Heat Wave - Real Heat Book 2

Chapter one

For my wonderful Wattpad readers, who helped me keep this story going when it stalled, and whose unending enthusiasm has made my writing journey possible.

Chapter 1

I held the expensive black Olympus in my hands and took a little step to the left to make sure Sydney Harbour Bridge was framed perfectly behind the Japanese couple. 'Okay, love birds. Smile! Three, two, one.'

As I hit the button, the slender camera slipped from my fingers and cracked as it hit the concrete steps of the Opera House. 'Oh no! No!'

Stooping, I picked up the device, as the husband and wife ran over. 'Sorry! I'm so sorry!'

'Do not worry, please,' nattered the tiny wife. 'It is a tough, waterproof, very strong. Can drop and will be fine.'

'Oh, thank goodness.' The information was a relief. My natural ability to attract shit and disaster didn't only affect me, but I tried to minimise the collateral damage when I could.

The husband extended his arm, and as I handed the camera back the shattered lens flashed in the streetlight. 'Not so tough after all,' he said sadly.

'Bugger.' With only eight bucks left in my bank account and my credit card maxed out, I couldn't even offer to replace the camera. 'I am so sorry.'

They were so lovely, reassuring me with talk of extended warranties and back up cameras at their hotel. Thankful, I shook their hands and they pattered off happily to join the other sightseers milling about, bound for more viewing of iconic Aussie landmarks.

Surrounded by happy tourists and dark water, I slumped on the stairs and examined my life. There was a question that had been haunting me for years, one I'd been avoiding like I would a handsy random in a club, one highlighted even further by the last few minutes.

Is there a reason why I screw up everything I touch?

It wasn't like I didn't have good intentions; for example, I'd jumped up to offer my services as a photographer for the cute Japanese couple because I knew when I'd travelled, I always appreciated pictures of me that weren't selfies. But instead of snapping a memorable pic for them with an Australian icon, I trashed their camera. I was a disaster zone.

I'd never been a moper; my life was all about what was next. Pushing myself to be positive, I perched on the steps and tried listing some gratitudes:

I'm grateful I'm healthy.

I'm grateful I'm ... not fat?

I'm grateful for the six different friends who've let me crash on their couches in the last six months so I'm not homeless.

I'm grateful for all my free time because I'm unemployed and have no relationship.

I'm grateful for ...

I gave up. Letting my silky black hair fall around me like a shield, I dropped my head, hiding from the world that I just couldn't click with for some reason.

'Maddie?'

The voice made me freeze, that easy drawl so familiar. I raised my eyes and there he was, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

'Tanner?' It had been almost a decade, and it took me a few beats to recognise my first real boyfriend. Gone was his uniform of faded jeans and a plaid shirt; Tanner stood in beige cargo pants and a fitted black sweater, both of which bore the hallmarks of expensive brands and probably cost more than my entire wardrobe combined.