work.”
“Didn’t work. Answer me something: when you were fucking around, it was with twenty-year-old footy groupies, right?”
“I…”
“Exactly. Cheryl knew she had nothing to worry about because those girls weren’t a threat to her or your relationship. But seeing you with this bitch?” Beth chuckled darkly. “That’ll light a fire under her ass.”
Patrick snuck another glance at the brunette. She seemed pretty no-nonsense. The kind of person who might not appreciate getting hit on by someone his age. His palms prickled with sweat. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
“It is.”
“But I’m not into older women, I just like Cheryl.”
Beth sighed. “Here’s some more free advice. Even if things don’t work out with Cheryl—which they will—you’re clearly attracted to dark-haired, Type-A bitches who know what they want and are probably going to be older than you. Embrace it.”
“I like all kinds of girls. The last chick I dated was German.”
“And who was your first crush?”
“Uh, Gloria from Modern Family?”
Beth rolled her eyes, shoving him firmly in the direction of the brunette. “Be one in a million, Psycho. Take the advice. Be happy.”
“I want to be happy, I just…” Patrick turned back to face Beth. “You don’t think I’m, like, submissive in the sack or something, do you?”
“I know you’re not.”
His relief was followed by immediate confusion. “How?”
“I just do.” Beth stood on her tiptoes to adjust his collar. “When she wakes up to herself, I have no doubt Cheryl will be very happy with you, Mr Normal.”
“Thanks, I guess, but seriously, how?—”
“What’s happening here?”
Byron had materialised out of nowhere behind his wife. He was a big bloke with a face so symmetrical, it was like he’d been made with AI. And he didn’t seem happy. Patrick pulled his collar from Beth’s grasp.
“Hey mate,” he said to Byron. “Nothing’s happening here.”
Byron’s eyes were cold. “You sure?”
“Relax, my love.” Beth wrapped an arm around her husband’s waist. “Patrick and I are devising a plan.”
Byron’s serious expression vanished. He suddenly looked very tired. “Are you giving unsolicited advice again, Horoscopes?”
“I’m giving much-needed, one-time-only advice,” Beth said sweetly. “Now please leave me and your unborn child alone to help a man achieve his destiny?”
Byron’s eyes flicked skyward. “We’re going to talk about this later.”
“Of course.” Beth twinkled her fingers at him. “Buh-bye.”
With a glance to him that clearly said, ‘Good luck, mate,” Bryon headed straight for the nearest bar.
“Ah, men,” Beth said fondly. “Ready to rock, Patrick?”
The interlude had given his nerves time to skyrocket. He wished he could join Byron at the bar. “I don’t think this is gonna work.”
“You’re scared. That’s good.” Beth nudged his side. “Go, say ‘hi’, and everything will take care of itself from there.”
“I dunno. What if it makes things between me and Cheryl go to shit?”
“That’s a risk you have to be willing to take.”
“But you said?—”
“I have magic powers and I know Cheryl wants you, but I’m not writing the screenplay of your life,” Beth said firmly. “No risk. No reward.”
“Shit…”
“But,” her bright brown gaze held his own. “Are you seriously happy to leave your relationship with Cheryl as it is now? As it’s been for the last four years?”
Patrick remembered Cheryl fake-laughing with the old man. The millions of times he’d watched her give affection to someone else, wishing he had the guts to tell her, just once, how he felt. Beth was right, it was time. He ran his fingers through his hair, letting it fall the way girls seemed to like.
“Wish me luck,” he told Beth, then headed across the dance floor to where the corporate brunette was sitting.
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