Have you met Alex: friends to lovers romance Read online

  Brushing off my navy board shorts, I checked myself in the reflection of the car window before heading back across the road to the pub. Blonde messed hair with a long fringe hanging over my forehead, check. All over tan and muscles, a girl would have to strip me naked to see the tan lines, check. Dressed to fuck without dressing to impress, absolutely fucking check. It might have been years since I was single, but I knew the effect of a white U2 tank top over dressy board shorts. Casual, understated and completely fuckable. Ladies, stand in line.

  I crossed the road with the swagger that had been stilted by rejection. Ready for a new town, with fresh faces and where no one knew my story or even my name. Perfect.

  It had been the right fucking decision.

  As soon as I pushed open old wooden door to the pub, I felt at home amongst the waft of smoke, stale beer and pub food delicacies of steak and chips. No judgement here. No whispers or small town rumor mill.

  The smile that had disappeared months before the girl, reappeared. Tonight was a world of opportunities and if I played my cards right, by the time I stumbled across the road to the one-man tent, I’d be feeling a woman instead of pain.

  Her name was optional.

  Simone

  Mum: Are you still coming home this weekend?

  Simone: Yes.

  Mum: We know this is hard for you. You’re bed’s waiting.

  Simone: I need a night at the pub. Don’t wait up.

  Mum: Dad and I are worried about you.

  Simone: Don’t be.

  Mum: Eddie might see you at the pub.

  Simone: I don’t need a babysitter.

  Mum: I couldn’t stop your brother from going out on a Friday night even if I wanted to.

  Simone: Whatever.

  Alex

  I sauntered through the packed bar room, past the screens of horse racing and moans of missed opportunities as another race ended. I preferred putting my money on something I could control—snooker, pool or darts. Small sums but it made living fun.

  “Schooner of whatever’s cold and on tap,” I barely acknowledged the barmaid, leaning back and taking the time to look around the half full bar. Groups of older guys in singlets and work shorts splattered with evidence from building sites enjoying darts and a couple of cold drinks before heading home to families. Younger guys at least had gotten dressed for a long night of drinking and seemed to be heading out to either the beer garden or pool room.

  Everything reinforcing my reason to get out of town and then pull over here. My type of town, my type of pub.

  “Surfin’ or workin’?” The blonde asked, getting my attention but not interest. The woman leaned across the bar more than necessary, not subtle in advertising her greatest assets. Perfectly displayed without being overshadowed by more than a socially acceptable minimum of fabric, and accentuated by the gold cross on a thin gold chain trapped between them.

  “Bit of one and a lot of the other,” I shrugged, on closer examination, I wanted to be interested but couldn’t be bothered. “How much do I owe you?”

  “First one’s on the house.” Not letting go of the glass until she got my cock’s attention with not so subtle massage of my thumb, “Second one’s on me, if you play your cards right.”

  Fuck, the last thing I needed was to piss off the woman who stood between me and feeling nothing at all. “Honey, I’m here for beer and a game of pool but if I change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”

  I gently removed her hand from wanking my thumb, turned it over to kiss it as the gentleman I wasn’t but could fake on demand. Hell hath no fury as a crazy bitch scorned, and all that. “Been a tough couple of months and I just want to drink and forget. If that’s okay?”

  “Sure, love, but if you change your mind?”

  “You’ll be on my mind.” Having survived with my drink and balls in tact, I escaped to the back room where the sound of pool balls clashing together called my name.

  I respected the hell out of a pub with a dedicated pool room. The smell of testosterone was stronger than the beer and smoke. Two dozen guys milled around the six tables with scratched wood but fresh felt and new, straight cues.

  No one paid me any attention when I put down my gold coin on the table at the back of the room and held up a wall while I waited and watched. A higher than usual standard of play. The understated Aussie manner of accepting great play with a humble shrug and calling it lucky. I knew I’d be able to hold my own without a stretch and quickly downed my beer and grabbed a second before my turn came.

  Just another guy in another smoke filled bar hanging with guys who accepted my existence without the need to get to know me.

  Good.

  I didn’t need conversation, I didn’t need anything at all other than to be left with my own thoughts and drink until life stopped hurting. As my dollar on the table finally claimed the next game, my shoulders lost the tightness, my jaw a little less clenched as I relaxed into the vibe.

  Getting away was the smartest thing I’d done in weeks and from the conversation around me, the surf conditions for tomorrow seemed good enough to wake up for.

  “Good game, but do you want to make it more interesting?” The young electrical apprentice asked after our third game of pool. Wiry thin with a smile bigger than his chest, the kid was all energy and chatty banter. From the back slaps and banter shared with the other guys as they made their way over, watched a couple of shots before moving on, I took him for a local.

  “Nah, mate, I’m happy being boring tonight.” I gave the guy an easy smile but didn’t want to admit I’d been playing down to the standard of the locals. Only doing enough to hold my own and while there was no money on the table, no players tried being dicks. I could leave my A game hidden away and relax amongst strangers within the comforting banter of surf conditions and football.

  “No probs.” The apprentice shook my hand before going off to find a target with deep pockets. I probably should have kept him at my table and made sure he walked away with some money left in his pocket and his pride in place, but hoped the youngster could at least read when he was being suckered in. Then again after the mess of my last relationship, I was probably the last person anyone should come to for advice on how to avoid being a sucker.

  “Up for a game?” A crusty old guy had been watching all the games from his vantage point in the back corner since before I arrived. I was the first one he approached. Ignoring the other five tables filled with locals, I was either his target or the guy was an amateur not wanting to embarrass himself in front of youngster’s he’d probably watched grow up.

  “Sure, want to break?”

  The old guy set up the balls as if he knew what he was doing but when he held the cue stick, nothing about the weighting or stance seemed like playing was familiar.

  “You play a lot?” An hour and two beers into the night, I might as well talk to somebody and old people always had at least one interesting story in them.

  “Used to, back in the day.”

  “Been a while, then?”

  The opening break didn’t have the power or technique to push more than one ball to the side of the table. I looked around, normally that would be a foul but each pub played by different rules. If no one else cared, I certainly didn’t. The old guy kept talking while I moved to the end of the table to take a shot. Not one of the set up balls, but one that would at least make the game interesting.

  “Spent the last dozen years working or caring for my wife.” The old guy’s eyes glistened with his explanation, the shaking voice more than age. No further explanation was necessary, his look was the same I saw each day. The guy tried, and spectacularly failed, to sink the 9 ball. Bouncing it from sitting on the pocket’s edge to the middle of the table and setting the white in prime position—for me.

  Pretending to take more time than necessary, I sunk the 10 ball, an easy shot that anyone could have taken and would have been insulting if not at least attempted. The best I could do was miss on my next shot
and made sure the 7 was set up.

  “Cancer’s a mean bitch.” The old guy muttered, but instead of finishing off the number 7, the white ball ended up in the pocket.

  “I’m sorry.” Words that meant Jack shit and couldn’t ease the guy’s pain. I didn’t expect this sort of conversation over a game of pool, but what else could I do? The guy wanted to talk, it cost nothing to listen and it felt good to be there for someone who had real problems instead of my fucked up shit.

  “Can’t complain, we had ten good years before the bad ones and if I had to do it all again I’d rather have ten good years with my missus then a lifetime with the wrong woman.”

  “Cheers to you and your missus,” I offered a toast, thankful that scrawny electrician guy had left me with a fresh beer.

  “Thanks, mate. The name’s Garry.”

  “Alex, good to meet you.”

  Introductions over, we went back to our game which Garry seemed to enjoy far more than he should, given his lack of skill. It was all I could do to play my game and set up as many balls for Garry to sink as possible while trying not to make the game insulting. Hard to believe, but it almost took more skill to time things so we somehow both ended up on the black at the same time.

  Garry must have been a local fav because the hardest fucking shot of the night had all the other tables empty with the crowd lining the walls around us, a unified voice cheering Garry on. No malice in their sledging towards me, although it could have thrown a lesser player off their game. No, it was all in support of the guy who deserved to win something after life had dealt him such a shitty hand of cards.

  Fuck. He wasn’t making it easy for me.

  I leaned over, lining up the ball. Garry should have sunk the black on the last go, after I’d done everything humanly possible to set it up for him. Instead, the white had been left in such a position that even five year old me could have sunk the black left-handed.

  Luckily, no one in the room had seen me play at my best, let alone my average. So, all I needed to do was make a slight adjustment to cue stick to the right, deciding to hit the black slightly too hard from the top of the ball. That way, even if the black accidentally ended up in the pocket, the white would follow suit and I’d lose the game over a foul shot.

  “Oh! Shit! Sorry to any ladies present for my bad language.” I made sure the cry of embarrassment and anguish was believable as the crowd erupted.

  “No ladies present,” some random called out to more chuckles.

  My acting skills were on greater display than my pool playing. Not one person watching would have believed I’d thrown the shot on purpose. The white was set up and Garry made his own best shot of the night winning the game.

  “Bad luck and thanks for the game.” Garry said as he gripped my hand in a solid shake.

  “Great game, I think I’d better go back to drinking.” I smiled and put the cue stick back in the rack, eager for a fresh drink and fresh air. Garry’s situation had given me far too much to think about.

  All this time, I’d been mourning a fucked up relationship while this guy was mourning a real loss. A lifetime with the right woman only to lose her to the big C. Watching Garry surrounded by friends eager to congratulate him on a game in a way they probably couldn’t offer ongoing sympathy for his greater loss, I embraced the old man’s lesson. If I was brave enough to be honest, my own breakup had been a long time coming—it was time to pull up my big girl pants and get over myself. Shit happened and it was time to start living life and not waste one more minute over her. She wasn’t coming back and for the first time I tried to believe that even if she did, I’d turn her away.

  It had never been my dream to live amongst the flashy lights of the city or to work around the world. All I wanted was my own business, finish renovating my house and settle down with someone who wanted a basketball team of kids and Sunday afternoon bar-b-ques with friends. Despite all our compromising, we’d wanted different things out of life. Getting away from town and meeting Garry had already given me a new perspective and reduced the last of the tension in my neck. Even the throbbing headache that had been my constant companion became dulled.

  Better that she pull the pin and dump me, than we waste more years fighting and compromising. One day I might even track her down to thank her for doing what I never would.

  With the weight of grief and anger finally gone, and offering the world a silent toast with the last of my beer, I flexed my neck, shrugging off the last of the stress. When was the last time I’d felt genuinely happy? Certainly, not since she decided to move to Sydney.

  Now, the world was my oyster, ready to be faced head on. I knew with absolute certainty that I’d never waste another day loving a woman who didn’t want the same things in life. They’d be reserved for one-night stands, occasionally extended.

  About to swing open the door back to the bar, still undecided between chancing my arm at darts or wandering out to the beer garden, I turned at the sound of a vaguely familiar voice, “I’ve seen you make that shot with your eyes shut!”

  Are you kidding me!

  Karma and coincidence had landed a sucker punch to my gut as I took in the fucking drop-dead gorgeous brunette shaking her finger at me as if I was an errant school boy.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” Her voice was like waves crashing onto a beach. Lyrical and soothing. While my own voice had decided to leave me hanging in awkward silence.

  Seriously, if I’d asked for a sign to move on with life, Simone Drucker was the perfect prize. A sexy pixie version of Mila Kunis—before she went and married an aging actor with the sultriness of Jessica Biel. Or at least that’s the way I may have imagined her once or twice during my special alone time.

  Simone.

  Bloody hell, what was she doing here? Her sporting prowess and wicked sense of humor had quickly endeared her to everyone she met in the small town after arriving, could it have been six months ago? Maybe longer—it didn’t matter—she’d joined my mixed touch football team and made it her own. What the hell was she doing at the same pub I’d escaped to?

  “Well?” She repeated the question as if I didn’t understand it instead of not knowing how, why or what the fuck was she doing here!

  “I could ask you the same.” I reset my cool, who gives a fuck about the world face normally reserved for when I actually did give a fuck. I nodded for her to follow me to the relative quiet of the beer garden. Our conversation deserved to be held where eye contact wasn’t overridden by shouting. Her smile was my reward and as she took the lead to weave our way out of the crowded pool room, one arm found its new home around her waist while the other pushed bodies aside and cleared our way. Luck was on my side and we claimed a table being deserted by a loved up couple heading off for an early start to their weekend. Always the gentleman, no matter what my mother thought, I pulled out a chair for Simone, making sure mine was the one facing into the sun’s final blaze.

  “Thank you,” she acknowledged my manners but not the question.

  “I mean, not that it isn’t great to see you but what the hell are you doing here.” Covering my nerves wasn’t on the menu. Simone Druker. Fuck me dead, right now. Or at least after I made a move and she rejected me. Or, let me live a little, tonight. With her.

  I didn’t have to ignore how my cock twitched around her. How that crazy smile had the same impact on my stomach and heart as a hell-raising chilli. I was now a single man and she was—here.

  “My parents live a couple of streets away which is why I couldn’t play in the weekend team.”

  “So you can come home for your mum’s home cooking or to do your washing?” I joked, wanting more information. Her phone number, her relationship status, how she liked her breakfast eggs cooked.

  “Obviously,” she laughed, not taking offence. “Seriously, I usually come back once a month to see them. Dad hasn’t been well and I can’t believe Mum when she says everything’s okay.”

  Simone pulled her long curly hair back into
a ponytail, still surprised but seemingly not unhappy to see me, “What about you, what are you up to?”

  “Needed to get away for a bit.” How the fuck could I explain not wanting to even walk down the street at home, knowing the whole town was laughing at me for being such a Fool For Love. Even stranger, after being that heartbroken schmuck, how could I describe my recent change in attitude. That a single game of pool with Garry allowed me to look at life through new eyes.

  “Yeah, I heard about that.” Simone rolled her eyes with a sympathetic grimace. “I’m sorry about you and—”

  “Don’t even say her name,” I interrupted more harshly than either of us expected or Simone deserved. “I mean, I don’t want to talk about her, don’t want to think about her, and believe me when I say nothing could make me want anything more to do with her, ever.”

  Words which would have been lies yesterday or even this morning.

  “So, you came here?” Simone’s hazel eyes and dark hair were a pleasant change from my ex’s. Bright and full of life, inspiring me to launch out of my funk and match her zest.

  “Where else could I meet hot babes and drink cold beer?” I teased, waving my arm towards the tables of single women with more tanned cleavage than clothes and pretty small bottles of fancy vodka drinks on their table than most guys had beers. Loading up for a good night. Exactly the audience I’d been wanting—until Simone.

  “Really? Seems to me that you were trapped in a small room with a bunch of guys who didn’t know what to do with small balls and big sticks.” She didn’t acknowledge the other women, almost as if Simone knew they weren’t competition. That any man interested in them wouldn’t stand a chance with her.

  Immediate and corrective action was required and even though I hadn’t needed to flirt since mid-high school, I could be a quick learner, given the right incentive.