An Endless Summer(88)

“You can use my washer and dryer if you want. Thought you might want to be comfortable.”

I looked at him warily but he said it all so matter-of-factly, no hint of amusement. It was uncomfortable. Anything other than cocky sarcasm and I wasn’t quite sure how to handle it.

“Thanks,” I managed.

He tilted his head behind me. “Last door at the end of the hall.”

I padded along the cool, gloss floors from the bright, open light of the living area to a dark, long hallway. I would have thought that the bedrooms would have been upstairs, which intrigued me even more as to what may be above. But as I continued along, I soon discovered that it wasn’t merely a hall towards a bedroom – it was like an entire wing that led off the main house. I made my way to the last door, a big, beautiful wooden door with antique brass handles. Everything in this house was grand. I tentatively opened it, expecting another empty space, so when I was met with a queen-size mattress lying on the floor, right in front of a wall of glass that looked out over the lake, I drew in a long breath. I could only imagine how wonderful it must be to wake up to such a view.

The bed covers, bottle-green sheets and burgundy and green plaid doona, were all askew and unmade. There was an indentation still visible on the pillow where Sean had slept. I wanted to reach out and touch it, but thought better of it. Aside from a lamp that rested on the floor next to the bed, the only other furniture was a rustic chair that sat in the corner piled high with clothes.

I shook my head. Such a boy!

I opened the only other door, which I assumed was the en suite.

Wow. Now this was grand! It would have been quite the luxurious bathroom suite back in the seventies: gold tap fixtures, an avocado sink and retro-patterned, mission-brown tiles that covered the walls from floor to ceiling. It was an assault on the eyes. But it was large, with a his and hers sinks that gave me space to unload my cargo. A skylight prevented the dark colours from overpowering the space and provided enough natural light for me to take in my reflection.

I flinched back. Holy sweet Mary, Mother of God!

My hair had started to dry into a matted, dreadlocked mess and to say that my attire made me look like I had been dragged through a hedge backwards was a massive understatement. I couldn’t peel my clothes off quickly enough and hop into the shower. Scrubbing the grimy lake water off with a cake of Imperial Leather soap, I praised God that Sean had a stock of conditioner.

After running my fingers through the knotted tendrils of my hair and towelling it dry, I stood back to look at my new reflection. I was swamped by Sean’s massive T-shirt, which swam on me to the knees. If only my mother could see me now. I wrapped my towel and sodden clothes together and crept back into the living room. Sean was nowhere to be seen. I wanted to find out where the laundry was.

Where is he?

My eyes rested on Sean’s back through the opening of the doors. He was standing under a cascade of flowing water from an open shower on the deck. In a hypnotic, circular motion, he ran a cake of soap along his chest and pushed his head forward, letting the water fall across the back of his neck. His eyes were closed. I stood, frozen to the spot – my only movement was my teeth involuntarily digging into my bottom lip. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he moved his shoulder blades from side to side under the water. The shower sprayed a massaging cascade across his broad back, then turned into the stream above his head.

I swallowed deeply. Clasping my bundle tightly I was about to turn and look for the laundry by myself, but then Sean’s eyes flicked up and locked onto mine.

Sprung!





Chapter Forty-Two



“Laundry?” I all but screamed out in a high-pitched question.

Sean smiled, the big, broad, tooth-exposing kind.

So embarrassing.

He pointed to the opposite hall.

I all but ran toward the hall, scurrying through multiple doors that led to the wrong room. Seriously, how big is this freaking house?

I finally found the laundry room, which was ludicrously large for just washing clothes. It was long and narrow and also dated with sleek, seventies yellow tiles that had been ripped off the wall midway in what I could only guess was the beginning of Sean’s handiwork.

I unloaded my clothes into the washer and thanks to an easy-to-find bucket of laundry powder I had my sodden clothes flooded with cold water and churning in no time. I was lost, staring down at the hypnotic winding of the washing machine, when a pair of shorts sailed over my head and landed in the recess.

I dropped the lid and spun around to see Sean standing in the doorway with a white towel wrapped low around his waist. I swallowed deeply, squared my shoulders and acted as if I hadn’t been perving on him only moments before. I made a cool, confident line to brush past him and return to the main living area. He made no effort to move so my shoulder skimmed across his bare chest. I made a distinct effort not to look, but could only imagine his cocky grin broadening like the Cheshire cat.