Nicola Marsh - Wild Thing

But prying wouldn’t have served any good, not when they had to work together. He’d tried to put her at ease, to ask innocuous questions, but she’d been defensive and wary. He didn’t blame her, considering how their friendship had ended. But he wanted some semblance of their old camaraderie now so they could at least work together and not have to deal with old wounds.

He’d invited her over earlier than the other cast members to smooth things over between them. He’d succeeded to a point but having Mak look at him with anything other than loathing only served to remind him how much he wanted her and, unfortunately, his dick had no problem keeping up with the programme.

He’d touched her, several times. More to prove to himself that his reaction to having her in his arms had been an aberration, his body’s way of telling him to get laid sooner rather than later.

It hadn’t been, because even with a simple handhold, he’d felt it , that insistent tug of attraction that grabbed him by the balls and wouldn’t let go.

A major problem, considering Mak was his lead dancer and he was her boss, not to mention they both carried enough baggage to fill an airport carousel.

‘See you at rehearsals Monday, boss.’ The lead male, a short guy named Shane, clapped him on the back with an overfamiliarity that set his teeth on edge.

But Hudson forced a smile and nodded. ‘Have a good weekend.’

The rest of the eight-person crew filtered out. Everyone except Mak, who had vanished. Surely she wouldn’t have snuck out without saying goodbye?

The thought saddened him and just as he’d poured his first bourbon from the makeshift bar in the corner, she slipped back into the room, her eyes widening in surprise as she noted it had emptied.

‘Where is everyone?’

‘Gone home to start their weekends early.’

She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s eight-thirty.’

‘Early by clubbing standards.’

‘I know that.’ She rolled her eyes as she padded towards him, having discarded her stilettos ages ago. ‘I’ll have you know I’m the dance queen of Sydney.’

He liked her haughty playfulness, remembered her often throwing out challenges to best him. ‘There’s a difference between dancing for a living and burning up the floor for fun.’

‘I’m the best at both.’ Her chin tilted as she stared him down. ‘Single in Sydney means let the good times roll.’

Grinning, he said, ‘We’re still talking about dancing, yeah?’

She snickered, a cute sound that catapulted him back in time. ‘You’re such a guy.’

‘Glad you noticed.’ He flexed his biceps, garnering a dry chuckle. ‘Because I’m single in Sydney and I can guarantee that whenever I get anywhere near a dance floor my right foot morphs into my left, so I have two of them.’

She muttered something that sounded like ‘bullshit’ under her breath, before flashing him a teasing smile he hadn’t seen in forever. ‘As I recall, whenever you were working the Kings Cross clubs you’d manage to squeeze in a boogie and trust me, your moves were far from a guy with two left feet.’

‘You kept an eye on me? I’m touched.’ He clutched his chest, thrilled that they’d reverted to swapping banter as they used to. It was what he’d been aiming for earlier but she hadn’t responded, too guarded as she’d tried to get a read on him.

Now that she’d loosened up, he hoped they could continue in the same vein. It had been so natural back then, teasing each other like this, sharing laughs. He’d missed this light-hearted fun the most.

‘You know all the girls had a crush on you back then.’

‘Even you?’ He leaned on the bar, trying to appear casual when he wanted her answer to be affirmative too much.

‘I had more sense,’ she said with a nonchalant shrug, but not before he glimpsed the cheeky spark in her eyes.

Yeah, the old Mak was back and he couldn’t be happier. ‘Would you like a drink?’

She hesitated, her gaze drifting to the door a second before she surprised him and nodded. ‘Vodka and lemon, please.’

‘Coming right up.’ He didn’t need to measure out the quantities. He’d helped out behind bars since he could practically walk and he found the familiar action soothing. Or maybe that had more to do with Mak watching his every move.

He should’ve found her scrutiny off-putting. He didn’t. Instead, her presence had a calming effect, the way it always had.

Back then she’d steadied him in a topsy-turvy world he’d rallied against with every fibre of his being. He’d done whatever it took to survive, saving every cent he’d earned from odd jobs to formulate a plan to escape the life that had threatened to drag him down.

These days, he spent way too much money on caring for the man who’d done his best to make his life hell, but the way he saw it, paying for his father’s care facility kept the old bastard away from him. When he saw him, it was on his terms. Just the way he liked it.

‘What’s wrong?’ She perched on a bar stool and rested her chin in her hands, studying him. ‘You look sad. Are my lame jokes at your expense that bad?’

He shook his head, impressed she could still read him so well. ‘Just thinking about Dad.’

Wariness clouded her eyes. Like most people who lived at the Cross back then, she’d known Wiley Watt was a deadhead drunk and a mean prick. ‘How is he?’

‘Dementia claimed him a few years ago. Drifts in and out. He’s in a private facility.’

Before she could say anything else he changed the subject, not wanting to taint their reawakening friendship by discussing the one subject he’d rather avoid at all costs. ‘I saw Bluey today.’

Her eyes lit up and for a ridiculous second jealousy stabbed him as he wished she’d look at him like that. ‘Haven’t seen him in years. How is he?’

Damn, when he’d wanted to change the subject, he’d grabbed at the first thought that popped into his head. Not the smartest move, considering that brightness in her eyes would fade the moment he divulged the truth.

‘He has lung cancer. Terminal. Few months tops.’ He slid her drink towards her, and when she slumped he felt like he’d revealed there was no Santa. ‘But he’s happy. Brash as ever. Wanted me to hear it from him and not get a call for his funeral.’

‘That’s Bluey,’ she said, blinking rapidly, as he quelled his first instinct to bundle her in his arms. ‘He was so cute, the way he mooned over Mum.’

‘Did she know?’

‘Of course.’ A soft smile of remembrance played about her mouth. ‘But Mum was too smart to mix business with pleasure.’

She eyeballed him as she said it, a clear warning he should heed. But damned if keeping his hands off her wouldn’t be the hardest thing he’d done in a long time.

‘Smart woman, your mum,’ he said, taking a slug of his bourbon. ‘You must miss her.’

‘Every single day.’ She downed two thirds of her vodka in one gulp. ‘That’s what I hated most after you weren’t around any more because I’d just lost Mum. And not having my best friend there to bounce ideas and feelings off, the kind of friend who moved in the same circles, the friend who knew me almost better than I knew myself...’

She trailed off and for a horrifying moment he thought she might burst into tears.

Before he could say anything remotely comforting, she tossed back another gulp of vodka. ‘Don’t mind me. It’s the alcohol loosening my tongue and making me maudlin.’

‘I missed us too,’ he blurted, wishing he hadn’t said anything when she stared at him in hope as she used to.

Back then he’d known he couldn’t be Mak’s hero, no matter how much he wanted to. He wasn’t built that way. He’d learned from a young age to take care of number one and that was him.