Where Sea Meets Sky

Since it’s Sunday the drive to Mission Bay takes a bit longer than normal. The traffic downtown is all right but once you hit Tamaki Drive, everything starts backing up with people bound for fun in the sun. Though it’s technically still spring, the weather is hot and perfect, paving the way for what seems like a good December. I hope it holds up for our road trip.

It’s too bad Nick said he might go back to Sydney early for Christmas, otherwise he’d be joining me and Amber. I kind of want him there as a buffer, in case Amber and I don’t get along, and having him along for the experience would be nice. He often says he wishes he had the time to really explore New Zealand, and I want to be the person to show it to him. I want to make an impression, having something of mine be his first.

But when I asked him about it, his answer was guarded and cagey, saying stuff about going home earlier than he thought. I didn’t press it. The invitation still stood and besides, now that I’d already gone out for a beer with Amber, I had no worries about us hitting it off. She’s quiet, but I can be, too, and I don’t think any silence between us would be awkward. She also seems to just be happy breathing the air. To say she’s easy to please is an understatement.

By the time I reach Murphy’s Gym, I’m irritated and sweating up a storm. The AC in my car, a piece-of-shit Suzuki, is broken and even with the sea breeze and the windows down, it’s not enough to cool the sweat on my brow. All the parking on the side streets is taken by beachgoers or people jonesing for Mövenpick ice cream. They often parade past the gym with their dripping cones of Swiss gelato, like visitors taunting animals at the zoo.

When I finally walk into the gym, I know I look buggered, my hair coming loose from my ponytail and going haywire with the humidity. It shouldn’t bother me since most people there are sweaty and red-faced, but Nick has always drilled it in my head how important my looks are in this industry. The prettier I am, the less body fat, the sleeker my limbs, the more work and money I’ll get. It’s pretty fucking ridiculous, because really, none of that has any measure on my physical fitness—I can kickbox most men, let alone women, into the next hemisphere. But I’m not naïve. I know how the world works.

I take in a deep breath and wiggle my left hand around. Funny how I can lift weights, grip bike handles, and block a punch, but the things that really matter to me, I can’t do. In life we adjust. After the accident, I adjusted.

Once inside, I’m met with the blessed burst of air-conditioning. I smile into it, closing my eyes, finding my peace and make my way over to the front desk.

Nina, the receptionist, is glued to her phone and barely looks up at me. She doesn’t mean to be rude, but when she’s reading it’s hard to get her full attention and I know that she’s using a Kindle app on her phone.

“Busy today?” I ask her.

She still doesn’t look up but she shakes her head, her brown bangs skimming her eyes. “No. I think everyone is running outside.”

“It’s hot-as though,” I say, wiping my brow.

She nods absently. “Nick isn’t in yet.”

Well, that doesn’t surprise me.

“That’s cool, I’m just going to do a set and see if anyone needs me.”

“All right. Ta.” And she’s back to reading. She’ll barely remember talking to me. “Oh right, Gemma?” she suddenly asks and I turn around in surprise. She is staring at me with vague interest. “There are people here looking for you.”

I frown. “Who?”

“Dunno,” she says with a shrug. “Some American and a bunch of Germans.”

My frown deepens. What the—?

Before I press further, I hear the door to the gym open behind me. My heart starts beating fast for no reason at all and I wonder if I’m dehydrated.

I slowly turn around and am absolutely floored by what I see. If my good hand didn’t have such a death grip on my water bottle, I would have dropped it in some overdramatic fashion.

It can’t be.

But the guy walking out of the gym and into the reception area is tall, toned, covered in tattoos and has a mess of black hair slightly spiked at the ends. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a plain black T-shirt and checkered Vans. He has a swagger that he knows about, killer lips accented with a lip ring, and stunning eyes. He doesn’t belong here. Not in this gym, not in this country.

And yet I’m smiling wide just the same.

It’s Josh.

How the hell is this possible?

How. The. Hell?

I am stunned. I can’t move.

Then he sees me and he stops, too. We lock eyes. There is fear and happiness in his. I have no idea what he sees in mine.

I barely notice that he’s with three other guys, but if it weren’t for them I’m certain the two of us would have remained statues, frozen to the ground, tongues tied but blood pumping. At least, he’s having that effect on me.

“Is that her?” one of the guys says in a mild German accent. He’s short but good-looking and very fit. Actually, they all look athletic, but Josh is the one who doesn’t give off the health and “good for you” vibes. He gives off the hot and bad for you vibes.

Except I know that’s not true. He may look like the quintessential bad boy, and he may have a bad boy’s skills in the sack, but when I was with him for that brief time, he treated me with utmost respect. It was a combo that had my mind and body in a tizzy for days after.

“Josh?” I find myself saying, surprised I can talk. “What the . . . what are you doing here?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">