That One Summer (The Summer Series)

  I peeled off the cover, hitched myself up onto my elbows and watched as Chris stood outside the open end of the van and brushed his teeth.

  “What did you say when he gave it to you?”

  “Whert curld I serh?” he asked with a mouth full of foam before he shoved the brush back into his mouth.

  “You should have reminded him I had a headache.”

  Chris choked on some toothpaste as he fought not to laugh.

  I buried my head in my hands. “Oh my God, Chris. We’re living a lie.”

  I lifted my head only to face a wall of exposed abs as Chris stood outside the van, peeling his top off. I quickly looked away, nuzzling down in my bedding and turned onto my side. A moment after Chris had rinsed his mouth out, the back of the van dipped under his weight as he once again rummaged around in his bag. I heard him as he shucked off his shoes and undid the belt and zip of his pants before shutting the back door and plunging us both into darkness.

  All of a sudden, the van felt claustrophobic, far too small for the both of us. I held my breath, bracing myself until Chris climbed over the seat and made himself comfortable in the front.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he lay down next to me. My eyes widened. He puffed up his pillow and shimmied himself into a little spot, his arm pressing against me as he made himself comfortable.

  “You got enough room?” he asked.

  “Yep, plenty,” I lied.

  Chris was so close I could feel the heat from his skin; I could hear every intake of breath he made.

  I lay frozen in an awkward twisted position, afraid to move. It was like being trapped under the bed playing Murder in the Dark all over again, except this time I didn’t have to fear Ringer – well, not until the morning and this time it would be for a whole other reason.

  Oh my God, Ringer thinks we’re having sex! Which means by morning everyone will think we’ve done it and they’ll all be looking at us with ‘they have just totally had sex’ eyes.

  I sighed.

  “What’s wrong?” Chris asked.

  “Oh nothing, this bloody thing itches,” I said, which wasn’t a total untruth. I clawed at my dress.

  Chris hitched himself onto his side. “Are you still wearing your dress?” he asked, laughing.

  “Pfft, no!”

  Chris reached out, carefully sliding his hand up my arm to my shoulder, feeling the delicate lace of the material. “Yeah, you are. Why?”

  I lifted my chin. “Because it’s actually quite comfy.”

  “When it’s not itching?” he repeated.

  “Yeah, well aside from that.”

  “You can’t get it off,” Chris spoke in such a way that I could completely imagine him grinning, thinking it so hilarious that I couldn’t get out of my own clothes. “Did you even try?”

  “Of course I tried,” I snapped.

  “Whoa, okay, I see it’s a touchy subject,” he said as he pulled himself up to a sitting position. For a moment I thought he was actually offended and was making a move toward the front seat.

  “W-where are you going?” I sat bolt upright.

  Chris paused. “Nowhere. Turn around.” His voice was low.

  “Chris, it’s fine, I was nearly asleep. I can just …”

  “Does everything have to be a bloody debate with you?”

  My mouth gaped. “No.”

  “Then turn around.”

  This time I did as he asked.

  No biggie. He’s done this before; it’s the same as before. Except the zipper is going down instead of up, and he’s half dressed, and in the dark, in the back of the Shaggin’ Wagon with a condom floating around somewhere. Yep! No big deal whatsoever.

  Chris gently swept my hair to the side, his fingertips lightly grazing along the back of my neck. It was just as he had done earlier in the evening, but somehow the dark heightened my senses; I could feel his breath on the back of my neck; I could hear him swallow deeply as his fingers gently worked on the buttoned clasp at the top. Just like he had struggled before to do it up, he was having trouble undoing it. He shifted closer; I could feel his leg press into my tail bone. I could hear my own laboured breath that seemed so painfully loud, but it was nothing compared to the thunderous beating of my heart that was practically deafening to my ears.

  I bit my lip – a part of me wanted him to hurry up, but an even bigger part of me wanted him to take his time.

  “Got it.” His words were low and close to my ear.

  He then, with an agonisingly slow and steady hand, peeled the zipper downward. It was as if he was unravelling me. I pressed my lips together, closing my eyes, as I briefly imagined that this wasn’t just about a clumsy girl wanting to get out of an itchy dress, but it was because he wanted to undo my dress. Because it was Chris and me, in the back of his van. Because I was a girl he had seen from across the room, a girl he had walked with and guided through the dark, a girl he didn’t have to pretend he was sleeping with to play a joke on his friends.

  I almost gasped at the maddening sensation of Chris’s thumb as it accidently grazed my bare back. I leaned back a little, hoping that more would come of it, but as quickly as it had been there it was gone, until I felt the press of his lips resting on my shoulder.

  It was utterly distracting until his beautiful hands slid over my bare shoulders, pushing the fabric of my dress so that it fell forward. I grabbed the material, lightly brushing my fingers against his as I pulled the material down toward my waist. Chris’s breathing quickened and he watched me, motionless for a long moment, almost as if he was contemplating what to do next.

  I turned my head, my cheek so near his; even in the dark I could sense his lips were close. If he didn’t know where to go from here, I sure did. Just as I was about to make the next step, an easy one, by closing the distance between us, he took the next bold move.

  “Goodnight!”

  He shifted back, lay down and rolled over, facing away from me.

  I stared at his back in stunned silence, half naked and bitterly disappointed.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  After that, sleep did not naturally follow.

  Instead, I lay there in my bra and undies, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what it was exactly he had found so repulsive about me. I had worked myself into such an over-exhausted state of worthlessness and frustration. The worst thing was I knew Chris wasn’t asleep either; you could always tell by a person’s breathing if they were asleep or not. Sleep was full of deep, relaxed breaths, and there was nothing relaxed about Chris. He lay with his back to me, probably wondering how he would possibly face me in the morning. Well, I would make it easy for him, I thought.

  As soon as the first slither of sunlight even threatened to lighten the sky, as quietly as I could I rummaged through my bag to find my running gear: my Lycra three-quarter pants, sports bra, my ankle socks and runners. With my water bottle, I wrapped it all up, deciding I could get dressed outside the van; it wasn’t like anyone would be up at this hour, anyway.

  I slowly unclicked the door and slid out. I glanced back at Chris’s apparently sleeping body. A pulse of anger shot through me as I remembered how humiliated I had felt last night. I wished I had just slept in the bloody tent. I slid out the back of the van and gently closed the door before quickly getting dressed and jogging along the walking track.

  I had thought that running might clear my head; that it would be a welcome return to feel my muscles cry and my lungs burn as I pushed myself to stride longer, run faster. I would run until either I vomited or could push through it, but as I collapsed against a tree, sweat dribbling down my back, my cheeks flushed with heat, there was nothing clear about my mind at all.

  I was still haunted by his touch. Had I imagined his laboured breath? The way he had gently caressed my skin? I could almost still feel the burn of his lips on my shoulder.

  I trudged back up the path. Up ahead I could see the gang hovering around the makeshift kitchen, heating up baked beans on the campfire as the
billy boiled.

  My face flamed with embarrassment. Ringer had probably blabbed about the condom he had so thoughtfully gifted Chris and me. I slowed my pace as I headed back toward the campsite. Let Chris face them first.

  ***

  I saw him before he saw me.

  Standing shirtless by the makeshift kitchen, spooning a mouthful of Nutri-Grain, he was listening intently to Sean who sat on a folded out camping chair holding a captive audience. So captive, a dribble of milk slid down Chris’s chin, which he wiped away with the back of his hand.

  God, how could such a thing be so sexy? I needed to have an ice-cold solar shower.

  I was grateful for Sean holding the spotlight; it made my approach from the track of less interest than I had anticipated. I received only distracted glances and half-hearted waves from the enthralled group that surrounded Sean. The only person who didn’t seem so enthralled was Chris, whose deep brown gaze locked with mine briefly before I quickly looked away, sliding into the spare space next to Bell.

  “What’s going on?” I whispered.

  Bell grinned, munching thoughtfully on a toast finger. “Sean was just retelling a gripping tale of love and loss,” she said with a giggle.

  “But mostly loss,” added Stan quietly out of the side of his mouth. He and Bell exchanged looks and caught a case of the giggles.

  Sean’s eyes darkened. “It’s not funny.”

  “No, it’s not,” added Chris as he sat beside Adam on the opposite side of the table. “It’s bloody hilarious.”

  “Okay, what have I missed?” I looked around the snickering group.

  Toby stretched his arms toward the sky before linking them behind his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Sean thought he’d try to get all chummy with the owners of Villa Co-Co.”

  “I would call it more like flirting.” Amy crossed her arms, a smirk curving her mouth.

  “True. There was some shameless flirting going on,” Toby agreed.

  “Get stuffed, she was old enough to be my mother,” piped up Sean.

  “Which makes it all the more disturbing,” mused Amy.

  “Anyway, I don’t know if you saw Jan? The Madame of Villa Co-Co?” Toby asked me.

  I tried to cast my memory back; I hadn’t really been there that long. I did remember a short, dumpy, overtanned lady with spikey, peroxide hair swanning around the place in a kaftan and fake acrylic claws. For the briefest of moments I had entertained the notion that she looked like a human-sized pineapple. Could she be …

  “Oh my God, the Pineapple?”

  They all burst into the loudest, most hysterical laughter, none laughing louder than Adam who banged the table with his hand and grabbed his stomach.

  “That’s her.” Toby pointed at Sean. “The Pineapple!”

  The only person not laughing was Sean. He sat rubbing the stubble of his chin with a wry smile. “All right, all right, get on with it, Tobias, you’re enjoying this way too much.”

  Toby tried to regain his composure as he wiped his eyes. Tess sat next to him, catching her own breath as she waited with glee for him to continue. They both seemed normal and relaxed. I hoped this was a good sign.

  Toby cleared his throat. “Anyway, the Pineapple.”

  Ringer snorted.

  “Shhh.” Ellie elbowed him.

  “So, I’m not sure how it happened exactly but the Pineapple honed in on the great almighty Sean; she must know a businessman when she sees one, who knows? They were talking about business and hotels and all the stuff that would make you want to take a cyanide pill, it was so utterly boring.” Toby groaned.

  “Except for you, Chris, you would have loved it,” Amy pointed out.

  “Sounds riveting,” Chris deadpanned.

  “Anyway, as the night wore on, I think her top got lower so the cleavage got bigger and bigger.”

  “There was a lot of cleavage,” grimaced Tess.

  “And with each shift of her low-cut top, her hand would motion the barman for another jug of beer.”

  “So the Pineapple had big jugs?” I asked Sean, trying not to laugh.

  He shook his head. “Massive.”

  “There were jugs everywhere,” Toby exclaimed, holding his hands up with dramatic flair. “Anytime Sean finished another jug, she would be like, ‘Let me get this one, let me get this one.’”

  “Where were you, Amy?” I asked.

  “Rolling my eyes next to him.”

  “We learned about how she and her husband have just returned from Bali because they import furniture, and how they want to open up a restaurant over there, all really fascinating stuff, and we thought, you know, these people are quite switched on really. But we sort of really didn’t realise how switched on and business savvy they were until it was closing time,” said Toby.

  By now my elbows were on the table; I had fully leaned forward, just like the others had been before.

  “What happened at closing time?” I bit my lip.

  “The Pineapple disappeared and a waitress slipped Sean a folded piece of paper with a smile.”

  Before I could ask if the Pineapple’s phone number was on it, Sean sighed. “A hundred and seventy-eight bucks.”

  “What?”

  “Mate, you ruined my punchline!” Toby slapped the table, annoyed.

  I must have looked confused until Chris spoke. “The Pineapple was running a bar tab the whole time.”

  I tilted my head in sympathy, but Amy continued to shake her head.

  “Some savvy businessman you are,” she scoffed.

  I patted Sean on the shoulder. “Never mind, you weren’t to know she was a rotten pineapple,” I said, trying not to laugh.

  I stood to make my way for some brekky, making a conscious effort to not make eye contact with Chris. If there was one thing I could sympathise with Sean about, it was that you couldn’t always judge a book by its cover. That I knew for sure.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “I wouldn’t bother with that if I were you.”

  Ringer’s voice snapped me from my daydream as I stood beside the solar shower with my cup of tea, mentally psyching myself up to have a shower and then get changed.

  I turned to where he was busy packing up chairs.

  “I have to,” I said.

  There were just no two ways about it; I had to wash off the sweat from my run, I had to feel human if I was going to sit in the van with Chris again for hours and hours. Something I was not looking forward to.

  “Just do what the rest of us are gonna do.” Ringer groaned as he lifted a twenty-litre esky onto the back of the ute’s tray.

  I looked expectantly at him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Tammy, where are we?”

  I looked around.

  Um, nowhere?

  “We’re at Evoka Springs.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So do you know why people stop here?”

  “Gemstone elephant statues?” I said, taking a sip of my tea.

  “Evoka SPRINGS, baby!” Ringer pointed behind me. “See down that track, where Sean and Amy’s love nest is?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Well, about three hundred metres beyond that is a giant watering hole.”

  “Heated springs?” My eyes lit up. “Why didn’t you guys tell me yesterday?” I shuddered at the memory of the icy water.

  “Uh, not heated exactly – actually, it’s just like a big river – but the water is warm as.”

  Oh, okay, so that sounded better than an ice-cold shower. And I didn’t fancy my chances of Chris offering to pour warm water on me again. If anything, Chris seemed more likely to pour ice-cold water on heated situations.

  I tipped the dregs out of my cup. “Are you going down?” I asked.

  “We all are! Better get your swimmers on.” He shrugged. “Or not, doesn’t worry me.” Ringer winked and flashed a cheeky grin.

  ***

  I jogged up the path, feel
ing all the expected excitement of not wanting to get left behind as I rushed to change into my swimmers. The last thing I hoped to see was Chris coming down the track in the opposite direction, dressed in nothing but his black footy shorts with a towel slung over his shoulder.

  God, he looked good.

  I snapped my thoughts from such perviness. Besides, I was still mad at him from last night, wasn’t I? Oh no, was I starting to turn into an Amy clone? Holding a grudge and being dramatic? I really didn’t want to be like that; besides, what was his crime, not finding me irresistible?

  No, I didn’t want to be that girl. So, in the true spirit of positive, positive, positive, I met Chris’s guarded eyes with a bright smile.

  “Going for a tub?” I called, making my way toward him.

  Don’t look at his shoulders; don’t linger on his pecs; eyes up front and centre!

  He held up a cake of soap with a smirk.

  “I hope that is environmentally friendly?”

  His face seemed to relax a little; the guard came down. “Absolutely,” he said with a grin. “The fish are going to smell like roses.”

  He had the most beautiful smile. How had I missed it before? Maybe because it was so rare, but when he smiled in front of me it was utterly transforming; Chris was like the sun appearing from behind the clouds.

  I wanted to get to know him, the real him. I didn’t want to dismiss him in petty anger because he didn’t make a move last night; I wanted to find out what pushed his buttons, what made him tick. I had seriously contemplated getting a lift with Adam and Ellie or Stan and Belinda rather than spend another day with Chris in the van, but I never entertained the thought for long. I had grown quite fond of the van.

  Of Chris.

  “So, has Ringer mentioned anything to you?”

  My eyes blinked at his question. Oh God, that’s right, last night’s gift from Ringer.

  “Oh, um, no, actually. I was kind of expecting the worst. You?”

  Chris shook his head. “Not yet. Give it time, he’ll strike when we least expect it.”

  “It’s like Murder in the Dark all over again.”