Page 9 of Fever Dream
“Pretty?” he scoffs.
“Aw, has no one ever told you how pretty you are?” I mock, reaching out to pat his cheek.
“I’m not saying that,” Harrison returns, piquing my intrigue. Hmm, who else is telling Harrison that he is pretty besides me? Inquiring minds want to know.
“So you do know you’re pretty then?” I clarify, just to be sure. For science. He huffs out a longsuffering sigh and tilts his head at me, eyebrow artfully raised. I smile back. “So pretty,” I add, just to tease.
“You’re one to talk, Casey Calloway,” he replies, still with those eyebrows up at attention.
“Me? What are you getting at? I’m rugged and manly,” I return, gesturing at my physique.
“Sure. You tell yourself that,” he laughs. “But for the record, I am nottooprettyfor a walk on a beach.”
“You sure? Wouldn’t want to get those pristine sneakers all wet and sandy,” I reply, glancing down at his footwear which admittedly looks quite nice.
“Why did I agree to come out with you again?” Harrison sighs. But he has a smile on his lips so I gather he’s not too annoyed at me.
“I know it’s hard to stay away from me,” I reply as sweetly as I can manage. “But let’s keep the beach up our sleeve for another day. Are you a speedos or boardies kind of guy? Just for the record. So, I’m prepared for our beach day.”
Harrison says nothing and I glance over at him, noting the way he is eyeing me. “Well, we’ve already establishedyou’rea speedo kind of guy,” he finally says, making me laugh.
“Can’t say I don’t mind a nice snug fit around the goods.”
“I noticed,” he replies, turning to look out the side window.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” I prompt. “Speedos or boardies?”
“Guess you’ll just have to wait to be surprised on the day.”
“Didn’t take you for a tease,” I comment, watching as his cheeks turn the slightest hint of rose coloured. Huh, that’s cute.
“Anyway, seriously, where are we going?” Harrison asks. I can pick a deflection when I see one, but I decide to let him off the hook. I admittedly don’t actually know him that well yet, so I’ll save the teasing for another time.
“Let’s just go be a pair of ridiculous tourists for the day,” I suggest. “We’ll do all the lame things and look in all those kitschy souvenir shops and hold up big maps and look lost. It’ll be fun.”
Harrison just laughs at my description, but he seems happy to play along so that’s good. I park my car back at my townhouse and we take the train into the city. I know what parking is like around town and don’t much fancy that kind of drama.
The day is hot and there isn’t much of a breeze as we make our way to Circular Quay. This right here is the money shot for the Sydney tourism brochures, right here on the Harbour with the massive steel arches of the Harbour Bridge and the famous sail-like shells of the Opera House in full view. We take photos, posing with peace signs and big, cheesy grins like all the other tourists around us are doing before we make our way towards the Opera House.
As luck would have it, a tour group is just about to head inside for a tour of the building, but that hope is quickly soured when we are informed tours are booked for a solid two weeks in advance. Not even putting on my famed charm and batting my lashes like Harrison adores so much can talk around the rather stern lady on the desk.
“I can’t believe she said no to us,” I pout.
“I can’t believe she didn’t fall for your charm more like,” Harrison returns. I detect a hint of mockery in his tone.
“Maybe we should have stuck you on her,” I grin. “See if you could bat your eyelashes and charm her with your British sophistication.”
He just shakes his head at me but he’s grinning, so I take that as a win. We’re just about to give up and head somewhere else when the tour guide spots us, and I suddenly see another way around our dilemma. Because that right there is recognition in his eyes, and I am certainly not above using fame in my favour if needed. And I have a need for it right now if it means I can get Harrison Thornfield inside this building.
“Casey Calloway,” the tour guide says, smiling up at me broadly. I am a hundred percent used to people back homerecognising me, but I have a level of anonymity in this city that I have so far been enjoying. But not if it is going to get me something I want.
“In the flesh,” I beam back, smiling as Harrison rolls his eyes beside me.
“You looking to join a tour?” he asks conspiratorially, glancing over his shoulder to ensure he’s not overheard.
“We were hoping to do a tour. Didn’t realise we had to book a year in advance,” I sigh.
“Tell you what. You sign my hat for my kid and you can jump in with us now. Just don’t tell the boss,” he says.
