Page 81 of Wide-Eyed
My water bill was going to be a nightmare this month. I didn’t care.
“Can’t we shower together?”
“Not without one of us cracking a skull. I’m a lot of man, Princess, and both of us won’t fit in there. But I like how you think, ya horny little goat.” I slapped her ass affectionately. “Get in the shower.”
I’d worried that sex with Lyssa would ruin my focus, but it was the opposite. When we left the house later that morning, I was sharp as a tack and in a great mood. Could’ve whistled.
We drove to Levitate in separate cars. I was due at the Tararua Rural Entrepreneurs Association meeting at midday, and Lyssa was heading out to Cilla’s. I knew she’d be dying to see Caroline, but she and Chase were out with Dad today, due back this afternoon.
I’d be lying if I said the thought of their reunion didn’t make me sweat. Lyssa wasn’t known for keeping secrets—she livestreamed literally everything. But she’d promised not to say anything that would give us away, and I trusted her.
Aroha was on the coffee machine this morning, but yielded the machine to me and took her break when I arrived. I made Lyssa and I flat whites, while Lyssa leaned against the counter, twirling her scarf through her fingers, confessing her cat’s habit of sneaking in her neighbor’s window and stealing socks. She was bubbly, luminous.
I was a goner.
There weren’t any customers and Aroha was smoking out the back, so I felt brave enough to steal a kiss.
Coffee in hand, Lyssa headed out. She indicated for three full seconds before pulling onto the road, the position of her rental car precise in the left lane, but I still watched until her car turned the corner and disappeared. I was trying to be relaxed about her driving in Woodville, but it was always going to make my heart pump faster.
My own drive to Woodville School, where the Association was meeting, only took ten minutes. I was early, so I sat in the parking lot with the laptop I’d borrowed from my cousin Tessa propped against the steering wheel, rehearsing my slides.
Back at the café, Lyssa had asked if I wanted to practice my pitch with her, but if she was holding eye contact with me for more than three seconds, I was likely to forget what the fuck I was talking about. Better for me to practice solo.
Exhaling slowly, I made myself focus. I needed the Association to give me enough start-up money to make Mike’s Place a reality. This was it. My shot.
I told my reflection in the rearview mirror that I was a charming motherfucker, as brainy as I was sexy; and then it was time to shine.
The sound of the double doors to the hall swinging on their hinges brought back all sorts of memories. Good ones, like being in school assemblies and watching the kapa haka group perform, and bad ones, like end-of-year exams.
The brown linoleum under my feet had the boundary lines of both a basketball court and a netball court. This hall was used for everything: school assemblies, exams, sports when it was too wet out, every school ball and dance, theater productions. On weekends, it was available as a meeting space for local groups and clubs for a donation to the school’s outdoor turf fundraising effort. For as long as I could remember, the school had been fundraising for it. We were only about 20 percent of the way there, which might have bought us half a turf ten years ago but would barely buy one hockey stick now.
High up on the walls were the listed names of ANZAC soldiers and the honor roll of students who got dux or other awards. Tessa’s name was up there somewhere. Mine and Caroline’s definitely weren’t: She’d been busy dancing or flirting; I’d been busy fighting or fucking.
There was a row of chairs in a half-moon shape near the front of the hall, below the stage, where members of the Association were seated. Two of them held takeaway Levitate cups, I noticed.
“All right, Mike, mate?” Hodges asked from his seat in the center of the half circle.
“Absolutely.” I gave him a thumbs-up. “Stoked to be here.”
I took the empty seat next to Martin Shailor-Chapman. Monica sat on the other side of her husband—it occurred that this was one of the few times in the last five years I’d seen her without a small child.
I gave her a polite nod and waved to Jason and to Michael Clarke, who had somehow managed to find his way here from his house.
Then there was Hodges, of course, holding a clipboard; Sarnia, who owned the bookshop in town; and Lily, the postmaster. Lastly, with a sick jolt of surprise, I saw Oz Wylie sitting next to his father, who was already snoring into his own chest.
I didn’t know Oz had joined the Entrepreneurs Association.
Forcing myself to stay chill and cool, I gave Oz a wave.
This was bad, yes, but not a disaster. I didn’t need a universal vote, only a majority. Oz could hate on me as much as he wanted—I would simply focus on the rest of the cohort.
My pitch slot was scheduled for thirty minutes. Hodges gave a spiel about the integrity of the fund and its long history strengthening Woodville’s economy, giving the town character, and creating jobs for locals. I knew this criteria so well I could have recited it along with him. If I was being self-critical (which, let’s be real, I wasn’t usually), the jobs part was the only potential weakness of my pitch. Mike’s Place would run as a one-man operation because that’s what I intended to be for the rest of my life—notwithstanding the occasional fuck and duck with party princesses. But only once my business was up and running and the heat was off me a bit.
But, as Hodges was talking, I was only thinking of one specific princess who had large blue eyes and went all boneless after she came.
I had to physically shake myself. Mon gave me a weird look.
Then it was time.
