“Do you always bite your lip when you admire nature?”
I went to retaliate but thought better of it. Christ! Had I been biting my lip? Frack it! Trust him to catch me – now I would never live it down.
“So how long will my clothes take?” I asked as we headed towards the laundry, side by side.
He tugged at my baggy Onslow footy T. “What do you want them for? I think this looks good on you.”
“Uh, yeah, I don’t think so.”
“You think it might raise some eyebrows if I were to drop you off in that?”
“Unless you have a serious death wish I think I’d better hang until my clothes are ready. Besides …” I smiled sweetly, “I support the Perry Panthers, not the Onslow Tigers.”
“Ouch! You mean to say you’re a Perry Penguin fan?” he teased. “That’s just wrong!”
“Oh, and you’re not biased or anything, are you, Sean Murphy?”
“I am, one hundred percent biased and you should be, too; you’re a born and bred Onslowian. Where’s the loyalty?” Sean seemed genuinely horrified about my betrayal of the Onslow Tigers.
I peered in at the laundry to find the dryer still rumbling, spinning the load. I propped myself on the bench to wait it out.
“What do you care? You don’t play for them anymore, anyway.”
Sean’s demeanour iced over – it seemed I’d hit a nerve.
I had a vague memory of overhearing conversations about Sean’s sudden end with football.
Before I could stop myself I asked, “Why did you stop playing?”
Sean’s expression became uncharacteristically sullen. He thought for a moment, as if searching for the right words. He reached for the hem of his shorts and lifted his knee up onto the counter next to me and pointed to a scar. “My war wound.”
Without thinking I reached out and traced my finger along the faint pink scar. “What happened?”
Sean didn’t move his leg; he was frozen, watching me trace the line down and then up again slowly over the puckered flesh. He swallowed deeply and opened his mouth to speak but must have changed his mind again. Just as I thought he was about to say something, we were interrupted by the beeping of the dryer. He snapped out of his daze and I drew my hand away.
He walked over to the dryer. “It’s over,” he said, still serious.
“What, your footy career or the load?” I teased, in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Sean turned his back to me and wrenched open the dryer, gathering up the clean clothes.
“Both,” he said and slammed the door shut.
Wow. Note to self: don’t mention footy.
Sean handed me the warm pile of clothes and I placed it on the bench. I grabbed my T-shirt first to flick it out before the creases set in.
“Oh. My. God.”
“What?” Sean frowned.
I held the T-shirt against my body. It was now only big enough to fit a five-year-old. I quickly grabbed for my shorts and they, too, were a shrunken shadow of their former selves.
“What happened?” Sean laughed.
“What does it look like? They’ve shrunk!” I cried in dismay, holding up the pieces of fabric in horror.
I had been so impatient, so distracted I hadn’t even thought about it. I flicked out the tag to read the words out loud: “Do not tumble dry.”
I banged my forehead on the overhead cupboard once, twice, three times.
“So, no MacLean’s Beach, then?” Sean said, trying not to smile.
“Definitely not.”
“Do you think you could make up an excuse for me and just take me home?” I pouted.
“I didn’t have any grand illusions you would actually be out there waterskiing with the masses, Amy.”
“I know, I just thought I could make an appearance.”
“You still could.” Sean smiled, letting his eyes roam over my attire. “You look pretty good to me.”
Against my better judgment, I smiled back. “Yeah, I’m sure all the people at the boat ramp are going to think so, too.” I cringed at the very thought of trying to make my way from the jetty back to the hotel in Sean’s massive, baggy T-shirt.
“Relax, I’ll drive you back.” Sean moved towards the door.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He stopped in the hall, turning back to face me. “What’s in it for me, though?”
I paused. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you know all about fair trade and all, and this is a favour, so you kind of owe me one in return.” His eyes twinkled deviously.
I swallowed, trying not to lose my cool as I eyeballed him directly. “Well, what do you want?”
His lips twitched into a small, crooked curve. He looked up to the ceiling, deep in thought. “Hmm,” he said, “what do I want?”