Well, hadn’t thought much about before. But these days, he couldn’t stop noticing people in new ways. Bloody confusing ways.

  “Damian Williams. Damo.” He suddenly clocked the surfer as he let go of his big hand. “Hey, you’re one of the clubbies, right? Thought you looked familiar.”

  Blake licked his lips, glancing around nervously for some reason Damo couldn’t suss out. “Didn’t think you’d really noticed me.”

  “You were looking after that lost kid on the weekend.” He was pretty sure he’d noticed Blake volunteering before that too. Had he been the bloke with the—

  He flushed. Right. The bloke with the nice meaty arse.

  Blake seemed to want to say something else before finally nodding. Twitching his fingers and spreading his toes in the warm sand, Damo glanced over at the patients. The ginger guy seemed to be pinking up with the oxy.

  “He was cooked,” Damo said before taking a deep breath and blowing it out. The patients were back on shore. It hadn’t been pretty, but he’d done his job.

  “Must be scary. I haven’t had to do a real rescue yet.”

  Damo tried to shrug it off. “Can be. That ginger bloke was as close to drowning as you ever want to be. Glad you were here to help. Did you chuck a sickie?”

  “Nah, I’m a garbo. I do an eight-day fortnight, so three days off a week.” Blake cleared his throat and stood straighter, putting on an official voice. “I should say I’m a waste services operator.”

  Damo laughed. “Sweet. Gotta love the council jobs.” He gazed out at the water, spotting a head going out in the Croc. He’d be in again soon. “I always knew I’d be a lifeguard, so lucky for me council has the budget. Can’t imagine anything else. Being in an office?” He shuddered dramatically.

  “Yep. It’s not glamorous emptying bins, but it pays well, and it’s a steady job since people will always make heaps of garbage. And I’ve got surfing time. I’m really glad I was here.” Blake nodded to the patient who’d panicked hard. “He could have drowned you. You were very kind to him just now.”

  Damo shrugged but secretly he was chuffed. Not that he had any reason to want to impress a clubbie he didn’t even know.

  He scanned the waves and said, “People will drown their own husbands and wives when they panic. Like I told him, he was off his head. I don’t take it personally.” He hesitated, then whispered, “And I admit, I wasn’t feeling so kind when I was cursing them as I paddled out.”

  “You hide it well.”

  Blake’s voice was low and steady and…Damo liked hearing it. He tugged on the purple cord he wore around his neck, recently braided by his baby sister, Tabitha, as a lucky talisman to keep him safe on the job. “Say, where do you live?”

  Blake blinked and licked his lips. They probably tasted salty… “North Barking.”

  “Are you new around here? Thought I knew all the locals.” Blake was definitely Aussie judging by the accent.

  “More or less. Moved here from South Australia in July.”

  “You’re good in the water for a rookie. Maybe I’ll see you around. I surf when I’m not working.”

  “I know.”

  The skin on the back of Damo’s neck prickled, which was probably just the saltwater drying in the sun—though his hair brushed the tops of his shoulder blades. The sensation definitely wasn’t a rush from being noticed.

  Or from the intense way Blake watched him.

  Damo realized he had to say something as he shifted more hot sand through his toes and glued his eyes to the waves. “Cool.”

  He could smell coconut tanning oil on the breeze, probably coming from the hot girls in bikinis stretched out nearby on colored towels. He scanned the water, too aware of Blake’s eyes on him, his skin tingling. “Thanks again, mate. I owe ya.”

  “No, of course you don’t. I’m glad I helped.”

  “I can still shout ya a beer sometime.” He had plenty of friends. Why was he inviting out the new clubbie?

  Nothin’ wrong with being friendly!

  Blake’s thick eyebrows shot up. “Yeah?” He grinned, his cheeks dimpling.

  Damo had to smile back as he shrugged, his shoulders weirdly tense. “Sure.”

  “I’ll—” Blake hesitated, then said in a rush, “I’ll be at Rodeo on Friday night in Freo if you’re not doing anything.”

  “That new club? I think I heard it was good.”

  He didn’t go out in Fremantle much at all these days, so he wasn’t sure why he was pretending to be in the know. He actually wasn’t much for dancing since he sucked at it. Sometimes his mates went to the clubs in Perth to pick up chicks, but Damo preferred pubs or parties.

  “Yeah, it’s a fun crowd. Diverse.”

  “Cool.”

  Wait, was it a gay club? Now that he thought about it, Damo remembered Cody trying to convince his boyfriend Liam to go with absolutely no luck.

  “No dramas if you can’t make it.”

  Damo was about to say, yeah, nah. He’d be at home Friday night with Tabby anyway. Instead, the words that came out of his mouth as he monitored a few swimmers were, “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  Waaaaaait. What? No, he wouldn’t see anyone at a club! Where had that come from? Was it the power of this bloke’s dimples? Not to mention his nipples…

  Before Damo could take it back, Blake said, “Cool. I’ll let you get back to work,” and lifted a hand in a wave before disappearing into the crowd of umbrellas and endless people, at least twenty thousand of them cramming onto the beach.

  Returning to the buggy he’d parked on the sand, Damo picked up binoculars to watch the swimmer out the back who was definitely not getting out of the Croc’s grip without help. No point in putting his shirt back on.

  He checked on a few other swimmers about to get into trouble and hopped on the megaphone to tell them to come back to shore.

  Why had he said that to Blake? No way Damo was going to a dance club on Friday night. He’d be working that day, and it would probably be full on again since the forecast called for sun and heat.

  Look, Blake seemed like a good bloke, but Friday night, Damo’d have a feed and a few beers, then hang out with Tabby and hear about the latest year-eight drama from school.

  Still…

  The idea of not spending the night at home, of actually going out, away from those four walls and everything inside it…

  Guilt stabbed. If he went out alone, he’d be leaving Tabby to deal with Dad. She already did more than any kid should have to.

  No chance. No, he wasn’t going dancing at a maybe-gay bar with some cute clubbie he just met.

  An undeniable thrill crashed the guilt party. Fine, yeah, the clubbie was cute, all right? Blake was cute. More than.

  As he tracked the swimmer, Damo thought of how Blake had appeared out of nowhere, shoving away the panicking patient like something out of a movie.

  Damo was the one who was supposed to be saving people, but he had to admit it felt amazing to have someone charge to his rescue for a change. Surfers often lent a hand, keeping patients afloat until lifeguards arrived, but this had been a little more…dramatic.

  Butterflies flapped in his belly. Sure, it was normal to have that adrenaline rush after a big rescue, but he tingled all over thinking of Blake.

  Guilt roared back to remind him that he had responsibilities and he couldn’t just go swanning off to a club. Sure, it wasn’t like he’d never gone out over the years. But things at home hadn’t been like…this.

  Thumb on his radio, he said, “Central, I’m gonna be in here.”

  Picking up the rescue board, he cleared his mind of everything but getting past the shorey and paddling as hard as he could.

  Chapter Three

  After trying on five different shirts, Blake cycled through them again. He was set on his black skinny jeans and Doc Martens, but if Damo did actually come to the club…

  “He won’t,” Blake repeated to his reflection, eyeing the sleeveless black mesh shirt. It was fairly sheer, and in the bright light of his bathroom, his chest hair and nipples were extremely prominent.

  A surge of confidence buoyed him, and as he rubbed a dab of pomade between his hands, he allowed himself to relive paddling over to help Damo.

  Blake was grinning as he remembered shoving away the Irish tourist and making sure Damo was okay. Practically like a real lifeguard. He’d truly helped and been useful.

  And Jesus, Damo was gorgeous. The swirl of memories played through his head like a movie: Damo’s crooked smile, digging in the sand to make the scared little girl laugh, running into the surf to save lives, strong arms slicing through the water as he paddled out like one of the surfing gods Blake had daydreamed about…

  Refocusing, Blake smoothed down a few stray hairs and examined his look again. Yes. Black mesh. Even if Damo didn’t come tonight—which he wouldn’t—there’d be other blokes to pick up if he was in the mood. Why go for subtlety?

  With a nod, Blake returned to his bedroom and hung up the other shirts in his closet, making sure the hangers faced the same way. It was still far too early to be getting ready, but he couldn’t just half-watch MasterChef and pace.

  In the white-tiled bathroom, he pulled out his little blue makeup bag. He’d learned to put on eyeliner in uni with the help of his friend Ashley, who was now married with kids in country Victoria but still DM’d him makeup tutorials.

  Wearing his garbo uniform of high-vis orange during the week left him keen to dress up when he went out for the night. He’d experimented in uni with different styles before settling on this look. It was simple—eyeliner and glossy lipstick paired with tight clothes—but it still felt…indulgent.

  Maybe a little forbidden too.

  After a swipe of lippy, he blotted and gave himself a smile in the mirror, examining the color choice. Hmm. Too dark? He wiped it off and tried another.

  Dressing up was his little treat for himself. He didn’t want to do it every day—if he wasn’t at work, he was surfing or volunteering at Barking, and it was far too hot and wet for makeup at the beach.

  Even if it wasn’t, if he did it every day, it wouldn’t be special somehow. It was perfect for going out. Satisfied with his red gloss, he uncapped his eyeliner and started penciling under his right eye. Though…

  What would Damo think?

  Blake hesitated, examining himself critically, his confidence faltering. He’d picked up plenty of blokes when he was in his glam outfits. Besides, Damo wasn’t even going to show. Blake would see him again on the weekend at the beach, wave awkwardly, and go back to his sexy surfer daydreams.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket with the rhythmic chimes of a video call, and he nearly dropped it in the toilet when he saw his mother’s face on the screen.

  Shit!

  He couldn’t answer wearing makeup, so she’d just have to wait until morning.

  But what if something was wrong? What if she needed his help?

  Groaning, Blake fumbled for his makeup remover and squeezed too much onto a cotton ball before scrubbing at the half line of charcoal under his eye.

  He flipped on the tap and splashed water over his face, his eye burning from the remover. As he grabbed a towel with one hand, he swiped his screen with the other.

  “Hey, Mum. You okay?”

  “What? Fine, love.” She gave Blake a wonderful view of her chin and up her nose.

  “Is Dad—”

  “Doing me head in like usual. Doc says he’s not supposed to drink, and of course he won’t listen to me.”

  The surge of adrenaline morphed into frustration. Why did he let her get him into a panic? He could have just kept his makeup on and rang her back without video. Everything was fine.

  “Mum, lift up the phone,” he snapped. It was clearly sitting on the kitchen benchtop.

  “Hold your horses,” she said, even though she’d been the one to ring him. “What’s got your knickers in a twist? I’m finishing up another batch of potatoes.”

  He didn’t have to ask what kind—it was Friday, which meant the pub was serving bangers and mash with whatever veg was in season or on sale that week. Dessert would be sticky date pudding with custard.

  The rhythmic thudding of the potato masher was reassuringly familiar, and Blake breathed deeply, reminding himself his mother hadn’t done anything wrong by wanting to talk.

  With the camera still only showing the top of her worn green apron and right up her nose, Mum went on. “He says when a customer shouts the drink, he has to take it or he’ll offend them. Like they have any place else to go in two hundred Ks.”

  “He could just add the cost of a drink to their tab and not drink it.”

  “And I told him—” Mum lifted the phone. Her bottle blonde hair was short as always, and the wrinkles around her mouth creased even more as she frowned. “Nah, can’t do that. If the fellas pay for a drink, it has to be drunk. I told him Frank and Daryl will be thrilled to save the money if he says he’s not allowed.”

  “Darl, the doc said I can have two drinks!” Dad said from a distance.

  Mum stepped back, shouting, “Two a bloody week, and you know it!”

  Dad replied something Blake couldn’t make out, and he sighed as Mum shouted back.

  The kitchen behind her was the same old metal shelving and banged-up brown cabinets. Blake could almost feel the worn lino under his feet as he washed endless dishes and listened to the twang of country music and loud murmur of conversation from the pub.

  Her face filling the frame, Mum raised a hand to rub her eye, mashed potato stuck on her small diamond ring and wedding band that she never took off. “I wish you were here, Blakey. He listens to you.”

  That was…debatable, but warmth flowed through him to hear the endearment. When he was little, Mum had sung him a song at night to the tune of “Waltzing Matilda.”

  “Bedtime for Blakey, bedtime for Blakey, closing his eyes and going to sleep…”

  “Can you have a chat to him soon?” she asked.

  “Of course.” He had to help, and he was pleased by Mum’s grateful smile.

  “That’s our boy.” Her smile vanished. “And your sister’s being a right you-know-what at the moment. Did I tell you?”

  She hadn’t—though it was the same argument as always—and he sat on the side of the bed, mmm-ing and agreeing with her when necessary.

  “It was so much easier when you were here, love.”

  “I know, but I have to work.” That old tug-of-war of guilt raised its head. There was no way he was living in Blinman again. Never. Yet the thought that Mum and Dad needed his help pulled at him.

  “We would’ve been lost without you when I was crook. Such a good son.”

  The familiar tangle of love and guilt and undeniable pride battled in him. “Thanks, Mum.”

  “And I know that garbo gig seems to be a good one, but if it doesn’t pan out, you know you can come back here in a blink. Always a place here, love.”

  He was determined to never live in Blinman again, but he nodded and smiled.

  “Did I tell you we had to hire that useless Douglas girl since Camden Martin went off to uni like you did? With your brothers up in Queensland, and Ella in Adelaide, who’ll run this place when we’re gone?”

  Not me. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it all out.”

  She smiled tenderly. “You really should have become a doctor. I’m sure you could convince your patients to follow your orders.”

  “You need to be good at maths and science for that. My English lit degree wouldn’t cut it.”

  “You were good at maths and science!”

  “I was all right, but I didn’t like it enough to do it in uni.” He leaned over and reached for the glass of water beside his bed. “Look, Mum—”

  She gasped, her voice rising. “What on earth are you wearing?”

  Too late, he realized his sheer black shirt was visible. Guts twisting, he brought his phone closer. “Nothing.” The way she could make him feel like a naughty child in an instant…

  Her smile had vanished, and an awkward silence stretched out as she mashed again, still holding the phone in one hand. Thud, thud, thud.

  Eyes downcast, she finally said, “What will they think at work?”

  He tried to laugh. “I’m not wearing club gear to empty the bins.”

  Eyebrows raised, she said, “What kind of clubs are you—” She broke off, quickly adding, “Never mind!” as if he was about to launch into a description of S&M bondage.

  “It’s just a shirt, Mum.”

  “Barely.” She mashed like her life depended on it, still not looking at him. She glanced sharply to her left and hissed, “Your father’s coming. Don’t let him see!”

  Only Blake’s face was visible now on the screen. “I have to go anyway.”

  Mum painted on a smile, still not actually looking at him. “All right, love. Have a good—” Her smile cracked, and she stared with imploring, tearful eyes. “Be careful. Promise me.”

  Part of him wanted to remind her it wasn’t the nineties, and he was fine, but he couldn’t bear the worry etched on her face. “I promise. Love you.”

  Shoulders slumping, he flopped back on the bed. He didn’t feel like going out anymore. He’d text Kat to tell them he couldn’t go, take off his silly mesh shirt, and have an early night. He could surf early before his volunteer shift. It wasn’t as if Damo would actually show, and Kat had plenty of mates to hang out with.

  Pushing to his feet, he returned to the bathroom to put away his makeup. He caught his reflection and stopped.

  He really did look good in that shirt.

  Taking a long, deep breath, he shook off the ugh and picked up the eyeliner. He’d moved away from home for the last time. Even if Mum and Dad needed help again, he wasn’t living in Blinman. He was in Barking by the ocean like he’d dreamed about for so, so long.

  And he might have a date with a hot surfer just like he’d dreamed about.

  Even if Damo didn’t show, Blake needed this.

  And what would Damo think of the makeup? Maybe he’d think it was weird, but…

  No, Damo seemed chill. Not that Blake knew him, but his gut told him it was okay. And if it wasn’t, better to find out now.