Page 50 of Away We Go

He’s to remain here and watch over me.

“Boo, indeed,” I mutter under my breath. I turn to see Serena looking very apologetic and let out a laugh.

“Come on, you,” I tell her. “Let’s get another drink.” We manoeuvre our way towards the bar. “And then tomorrow we’re taking you to get your eyes tested.”

She giggles and I join her.

Idris Elba indeed.

We order a drink and I replay that dance with Nicky in my mind. Another dance to add to my memory bank. My insides tighten as I recall his lips close to mine, his minty breath fanning across my face. Perhaps it was a good thing Serena interrupted us. Who knows how many of my tipsy thoughts I’d have shared with Nicky while we danced. I may have revealed all sorts of things that should remain unspoken.

And he may have revealed some of his own, a quiet voice whispers back.

Oh well. I spare one last glance at where Nicky is now long gone. I guess now I’ll never know. And we’ll just go back to being Nicky the superstar and Cherry, his best friend’s little sister.

CHAPTER 11

Nicky

I watch the blades of the fan whirl on the ceiling above me and then glance at the alarm clock next to me. It’s 5 a.m. and I can’t sleep. My mind won’t stop playing that dance with Cherry on repeat. In high definition.

“It’s getting worse,” I moan into my empty room.

Since our day in Kyoto, I’ve tried my hardest to keep my distance and get things back to the way they used to be between us. I was hoping to recapture the status quo: Cherry as the younger sister-type person, and me not feeling this way about her. And then we land in Miami and after just one minute with her, I realised I can’t stay away. I’m doing things I don’t normally do, just to be near her—volunteering, going out to a club,dancingin public. And things are getting worse. I’m even more drawn to her than I was before.

My phone vibrates on the bedside table next to me and I scoop it up, grateful for any distraction from my memories of Cherry’s soft body pressed up against mine.

Frieda

Call me.

Great. This is not the distraction I was hoping for.

Frieda is my publicist and kinda intense. She’s good at what she does, curating my public image in the best light, but the last thing I want is to speak to her before the sun has even risen. The mere fact she’s messaging me this early means something is wrong. And I’m pretty sure that something has to do with Cherry.

Ever since the public caught sight of her in Melbourne, they’ve been speculating about her role in the team. Her role with me. It’s mostly been quiet murmurs, a few gossip sites commenting on how ‘close’ we seem, like two adults of opposite genders can’t be just friends. It almost all went away after the team launchedCherry’s Cornerand people got to see how talented she was at her job. Not only does she post the most striking photos every race weekend, but she’s started doing behind-the-scenes interviews with team members that aren’t ever heard from. As is her way, she finds the best in people and puts it on display; humanising a sport that often feels unattainable.

By doing her job well, Cherry proved she was here because she’s great at what she does. It doesn’t matter that I hired her to join the team as a favour to her brother; she’s creating a niche for herself in a crowded space and that’s not an easy thing to do.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” I tell the ceiling fan. Swinging my legs off the bed, I stand and grab my exercise gear. Before I can even contemplate ‘talking’ to my publicist this morning, I need to burn off some of this restless energy that seems to live inside me now.

Dressed in shorts and an exercise t-shirt, I take the lift down to the first floor and head to the first treadmill I see. At this time ofday, the gym is half empty, with only a few other early risers or insomniacs like me getting their workout in.

I settle into a steady pace and attempt to lose myself in the music blasting in my ears. It’s not working though, because the music just reminds me of the club last night, and now all I can think of is Cherry pressed up against me, her hips moving against mine. I can still feel her small hands wrapped around the back of my neck, her fingers playing with my hair at the nape of my neck, sending me slightly insane in the process. If I concentrate hard enough, I can smell her coconut scent floating around me while her hair tickled my skin. I can picture her face as she fluttered her inky eyelashes at me and flashed her dimple. It had taken an act of superhuman self-control and a helping of Serena’s terrible celebrity spotting to stop me from kissing her right there and then.

Gosh, when did it become so impossible tonotkiss her?

After forty minutes, I give up using exercise as a distraction. Usually, I get lost in the monotony of running and this clears my mind. Today, however, my mind is filled with only one thing.

One petite woman who has no idea how she’s infiltrated my every thought.

I wipe down my treadmill and finish a bottle of water as I head back to my room. It’s now past 6.00 a.m., which is a more reasonable time to call Frieda and get it over with.

“Hey, what’s up?” I say when she answers after one ring. She lives with her phone glued to her hand, so it’s not surprising she answered so quickly.

“We have a problem.”

My stomach clenches as she gets straight to the point. “After you posted that photo of you and Cherry at the hurricane relief centre, you know the chatter about you two picked up.”

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