Stout (Men of Lovibond 2)

I couldn’t have slept more than forty minutes, but I welcome the overall refreshed feeling it brings—except for my mouth. The combination of mouth breathing, beer drinking, and lack of oral hygiene during our travels has skunked things up. I don’t want to meet Addison’s brother for the first time and have him question which end is my face. “I need some gum. Do you have any on you?”

Addison reaches into her purse and holds out the lime-green pack in my direction. “Doublemint work for you?”

I take two pieces because I’m fairly certain it’s going to take two shots of Doublemint to do the job. “Thanks.”

We walk out of the jet bridge with our carry-ons and I see two great-looking guys standing in the terminal watching the disembarking passengers. I know Ben as soon as I see him. I could pick him out of a crowd anywhere, even if I’d never seen his picture. There’s no way to miss him; he’s the perfect male version of Addison. His blond hair is darker than hers (her monthly date with the hairdresser helps those playful highlights). Their olive skin presents a striking contrast with their light hair. He is stunning, just like his sister, but in a masculine way. It’s too bad I’m not interested in dating because he is hot.

He puts his arms around his sister’s middle and squeezes as he lifts her from the floor and spins several times. “I can’t believe my little sister has come all this way to see me.” He lowers her feet to the floor and looks at me. “And you must be Laurelyn.”

“Indeed I am.”

Addison and I have been best friends since we met our freshman year at Vanderbilt, but my path has always failed to cross Ben’s for one reason or another. Now that we’re meeting after four years, I’m not sure if I should extend my hand for a shake or lift my arms for a hug, so I wait for his cue.

He goes for the hug. “It’s good to meet you, Laurelyn. I’ve been hearing about you for years, so I feel like I already know you.”

“I hope my best friend hasn’t ruined your opinion of me.”

“Never.” His crooked grin shows off one of his deep dimples. It’s not a friendly nice to meet you smile. He’s flirting with me already, so I’m wondering what my good pal might have told him.

Addison clears her throat. “Are you going to introduce us to your friend?”

The vibe I’m getting from Ben makes me uncomfortable, so I’m happy to shift my focus from him to his buddy. Zac is tall with an athletic build. His dark hair is buzzed close to his scalp except for the spiked tuft on top, and long, sooty lashes frame his almost-black eyes. He’s wearing a fitted black T-shirt and I spy the tribal art tat wrapping around his bicep. His whole exterior screams trouble and that means one thing: my bad-boy-loving pal is going to be all over him.

He offers his hand to Addison first. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Oh, swoon. I’m not into guys like him, but I could listen to his smooth Aussie accent all day.

I think I hear a sigh from Addison, and I know she’s thinking the same thing. “It’s great to meet you. Love your accent.”

He offers his hand to me, but not his attention—that still belongs to Addison. “I hope your trip has been a pleasant one.”

The trip here wasn’t a damn bit pleasant, but it’s rude to complain to someone I’ve just met. Addison replies, so I’m neither forced to lie nor complain because she is eager to keep Mr. Dark and Handsome’s attention. “We had a super trip.”

“Do you ladies feel up for hitting a club tonight?”

I feel like hitting something, but it’s called a bed.

Addison is well rested from her snooze on the plane, so that means I’ll be the party pooper if I decline, which I’ve never been labeled as, and I don’t intend to start now. “I’m like an Energizer bunny, ready to go.”

I’ll sleep when I’m dead, right?

CHAPTER 2

JACK MCLACHLAN

I sit in the dark corner and scan the room like a starved predator searching for prey. I haven’t chosen her yet, but the woman who will share my bed for the next few months is in this room right now.

I watch a lovely blond approach my table. “What can I bring you?” Hmm. A waitress—not at all my usual taste.

I have a type. Attractive. Mature. Refined. This barmaid meets the attractive requirement well enough, but she’s void of refinement or maturity as displayed by her choice of apparel—a white, barely there tank top and frazzled cutoff denim shorts. She doesn’t do it for me. Plus, my last two companions were blond. I want a different flavor this time, but no redheads. I want a brunette. A beautiful one.

I remind myself I’m not in Sydney where I have an endless variety of sophisticated women from which to choose. My choices are more limited in the small town of Wagga Wagga, but that doesn’t mean I have to settle for the first attractive woman I see.

“I’ll have a Shiraz.”

I’m prepared for a more prolonged relationship this time—three whole months instead of the usual three or four weeks. I’m looking forward to keeping this one around a little longer, and that’s all the more reason to be certain I make a wise choice.

I begin my search of the club with the first table toward the front of the room. A brunette beauty sits with a group of women. I watch her for a while, but decide she’s too friendly with the woman sitting next to her. Lesbians aren’t in my repertoire.

I spend the next hour scanning the club and come up empty-handed. I’m discouraged. No one stands out as the one and this club is by far my best bet for meeting single women in this town. Maybe I should consider coming back another time when it’s not open mic night. Tonight, the place is crawling with boozed college students.

Tonight’s search has been a failure, but at least the karaoke was entertaining.

I’m finishing off the last of my wine before I leave when an announcer from the club takes the stage and asks for the next singer to step forward. A small group of people across the room nominates one of its own. My view of the poor bastard is blocked by the crowd of intoxicated kids standing between us, but I’m certain this is going to be another delightful train wreck.

The club erupts into cheer and chants. “Do. It. Do. It. Do. It.” A young woman walks onto the stage and stands with her back to the crowd as she takes a guitar from its stand. She lifts its strap over her head and then tosses her long brown hair over one shoulder. When she’s finished settling the guitar into place, she circles around and sits on the stool in the middle of the stage.

She’s beautiful. And somehow overlooked during my search.

She’s wearing a short ivory dress and a denim jacket with brown cowgirl boots. She bares her thighs as she lifts her feet to rest on the bottom rail, but she’s careful to push her dress between her legs so she doesn’t provide a peep show to the crowd.

She strums the borrowed guitar a few times and then leans into the microphone. “Is everyone having a good time tonight?”

She’s American. I think. Her accent sounds different—not like what I’ve heard in the past.

The crowd erupts into a drunken cheer and I hear a man’s voice yell over the crowd, “It’s better now, sweet thing!”

She smiles and adjusts the mic. “I’m not from around here. It’s my first night in Australia.”

“Leave with me and I’ll make you feel right at home!” a man shouts from the bac

k of the room.

She ignores the fat, ugly bastard yelling at her. “I don’t know what kind of music Australians like, but this has been one of my favorites for as long as I can remember.” She strums a few more chords. “This is ‘Crash Into Me’ by the Dave Matthews Band.”

She sings it slower than the original, putting her own twist on it. Her voice is raspy and sexy, her eyes closed. She oozes eroticism. She tilts her head and opens her eyes when she begins to sing the chorus. I swear it feels like she’s looking right in my direction, singing to me.

The stage lights shine in her face and common sense tells me she can’t see me sitting in the dark corner at the back of the club, but that doesn’t stop me from hoping.

She finishes the chorus and shuts her eyes again. Her long legs bounce against the rail of the stool to keep rhythm and I fall victim to her siren’s song. She has bewitched me. And I want her. She’s the one.

She opens her eyes and looks in my direction again as she sings about hiking up a skirt a little more. Man, she can show me her world if she so desires.

The waitress returns to my table, but I don’t glance in her direction when she speaks. I can’t take my eyes from the beautiful brunette on stage for even a second. “Can I bring you another Shiraz?”

My plans have changed. “Yes, please.”

The American girl finishes her song and the crowd is all cheers and whistles. She smiles as she pulls the guitar strap over her head and then leans forward to the mic. “Thank you.”

I watch her leave the stage and return to a table where she is sitting with a blond woman and two blokes. Damn! A boyfriend, perhaps?

My waitress returns with my wine and places it on the table in front of me. “Excuse me, do you know the girl who just performed?”

“No. She said it was her first night in Australia.”