Page 60 of Keep Your Guard Up
“A little overdone,” JJ said, inspecting a slice. “But solid effort.”
“Ugh, I forgot you’re one of those people who eats their toast burnt to a crisp,” I groaned.
“I don’t eat it burnt,” he scoffed. “I just like it with a bit more colour.”
The smell of charred toast was still pungently lingering when JJ dug into the charred slices. I put two more down in the toaster, then popped it every twenty fucking seconds to make sure it wasn’t already burning.
“What burnt your toast today?” JJ asked, jumping up onto the bench next to the toaster.
“Gee, I don’t know, JJ. Maybe it’s this piece of shit toaster that’s right in front of me.” I snapped, smacking the machine in emphasis.
“Oh, I know that. Toaster has been playing up for years. Al won’t let us dump it. I was meaning the other thing.”
“What other thing?” I asked, popping my toast up to check.
“You know, your toast. Your fruit loops. Your parade.”
“What the fuck are you on about now?”
“Did someone piss in yourfruit loops? Rain on yourparade?Burn your toast?”
“No.”
“Bullshit.”
“I said, ‘No’.”
“And I said ‘bullshit’. Did something happen last night?” he asked with a mouthful of black bread.
“No, now drop it,” I snapped. After hitting the eject button on the side, my toast popped up. I all but threw it onto my plate and lathered a thick layer of Vegemite over it.
Man, I really need to go and hit the bag.
My knuckles tingled at the thought of it.
“Yeah, that certainly sounds like something someone who’s not sulking would say,” JJ mocked.
“I am not sulking!” I dug into my brekkie. The sooner I could finish this, the sooner I could go and do bag work for an hour … or seven. Anything to get the images of last night out of my mind. Only one thing stood front and centre of them—Mari Fucking Trevino.
Well, not just Mari. Mari Fucking Trevino in a leather miniskirt that proudly showed off those mile-long legs. Those legs that I could almost bet had been tangled in the sheets all night with that bloke she was dancing with last night. Seeing it in real time had made my blood boil to the point of combustion—it had been an active effort to not go over and rip his goddamn hands off her.
But whatever this was with Mari wasn’t a game. She wasn’t some plaything that I could pick up and put down whenever I wanted. I realised in the cab ride home last night that to me, she’d never been that. Everything about her was alwaysmore. There was a fire I felt when I was with her, a fire that burned so bright it left me feeling cold without it.
“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?”
“Not really.” My brain was buzzing, curiosity and jealousy turning out to be a dangerous mix. “What do you know about a bloke named Beau Beckett?”
“BB? Haven’t heard of him being around here for a few years now. He’s an old friend of ours, anold flingof Mari’s.” He sent a knowing wink my way. “Nice guy, had real potential to be someone, and got the fuck outta here to go do it.”
“How’d you go with Milah last night?” I asked, desperate for a change of subject that wasn’t likely to spike my blood pressure.
He sighed, finishing the last bite of his toast. “About as good as you’d expect.” He looked away and moved to flick the kettle on. “She refused to see me for the first couple of hours. So, I did what I had to do.”
“Which was?”
“Told the staff her brother would cut my balls off if I left without seeing proof of life, that I was rather fond of my pair and was willing to camp out all night just to keep them attached.” He shrugged before emptying two sugar packets into his awaiting mug and nearly half the bottle of honey. “Coffee?”
I nodded, passing over my now empty mug. “And that worked?”
