Chasing Waves

Chapter One: talk to the sand

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A/N: final reminder that this story is a SEQUEL to Faking Love and will contain spoilers from the outset! x

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1. Don't call me Sweetheart.
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There was a man in Honey's kitchen.

Technically, there were two.

But she was only strategically avoiding looking at the one.

She rose to her tiptoes and leaned across the marble counter. Her honey blonde curls slipped over her face, concealing an expression that could spark a snowstorm as she deposited a cup of coffee in front of her flatmate. Daisy sounded like she needed it. The five-foot-six ginger was groaning so much that she fit right in with the herd of animals she was frosting onto her boyfriend's cake. Unaware, of course, that said boyfriend was leaning against the wall behind her, looking like his intention to surprise her with his early flight was fraying by the minute.

The fact that Hunt hadn't barreled for Daisy and peppered her with kisses within five whole seconds of seeing her was, in fact, a record for them. Usually Daisy had also thrown something at him by now, so they were really breaking all kinds of records that afternoon.

"The tiger has a monobrow." Daisy pouted. Her copper hair cocooned her face as she slumped forward, muffling another groan against the counter. "And I ran out of orange icing, so I had to use yellow, and now it looks like Winnie the Pooh with stripes."

Honey sipped her coffee, fixing her eyes on Daisy's cake like it was the singular most interesting thing in the world. More interesting than the man who'd moved from the entryway and now stood in their lounge, at least. It wasn't like Honey wanted to look at him; he was basically six-foot-one-thousand of walking muscle, tousled blonde hair, and skin so bronzed it was worthy of framing the expensive paintings lining the walls of Honey's childhood estate. Kind of hard to miss.

Alas, a cloud chose that exact moment to pass over the sun. Bright light poured into Honey and Daisy's white high-rise, drenching him from head to toe like a king knighting his champion. Honey warred with her eyes when Adonis incarnate lifted his arms over his head—his hands almost touched the roof—and indulged in a stretch that hiked his shirt up over his hips.

Even his stomach was golden.

Naturally.

"Good news, then." Honey kept her eyes on Daisy's handiwork and her voice flat, flat, flat. "There is no tiger in Tarzan."

It was like she'd told Daisy that dancing had become outlawed in six of the seven continents. The sound that came out of her was absolutely pitiful.

It did something to Hunt, though. If the flash like hunger that arced through his hazel eyes was any indication, his patience was wearing thin. Dating long-distance since meeting in Cairns that past January, Daisy and Hunt hadn't seen each other for three weeks. Honey could practically feel the primitive energy radiating off him—a buck who'd spotted the prettiest doe in the forest. So much so that if he hadn't brought his humanoid golden retriever into her apartment and let it stomp all over the carpet without even asking her first, Honey might have felt bad for him. She might have left the kitchen then and there so that Hunt could treat Daisy to the reunion she knew he'd been planning since deciding to move to Brisbane for good after his last visit.

But he had, so she didn't.

"When's Lai coming?" Daisy asked.

Honey drained her coffee to the dregs. "Laia isn't coming."