Maneater Page 10

  “You surprised me, Jemma,” Owen tells me as we wash up after Monty leaves.

  “Why? Because I’m a female who isn’t scared of snakes?” I’m a little pissed at his sexist comment.

  “Because you are a great vet assistant, not afraid to get your hands dirty,” he states, rectifying my overreaction to his comment.

  “Well, I just love animals, even the scaled or slimy type. I swear, one day I'm heading to the sloth sanctuary in Costa Rica; it’s on my bucket list 100 percent,” I tell him, and smile as I daydream about the sweet creatures with racoon-like bands on their eyes.

  Cutest animal on the planet!

  Maybe I could open the first sloth sanctuary here in Australia, my new career goal.

  Chapter 19

  Hook-ups vs relationships

  It’s been ten years, and I’ve always been no strings.

  The whole strings thing makes me think of Pinocchio, the puppet on strings, controlled by Geppetto.

  I don’t want someone thinking they can control me. I don’t want to be someone’s puppet.

  I’ve seen it happen before. Boyfriends think they have a right over their partners—they tell them what to wear, what they can do, or friends they are allowed to have.

  Fuck that, no one can control even one part of my life. I am me, and my life is my own.

  I get a text message from Rock.

  The Rock:

  I’m hard thinking about you, get over here.

  The whole shit with Stacey is just annoying as hell. I want to avoid the drama; she sure isn’t worth it, and I don’t actually think he is anymore either.

  Well, sure, the sex is the hottest I’ve had, by far … but something now feels like it’s missing. I can’t bring myself to go over there.

  It's always just been hot sex. I've always been happy with that; it’s been what I’ve needed, and nothing more.

  But today, I feel dirty at the thought of going over there, of sex just being a physical connection with no mental attraction.

  It’s weird; I’ve never worried about it before, but I feel like maybe I would be cheating on Dan … but we're not together, so how can I cheat?

  He's inside my head. Even when he’s not with me, he is inside my fucking head!

  While Rock is always hard and rough, I sometimes crave the soft and sensual.

  What the hell is happening to me?

  Nothing.

  Denial is my friend.

  If I don't admit it, then it's not true; not acknowledging means not happening.

  I am happily single.

  I am not falling for Dan.

  I do not want to tie myself down.

  Nope, nope, nope.

  ***

  When Owen shows up in a little white Laser as I’m taking out the rubbish, I can’t hide my laugh. I don’t mean to be a bitch, it just slips out naturally.

  “Are you laughing at my wheels?” he questions me, half-serious.

  “No, I tripped over the gutter and was laughing at myself,” I lie. I don’t want to hurt the poor guy’s feelings; it’s not his fault if his chromosome is more XX than it is XY.

  He heads inside, oblivious to my thoughts.

  Yes, ladies, it matters what they drive; yes, guys, it matters what you drive!

  A guy driving a little yellow hatchback is not cute. Guys driving a pink car is not cute.

  A Jeep, ute, V8, or V6 is hot.

  I must admit I'm not even into guys wearing pink shirts; it’s just too feminine for me. I laugh at the thought of Ryan “the Rock” Hale wearing a pink shirt while knocking out an opponent in a boxing tournament.

  Nope, it doesn’t work.

  I guess it was drummed into my brain from an early age: girl colours are pink and purple, and dolls are for girls. It didn’t help not having a brother; I had nothing to compare to.

  But girls can wear blue and green, girls can play with trucks, bikes, and balls.

  Maybe a little sexist and homophobic, but that’s the era my parents drilled into my mind. These days, anything goes; fashion trends change, and so many styles come full circle. I’m a little old-fashioned when it comes to how I like my men.

  Eliza taught me to dress sophisticated and feminine and to never leave the house without your make-up and hair done. Sure, it’s a little vain, but I like to look good, and in my eyes, I think a bit of foundation and eye make-up has me looking my best, and that’s what it’s all about. I feel happy in my own skin, and make-up just enhances that feeling. I honestly believe this has contributed to my extrovert personality—you look good, you feel good. I’m confident enough to talk to the opposite sex and basically use my best attributes to get what I want.

  Chapter 20

  Day at the beach

  The sky is a brilliant blue as we arrive at the beach for a day of fun in the sun.

  It’s a stunning picturesque day; the sun is shining, rays invigorating my skin, the waves are crashing, and the sand is warm beneath my toes.

  Seagulls squawk as they fly above the rock pools, making me smile as I spread out my towel, ready for sunbaking.

  “What time are your friends coming?” Dan asks as he lays his towel next to mine.

  “Around twelve, so thirty minutes or so,” I reply as I lie down and shimmy out of my strapless blue and pink floral dress.

  I glance in Dan’s direction, hoping he has noticed my strapless hot pink bikini. It shows off my curves in all the right places.

  “Damn, do you purposely choose the hottest swimmers?” he asks.

  “I just choose what I like, and it just happens my body suits the sexy swimwear,” I tell him, poking out my tongue.

  I lie back and close my eyes as his fingertips circle my bare stomach; suddenly, the temp is increasing. He doesn’t play fair.

  I look around the beach; we’re pretty secluded. Wattamolla Beach is half freshwater lagoon, shaded by loads of trees from the Royal National Park.

  “You and your hands are all talk, care to elaborate?” I state, lifting my glasses to make eye contact.

  “Here?” he questions, smiling widely.

  “In the water?”

  “No, right here.”

  I can’t stand it, I want him inside me …

  I stand and wrap my towel around my waist then slip down my bikini bottoms; the couple of swimmers out in the water are oblivious.

  I lower myself to straddle the smiling, sexy guy eyeing me off, and I loosen the towel, still keeping covered. He follows my lead and pulls down his board shorts to expose his hard, hot cock that makes me want to sit on it.

  “I don’t have a condom,” he whispers as we are both panting with anticipation.

  “I’m on the pill,” I whisper. “Are you clean?” I ask him.

  “Yep,” he replies, and it’s all I need as I spread my legs. His full-length slides easily between my soaking wet folds. I forget everything else except for the amazing feeling inside me; I know it will be quick, and it’s a good thing, or we will end up with an audience.

  I kiss his lips as I lift and lower back down onto his firm rod. I risk a glance into the water where the swimmers are still frolicking; no one else is around, so I get into a rhythm as he thrusts upwards, meeting my movement. We are both consumed with each other; the thrill of the outdoors and the sun enhancing the mood.

  When he pants then moans, coming hard, I climb off, not concerned with myself, and quickly slip on my bottoms, then drag him out into the inviting blue water, where we cool down.

  “I think that is the hottest thing I’ve ever done,” he announces as we swim, and I laugh out loud.

  “Yeah, that was hot,” I agree, and put my head under, as I’m sure my cheeks are nicely tinged with a “just fucked” blush.

  I lie on my towel when we hop out of the water.

  "This is the fucking life," I announce.

  "I could live at the beach," he replies.

  Hmm.

  Another imaginary box ticked. This one implying that when I’m ready
to settle down, we have similar views on properties.

  "If that were my house"—pointing at a 2.2-million-dollar beach house—“I'd be here every afternoon and weekend,” I state. God, that would be living the dream.

  I see Tia’s car pull up, and I feel a little nervous. God, the girls have seen me with heaps of guys, so why should today be any different?

  “We’re here,” Roxy announces as they throw their towels and beach bags onto the sand.

  “You must be Dan,” Tia says. “I’m Tia, nice to meet you.”

  “Great to meet you, too. I’ve heard lots about you.” He turns. “You must be the infamous Roxy. It’s great to finally put a face to the name,” he announces to my BFF, who is eyeing him off and totally checking him out from head to toe. I have no doubt she likes what she sees.

  “I know the feeling; it’s like I already know you,” she replies as they shake hands. “What a magical day,” Roxy says as she lays out her towel next to Tia.

  Dan is in for a treat; he will soon have three gorgeous bodies to perve at.

  But I’m wrong.

  His eyes never leave my body. When he talks to the girls, he looks at their faces. It’s like they are in tracksuits. He doesn’t even acknowledge their gorgeous curves.

  I’m so relaxed and happy to be with these three people for the day.

  Of course, the sun is a mood enhancer and boosts levels of serotonin, the happy hormone. That’s why I’m happy; it’s nothing to do with the amazing beach sex, or witty, charismatic guy who only has eyes for me …

  “You guys want some lunch?” Roxy questions. “I’ve packed enough for everyone; there’s ham and salad, or chicken and mayonnaise sandwiches,” she announces.

  I smile at Dan. “What would you like? She does make a mean sandwich,” I declare, winking at my bestie.

  “Thanks, Roxy, the ham and salad sounds great,” he tells her, and she hands him a sandwich wrapped tightly in cling wrap.

  She passes me one too, knowing I would also choose the ham and salad.

  “I spoke to Dylan about the issues we were having. He wasn’t a happy camper,” Roxy adds, clarifying the dramas with him being clingy and overbearing.

  “Tough titties, he will get over it,” I reply and blow her a kiss as she smiles. I know this conversation will continue later.

  I watch Dan unwrap the sandwich and take a bite. I hope he likes pickles; that’s an extra that Rox adds for flavour.

  “This is amazing. What’s the secret sauce?” he asks.

  “Pickles,” she tells him, smiling. I still remember her mother making them when we were in high school.

  We devour another sandwich each and drink bottles of water then Dan and I lie back as Tia and Roxy go for a swim. I’m sure they are subtly giving us privacy.

  “Tell me about your tattoos, Jemma. Do they all have a meaning?” Dan asks, looking first at the heart on my bikini line.

  “This one is just decoration, but the lotus flower tattoo on my shoulder here”—I point as I turn and show him—“it symbolises purity of the body, speech, and mind. I loved it when I saw it then, of course, when I found out the meaning I had to have it.”

  “That describes you to a T, doesn’t it?” he declares.

  “Pretty much, and the one on my ankle here is a rose for beauty and strength. Do you have any?”

  “Not yet,” he replies, leaving me intrigued.

  “Not yet, huh? So, what would you get if you got one?” I ask.

  “I’ll show you one day,” he replies, and as he gazes into my eyes, I feel something new between us. I’m not sure what it is or what it means, but we have a moment. He smiles at me, and it warms my heart—my ice-cold heart that has had a cement wall guarding it for so long.

  It’s possibly starting to melt just a tiny bit.

  Chapter 21

  What in the world…

  I arrive to work on Monday still reeling from a great weekend with good friends and sunshine. As usual, I put my bag in my locker and lunch and drink in the fridge.

  “Morning, Jemma,” Tony greets me, startling me a little. He usually starts at ten Monday, so I wasn’t expecting him so early.

  “You are in early today, Tony. How was your weekend?” I question him cheerily.

  “Good weekend, thank you. Can we have a quick chat in my office?” Now, he has my attention. One thing about working here is just how casual and informal it is, so this doesn’t sound good.

  “Yep, sure. Is everything okay?” I ask, concerned. I follow him into his office and take a seat, knowing whatever it is, it’s not going to be pleasant.

  "Jemma, we have received a letter from an angry client," he states, and I frown. A letter from an angry client? What the hell does that even mean?

  "I need you to know that I'm on your side and believe none of it, but I have to at least acknowledge their accusations," he adds, and now my heartbeat has increased and I’m feeling a little nauseous.

  "What the hell are they accusing me of?" I question, a little angry. This makes absolutely no sense.

  "Neglect and inflicting injury,” he answers, looking pained. I can see in his face it’s hard for him; we have worked together for four years.

  “The lady said her dog was here for three days. You were the main carer, and her dog came home with a grazed stomach and cut on her face," he states.

  "That's bullshit. I am nothing but gentle with each animal. Maybe she scratched herself on the cage, but I’m sure I would have noticed,” I reply, frantic. "Tell me the dog’s name and the owner," I ask, needing more details. Could this have really happened on my watch?

  "I'm not allowed for privacy and legal reasons, Jemma."

  "What?" Legal reasons? What the hell?

  "They have apparently made a formal complaint with the police," he states and takes a deep breath.

  “You will be receiving a telephone call tomorrow to ask your side of the story.”

  "Oh, my God!" This can’t be happening; this is bad. The police. I’m on report. My hands go to my face in shock.

  "We have to put you on leave, effective immediately," Tony adds, looking pale. "Believe me when I say I don't believe it. I'm on your side, Jemma, and will fight this. You have worked here for four years, and you are honest, hardworking, and an animal lover," he states, and I’m so glad he believes it’s not something I’m capable of.

  Why would a customer do this to me?

  Never in four years has a client ever said a bad word about me or my work ethic.

  I don't know if I'm more pissed off or upset.

  Totally shocked.

  I can’t face anyone right now, so I collect my stuff and take off, straight home, where I cry into my pillow for the next hour.

  My job is so important to me. I love working with the animals, and I love everything about it. I just can’t fucking believe this is happening.

  I ignore my phone and everything else for the rest of the day. I’m in some sort of zombie state until Roxy comes home.

  “Oh Jemma, Jasmine messaged me. I just can’t fucking believe it,” she says as she embraces me, pulling me in for a tight hug.

  The tears fall again at the thought of losing my job, these terrible accusations, and for Tony and how this will affect his practice.

  “It will all work out. I know it will,” she tells me, being supportive like the best friend she always is.

  “God, I hope you are right, Rox,” I declare, and I have everything crossed that this will be over sooner rather than later, and of course, that the outcome will be in my favour.

  ***

  I sleep until lunchtime the next day. Every time I opened my eyes, I felt nauseous at the thought of the terrible accusations, and then I felt like bursting into tears again, so sleep was the easiest option.

  After some trusty toast with butter and vegemite and a much-needed coffee, I hastily decide I need to get to the bottom of these accusations. I’m not just going to sit back and watch my career getting ripped out from unde
r me. No fucking way.

  I text Jasmine, hoping she is willing to help me without getting herself into trouble.

  Me:

  Jas, can you do some digging for me while Tony is in surgeries today?

  Jas:

  I'm already on it, just give me ten mins.

  Me:

  Thanks, love you xo

  It’s the longest ten minutes of my life.

  Jas:

  Okay so I found the complaint letter and I'm sending you a pic of the name and details.

  Mrs Christine Lewis

  103 Hines Court

  Potts Point

  To PAWS Vet Clinic,

  I wish to make a complaint about one of your staff members, Jemma Donovan.

  My white Maltese terrier Yogi was in your care for three days recovering from a virus, and when I took her home she had lacerations on her stomach and a cut on her mouth.

  I believe these were inflicted by your staff member, and I have filed a police report.

  I don't remember her; the name doesn’t sound familiar or ring any bells. After working there for four years, I know most of our customers and their animals.

  A white Maltese named Yogi. I know of five white Maltese terriers, and that is none of them. Something doesn’t add up.

  Me:

  Thanks, Jas.

  Do you know that client or her dog Yogi?

  Jas:

  Nope, never heard of either one. Seems strange that we wouldn’t remember. I am usually good with owners and their pets.

  Me:

  Yeah me too.

  Jas:

  I will do a search in the computer later and get back to you xo

  Me:

  You are amazing xo

  ***

  I keep busy scrubbing the bathroom, including shower and toilet. I’m pissed off at the world and annoyed at this Mrs Lewis. Couldn’t she have approached me first, or Tony? Going straight to the police is over the top and nasty.

  When my phone beeps, the bathroom is sparkling clean. I dispose of my gloves, hoping for some further answers.

  Jas: