The Curves Ahead - Wattpad Award Winner

Chapter 8

"Bicycles?" This time, I was convinced Heather had lost her mind. The two Giant bikes leaned against the front entrance of our four star apartment in Kalgoorlie-Boulder.

"I know, right? How much fun is this?" Heather handed me a helmet and a backpack. "It's only about a ten minute ride."

We'd arrived in town only an hour before, flying into the beautiful red vastness of the Western Australian inland. After a quick taxi ride to our two-bedroom accommodation, Heather had informed me we were required by the Super Pit management to wear the site uniform.

I'd hefted myself into the blocky blue work shorts and the orange long sleeved shirt with its reflector patches, feeling about as sexy as an infected toenail. The stiff material of the shorts made it hard to bend over and pull on my steel-toed work boots, snug against my thick socks. Add to that the fact I was slightly hung over, and I was barely able to walk, let along straddle something.

And now Heather was suggesting riding to the pit, rather than the option of taxiing. I was not impressed. Bicycles made me even more self-conscious than normal; I always wondered if anyone watching me was worried about the frame holding up under my weight. "Heather, I don't think I can physically ride at the moment."

"You'll be fine," she insisted blithely, snapped her helmet on and pushing her bike out the door.

Cranky, but too encumbered to stop her, I followed along. She was already at the gates of our small resort complex, so I heavily plonked my foot on the pedal and heaved my other leg over the seat. Groaning, I began to push hard to catch up.

We turned onto the main road, cycling leisurely through the little town. Above us, a clear day glowed, the sky a pale blue and the burning sun warming my bones.

"I thought we'd head up to the look-out first and see the whole mine. Then, you can meet your contact at ten at the main entrance." Heather chatted as we rode, her breathing normal. Her scarlet hair poked out from under the helmet in adorable spikes, and she was totally rocking the tradie-girl look, with her long legs luscious out the bottom of her blue shorts.

I panted out a reply. "Sounds... Good..."

"So... Did you decide what you're going to do about Matt's email?"

I'd filled Heather in on Matt's heartfelt letter on the flight. "I still don't know. I... I want to believe him, I do. But... does it make me sound horrible if I say I'm finding it harder to trust his motives because he's so hot?"

She chortled. "You know, studies show that people find attractive faces more trustworthy on average."

"Not for me. Plus... there's still the whole bet thing."

"Okay, seriously!" She extended her arm to indicate a right turn to the single car on the entire main street. We coasted around the corner. "Why don't you just ask him? Flat out; 'Matt, did you bet the crew that you could screw me?'"

As the wide red road sloped downwards, I said, "I can't ask him like that!"

"Well, all this back and forth isn't helping your stress levels. Find out for sure, because if he's innocent you can't keep sending him one line responses while the poor guy pours out his heart to you. And if he's guilty, then you're wasting all this time and mental energy for nothing."

"I told him we could talk tonight, about eight o'clock."

"Good. Get it sorted, once and for all. For a TV host, you're a horrible communicator, Evi."

"Heather, I swear to God..." I couldn't finish my insult, due to the steep incline of the road, putting my entire body into a quivering, acid-laced state of shock. I concentrated on pumping my legs, feeling the skin of my thighs chafing back and forth while sweat rolled down inside the thick shirt.