Page 74 of Malaise

“You know what I’m saying.” I stand and take the rope out of his offered hand, but he holds on, forcing me to look at him.

“One condition.” His dark eyes bore into mine.

I shift on the spot, trying to ease the buzz that sets in from a single look alone. “Yeah?” My voice wavers.

“Each time you go down this line, I want you to think of a good memory. Could be about Den, about school, about your friends—”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“—or anything that made you smile at the time,” he finishes pointedly. “And then you can tell me all about it on the walk back.”

“Wait.” I pop a hip and frown. “How am I supposed to tell you about it when you’re up here, and I’m down there.” I point to the pole covered in old tyres at the far end.

“Who said you’re flying solo?”

He wants us to ride together. “Is it strong enough for the both of us?” The most legitimate excuse I can come up with that’s not “I can’t be that close to you without wanting to jump you when we hit the other end.”

“Only one way to find out if it is.” He walks back on the platform until the rope is at a forty-five-degree angle to where we stand, and steps over so the crude wooden seat part is tucked into the back of his thighs. “Step in front.”

“And what? Sit on your lap?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs as though it’s no big deal. “Would you rather I sat on yours?”

“Very funny, mister.” It’s a flying fox, Meg. I hoist my skirt up and stick a leg over the rope before I can chicken out. He gives my arse a cheeky pat where it hangs out of my bunched skirt. “Hands off the merchandise,” I tease in an effort to get him to stop distracting me, and position myself in front of Carver, hands tight on the rope ahead of me.

“You’re going to have to shuffle back into me if you don’t want to fall off,” he very “helpfully” points out.

My semi-healed palm rubs against the rope as I drag my unnecessarily tight hold down the length, using the bite of the fibres to distract me from the heat of his body behind me, the vibrations from his chest as he tells me “Closer,” and the feeling that this is my home.

We’ve fooled around, made out, got hot and heavy, but there’s still that line we haven’t crossed yet. And I’m acutely aware the longer it is until we do, the more haywire I go in situations like this.

Butt pressed tight into the front of his jeans, I tap my toes inside my shoes, impatient to get the first ride over with. Carver’s arms wrap around my shoulders and he places both inked hands over top of mine on the rope, sliding his hold down until his large palms engulf my hands entirely.

“Ready?”

“As ever.”

With a sharp shunt, and the thud of my foot as it catches the lip of the platform, we’re airborne. Inhibitions are forgotten, my concerns and fears vaporised as we tear through the night air. I laugh, I cry a little, and I’m ready to go again the minute we hit the stopper at the far end, Carver’s arms banding tighter about me as we swing to a stop over the woodchip.

His words tickle my ear as we sit above the ground, wrapped in each other while the zip line lazily turns in a circle. “What’s your favourite memory then, Meg?”

I think I just made it.