“Not technically. I don’t know the details, it’s hazy. She’s engaged, or at least for all intents and purposes, she’s on a break. Whatever that means.”
“Exactly, what does that mean, Aubrey?”
“It means she’s not sure if marrying him is where she pictured her life, hence, why she’s here.” Aubrey grabs the remote, changing the channel to something more adult than Mickey Mouse. “As for the black and white regarding how much of a break, and what it means, or if they can see other people since I assume that’s what you’re trying to get out of me, you’ll have to ask her.”
Damn. Aubrey is useless.
I almost express my disappointment but carry on and wait until seven before I say goodbye and head over next door.
Exactly at seven on the dot, I knock on Gabriella’s door. She opens quickly, dressed in a white sundress with navy-blue polka dots. I’m mesmerized by how damn gorgeous she looks in a slight pose looking all innocent like she isn’t going to break me.
“Am I dressed all right for the secret squirrel date we’re on?”
“Perfect.” I beam, elated she’s called it a date.
We walk toward the car, her bag draped over her shoulder before she settles into the passenger side.
“Nice wheels. Is this yours?”
I want to tell her that nothing here is permanent. Home is back in Australia. Everything I have here has an expiry date including this car.
“A rental. Always wanted a Jeep.”
“Me, too.” She laughs, buckling her seat belt. “My father would never allow me to drive such a car. If it isn’t part of the Rolls Royce family, then it’s not worthy to be driven by a Carmichael.”
“You have a Rolls Royce?” I laugh at the sheer notion of Gabs driving such a car. “Do you also wear white gloves when driving?”
She punches my shoulder, soft yet affectionate. “Don’t mock, it’s a smooth ride. Besides, what do you drive back home?”
“A Jag, and my… bike…” I trail off, remembering I no longer ride since the accident.
Gabriella places her hand on my shoulder, massaging it softly knowing it’s a sensitive topic. I force a smile, placing my hands on the steering wheel as the engine starts. The stereo plays Maroon Five blaring over the speakers from my last ride. Turning the volume down to an appropriate level, I sing along, ignoring her persistent stare coupled with an amusing grin.
“Olly can sing.” She nods, surprised.
“There you go, calling me Olly again.”
She’s cute when she’s relaxed and not a stuck-up princess, like when I first met her. The song ends, and instantly, she grabs my phone, scrolling through my playlist trying to pick a song.
“Um… since when do you just go through my phone? I have to see you naked before you get that privilege.”
“Why, you got nudes in here?” she questions, casually. “The ladies sending Mr. Big-Shot-Soccer-Player some tits and ass pics?”
“More like pussy and leg shots.” She almost drops my phone to the floor. “Relax, Gabs. I’m a good boy.”
“Good boys are the worst. They’re the hungriest because they deprive themselves, which is unnatural of the male species.”
“I could say the same for good girls. But something tells me you’re a wild one, but you’re in the closet.”
“Me? Please, I’m boring. The wildest place I ever had sex was in college with this guy I was seeing. Janitor’s closet after a drunken frat party. The last time I completely lost control.”
“Until the night at the bar.”
“Yeah, something like that,” she mumbles, turning to face the side window.
“So, Prince Charming doesn’t get you off?”
She’s quick to focus back on me.
“You know, you are obsessed with Prince Charming. You want me to hook you up with him? I’m not sure he’s into the beard thing you’ve got going on, but you could get some with your body.”
I haven’t shaved in one day, and she’s throwing the word ‘beard’ around like I’m some sort of Bigfoot ape. I did, however, appreciate the sentiment about my body. It’s nice to know she’s admiring it, even if it kills her to admit it.
“So, you like my body?”
“Um… ex-cuuse me?” she stutters, quick to compose herself. “Way to switch topics.”
“It’s not a switch of topics,” I state, matter-of-factly. “Obviously, Prince Charming doesn’t do it for you, or you’d be legs spread in front of him and not in a car going to an unknown place with me. As for my body, I’ll accept the compliment. I train hard. Otherwise, I’d be just like good ol’ Santa with a beer gut.”
“You know what you are?”
“What?”
“An arrogant Aussie.”
I break out into a wide grin, watching her from the corner of my eye. “Uh-huh—”
“For assuming that Prince Charming is not exciting in the bedroom. You know what happens when you assume?”
“You hit the nail on the head?”
“Wh… What does that mean?”
“I hit the truth.”
“No more talking.” She cranks up the stereo as Black Eyed Peas play, enough so I sing along knowing I am completely right. Prince Charming most likely has a small dick. Pompous boys like him usually do and compensate by throwing money around. If she were satisfied like I could satisfy her, she wouldn’t have requested a break. If she were with me, she’d be begging for more.
Cue the cocky reminder. Your dick ain’t gonna calm down anytime soon.
We pull up to Rancho Palos Verdes. The resort is situated on a private peninsula known for its relaxing spa and resort facilities. I’d read about it online, seen the spectacular pictures, yet wasn’t keen on coming by myself.
The concierge opens our doors and guides us toward the main reception. Behind the counter, an older lady directs Gabriella to the ladies’ room, then offers me directions to the male change rooms.
I quickly dump my stuff in the locker, eager to head back to the enclosed spa area. When researching this place, I made sure that the place was intimate, but not to the point where
