Stout (Men of Lovibond 2)

“Thank you.”

I settle into my seat and observe the man sitting across from me. One look and I’m able to form an opinion: He’s too damn handsome for his own good. Thick, dark brown hair. Hazel eyes surrounded by lush black lashes. Rosy cheeks. Full, pink lips.

His rakish smile completes the package. “You sound just like a Georgia peach.”

He’s hit the nail on the head. How unsettling. “I’m sorry?”

“Your accent. Can’t mistake it for anything else.” His voice is deep. Smooth. Southern just like me.

“You sound a little peachy yourself.”

His smile broadens, deepening the dimples in each of his cheeks. “Guilty as charged. Buckhead, born and bred.”

Buckhead. Born. Bred. The three B’s.

Buckhead is an affluent uptown district of Atlanta, which tells me two things: this guy is probably wealthy. And by default, he’s likely a total jackass.

He tilts his head to the side and lifts his brows. “And you?”

“Buford.” I say the word and immediately regret it. I should have lied. He has no business knowing where I’m from.

“Been to Buford many times.”

Buckhead and Buford are close, only about forty minutes apart. I’m not sure how I feel about meeting someone who lives so close.

I need to chill. He’s likely feeling a little uneasy about me as well.

“I occasionally shop in Buckhead. My best friend and I love their boutiques.” It’s rare that I’m able to afford anything so I mostly look when I go with Meredith.

He holds out his hand over the table. “I’m Beau Emerson.”

I consider lying about who I am. This guy’s well within stalker distance but I wasn’t blessed with thinking fast on my feet. “Anna James Bennett.”

My double name is confusing for people since James can be both a man’s name and a last name. “My friends and family call me Anna James. Or AJ.”

“Very nice to meet you. I’m pleased to share a table with such a lovely woman.”

Is that a move? I’m not certain, but it’s probably best to nip this in the bud now. Beau Emerson doesn’t need to be under the impression this is anything but two people sharing a table because of a crowding issue. “I appreciate your interest, but no thank you.”

He leans back in his chair, his arms crossed over what I’m guessing is a well-built chest beneath his white linen shirt. He studies my face for a moment before a lopsided grin appears. “Miss Bennett. That wasn’t even close to being a proposition.”

Heat pulses in my face. I would love to crawl beneath this table. “I’m sorry.” I can barely breath the words through my embarrassment.

I feel obligated to explain. “I’m not familiar with the typical practices here; I’ve never been to a place like this.”

“Clearly.” Both of his dimples are back on display now; I’m amusing him. I’m not sure if I should be angry or embarrassed.

Humiliation wins.

I’m normally confident in all I do, but I’m out of my element. This is his world, and I’m an outsider. “You find my ignorance entertaining.”

“You’re wrong. I find your inexperience intriguing.”

“What part of that could you possibly find intriguing?”

“You’re new to hedonism.”

Oh. I get it now. He sees me as a newcomer. Fresh meat. A shiny new toy. “You’ve got this all wrong. I’m not here to participate. This is a free Jamaican vacation for me. A treat from my best friends.”

“Your friends brought you to a place where crazy stuff happens. And by that, I mean lewd sexual acts.”

“Meredith and Grayson warned me.”

“Are your friends trying to recruit you into a polyamory relationship with them?”

Polyamory is the hard-core stuff. Meredith says she and Grayson will never go there. Too much commitment for them. “Oh, God no! Meredith has been my best friend for nine years. She and her husband just wanted to do something nice for me.”

“Right.” He’s wearing a different kind of smile now, the skeptical kind.

“I know what you’re thinking but they’re really not.”

“If you say so.”

I don’t know why I feel the need to convince him. “I had a shitastrophe in my life. This trip is their divorce gift to me. They thought the sun and sand would do me some good.”

“Has it?”

“I don’t know. We only arrived a few hours ago.”

“Then welcome to Indulge, where your fantasies meet reality.”

“Thank you.” I think.

Our conversation is briefly interrupted when our server appears. Good thing I already know what I want because I’ve not even looked at the menu.

After placing my order, I resume my study of the nude photography on the walls. They’re actually tasteful and elegant.

“Like what you see?”

Oddly, I do. “I’ve never seen anything like them. They’re lovely.”

“Third one on the left. That’s me.”

I search the walls and find the one he’s referring to. Holy shizzle. That erection is enormous.

I swallow. “It’s very nice.” Shit. That was a dumb thing to say. “The picture, I mean. It’s artful.”

He bursts into laughter. “I’m kidding. I just wanted to see your reaction.”

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The heat has returned to my cheeks. “Well, aren’t you the comedian?”

“I’m a good-time guy who enjoys a laugh. And that was a fine one.”

“At my expense.” I think he enjoys laughing at me.

“Sorry. Not sorry.”

“Right.”

Kevin returns with our drinks, a pineapple-coconut martini for me and a draft beer for Beau.

I sample my cocktail. It doesn’t disappoint. “Are you a frequenter?”

“I don’t know what makes one a frequenter, but I typically come four times a year.”

“That qualifies you as a patron in my book. Is this your quarterly visit or a special trip for Wicked Week?”

“I, too, had a shitastrophe in my life. I thought the sun and sand would do me some good.”

He’s using my words. “Divorce?”

“No.” That’s all he says. No explanation. I’m curious to know what he means but not rude enough to ask him to expand if he doesn’t volunteer the information.

I decide to steer the conversation in a safer route. “What do you do for a living?”

“Real estate agent but I also flip houses with my brothers.” I’m guessing Beau has a lucrative business. He’d have to if he comes here four times a year. This place isn’t cheap.

“What about you?”

“High school teacher. English and creative writing.”

“So you’re out for summer.”

“Yup. Can’t lie. Summer break is a huge perk for being a teacher.” It’s one of the things that drove me to choose that profession. That and my love of words.

Words are powerful. They can evoke countless reactions. Joy. Pain. Arousal. Make a heart skip a beat. Or shatter it into a million pieces.

Dinner arrives quickly considering the crowd. Our conversation never slows despite the fact we’re stuffing our faces. “You mentioned divorce. Is it safe to assume that a split from your husband is the shitastrophe you were referring to earlier?”

“Yeah.”

“How long were you married?” He’s asking more questions than I’m comfortable answering.