by Nicola Marsh
CHAPTER THREE
Aunt Flo’s tips to be lucky in love.
Avoid Gangnam Style dancing while wearing a micro mini in front of hot work colleague at the pub on Friday night.
I was bored out of my brain.
The party wasn’t living up to expectations. All the guys were predictably gorgeous and predictably ten-foot-up-themselves.
I glanced at my watch and stifled a yawn. Was I seriously hanging around for a stranger to get off work?
With the prospect of Flo’s next dating interrogation looming? Hell yeah.
My dotty aunt hadn’t specified how long I had to be dating the guy after our month challenge finished. James may not be long term potential but if he kept me grounded in Sydney and out of crazy Love, I’d do him.
"Hey, it’s my little helper. Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?"
Great. Sloan had reappeared, a lot worse for wear: bloodshot eyes, leering smile, and reeking alcoholic fumes.
"Rack off."
"Don’t be like that, babe. We can have a real good time." He leaned toward me and before I knew what was happening he’d grabbed a handful of ass.
Time for the trusty line Nat had taught me ages ago after hearing it used by one of her clients in jail. It never failed.
I leaned into him and whispered in his ear. “I geld horses for a living and have a kit in my car for emergencies. So take your hand off my butt or I’ll slice your balls off and ram them down your throat."
The offending hand dropped immediately. He glared at me, muttered, ‘bitch’ under his breath and staggered away.
I stifled a laugh. Surrounded by Sydney’s trendy elite, I managed to fend off Channing Tatum look-alikes while waiting for a hot dog date with a barman. My life was going down the toilet and I had no one to blame but myself.
After this, even Love appealed.
I sidled toward the door and slipped out into the cool night air. The sounds of muted acid jazz and raucous laughter filtered out of the apartment as I strode toward my car.
That’s when I noticed Sloan was a lousy driver as well as a cretin. The black Jag almost touched my rear bumper. I’d been so preoccupied ogling him getting out of his car, I hadn’t noticed before. What sort of a Neanderthal parks that close to the car in front of him? Kicking a tire on my trusty Ford, I wished I hadn’t parked so close to the car in front.
I had two options. Go back to the party and waste another hour swapping mindless drivel with a bunch of morons or wait it out in my car. I knew the MX5 in front belonged to Amanda’s business partner Shingo and he’d appeared sober not that long ago, so the odds were stacked in my favor he’d leave the party soon. I hoped the fact Li had been draped all over him might accelerate his departure.
Thankfully, the couple materialized five minutes later. I waved as Shingo opened the door for Li but they didn’t see me. Instead, I watched him slide a hand up her dress as she slid her tongue into his mouth.
Ugh. Two people I know swapping a late night tongue samba is not my idea of fun. I almost toot the horn to break it up but Shingo pulled away, slid behind the driver’s seat and the sports-car shot away from the curb. No guessing why he was in such a hurry. Why couldn’t I find a guy who was that eager to get me home to bed?
As I turned the key in the ignition, a loud tapping on my window made me jump. James gestured at me to lower the window. I obliged but only a fraction.
"Aren’t you supposed to be working?" I’m not thrilled at having my escape thwarted.
"Aren’t you supposed to be waiting for me?"
I shrugged, not up to word games at this hour of the morning after the night I’d had. "I’m tired of waiting."
Story of my life.
"Why don’t you get back to your guests?" I turned the key, hoping he’d take the hint.
He leaned against the car, arms folded. "Mandy said I could quit an hour early. Want to get that hot dog now?"
"Not hungry." I sounded like a petulant child and didn’t care. Maybe I should head home, find an online travel agency and book that ticket to Love? Couldn’t be any worse than this.
“Pity. I know a great spot.” His green eyes glittered in the dim streetlight. "Caramelized onions. Hot mustard. Spicy tomato chutney. Winner of best hot dogs in the country."
As he turned away I had visions of rooming with Flo while she tried matchmaking me with every cowboy in town.
I stuck my head out the window. “Get in.”
The smile and accompanying flash of dimple was worth it. He bounded toward the passenger side like an eager puppy and I wondered what the hell I was doing. Could I teach a young dog old tricks? Long enough to stick around for a month and save me from a sojourn in Love?
Five hours later, I knew exactly what I was doing. Sitting on a wrought iron bench under the Harbor Bridge, holding hands with a young guy and watching the sun rise after spending the last few hours talking or kissing. Shame he was only twenty-one. James Goodall had potential with a capital P. And he kissed like a dream.
"How’s the coffee?" he whispered in my ear as he stroked my thigh with his free hand.
"Delicious."
“Like me?” His warm breath tickled my ear, sending shivers down my spine. "Hot and addictive?"
I added cocky to his list of attributes as he trailed kisses from my ear to my mouth. His lips demanded entrance. Our tongues entwined. He tasted of mustard, ketchup and coffee. Yum.
Our frantic hands explored and caressed and stroked. I attributed his urgency to the hormones of youth. What was my excuse?
As his hand covered mine and guided me to the bulge between his legs, I broke the kiss.
"Whoa."
He chuckled and wound a strand of my hair around his finger. "Not that kind of girl, huh? Just my luck."
His teasing made me all gooey inside. Rather than pushing the issue, which most guys I’d known would have, he backed off and made a joke out of it.
“I’d better go."
"Sure, whatever."
No pressure. Very cool.
“Can I have your number?”
I didn’t want to waste my time on another dead-end relationship but with Flo’s challenge constantly mocking me, I had no choice. I could do a month, right?
"Sure." I scribbled it on the back of an old lottery ticket and handed it over. Schmuck. Me, not him.
His hand rested on my thigh as we made small talk during the drive back to Amanda’s where he’d left his car and after dropping him off I zoomed home, eager to tumble into bed before seven a.m.
With my laptop beeping, it wasn’t to be. I could’ve ignored Flo but the truth was, I loved her, every loony inch. She was the only family I had and no matter how grim things were in my non-existent love life, she always made me laugh.
I sat in front of the screen. “Two nights in a row? Love dragging you down, huh?”
Flo waggled her finger. “Love’s bloody marvelous, which you’d find out if you ever bloody visited.”
I mock winced. “Too early for that much swearing.”
“Really? Fuck no.”
I laughed. “What do the Lovernians think of your crass Aussie humor?”
“They love me.” Flo patted her ample girth. “And there’s a lot of me to love.”
“Seriously, I doubt I’ll be visiting any time soon.”
Flo’s eyes glittered with mischief. “Let me guess. You met someone tonight, he’s Mr. Right and you’ll live happily ever after. At least for the next month.”
I didn’t like her mocking tone. Or the fact she knew me so well.
“James seems nice—”
“Did you put out?”
I shook my head. “Give me some credit.”
I usually waited until the second date. Sometimes.
She held up four fingers. “Four weeks is a mighty long time. And none of your others have lasted that long. So I reckon I should make up the spare room in case.”
“Don’t bother—”
“Fine. I’ll book you
a suite at the Love Inn. Though there are rumors of bed bugs. And don’t forget I make a mean pav. And lamingtons. And jelly slice.”
I’d tasted Flo’s passionfruit pavlova, her freshly baked lamingtons and red jelly slice. They were almost enough to tempt me into taking the first flight out.
“Last time I checked, blackmail is against the law in all countries.”
Flo chortled. “If my desserts don’t get you here, maybe a bit of hot gossip will.”
I doubted anything she could say would entice me into making the fourteen-hour trip from Sydney to LA, with another ninety-minute trip to kitschy heaven.
“I’d really like to get to bed—”
“I’ve met someone.”
My mouth dropped open. It had been years since Uncle Charlie had died and in all that time I’d never heard Flo mention a bloke let alone be interested in one. She may live in Love but that’s as close as she got to the ‘L’ word.
“Close your mouth, you’re catching flies.” Flo patted her wiry curls self-consciously. “Can you believe it? At my age?”
I couldn’t believe it. How had my sixty-year-old, chain-smoking, trash-talking, wrinkled, grey-haired aunt who never used make-up a day in her life found a guy? Either the karma fairies had got it wrong or there really was something to that crap she spouted about people flocking to Love to find love.
“You’re never too old for a little action.” I puckered up at the screen, laughing at her pained expression as she blushed.
“I’m too old for this shite.”
Considering her wicked sense of humor and sharp tongue, I reckon Flo would give any old fogey a run for his money.
“What’s he like?”
“Not saying another word.” She compressed her lips and mock zipped. “You’ll have to visit to find out.”
I shook my head. “First, there was your challenge for me to keep a guy longer than a month. Now you’re blackmailing me with my favorite desserts and boyfriend goss?” I tsked-tsked. “Are there any lengths to which you wouldn’t go?”
She tilted her head to one side, pretending to ponder. “I wouldn’t use the fact Hugh Jackman and Alex O’Loughlin are guests at Love Fest to sway you.”
“Low blow.” I jabbed a finger at the screen. “You know I have a thing for hot Aussie actors. How could you?”
She shrugged and her smile faded. “Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart, I have friends here. Good friends. There’s Liv, who’s my age. She’s a high society LA gal who divorced her bastard ex and is now marrying a local farmer if they can get their shit together. Then there’s Sierra, my neighbor, who runs Love Byte, an Internet dating agency, who fancies Liv’s hotshot son Marc. And there’s Belle, who looks like Katherine Heigl and is the sweetest girl on the planet next to you.”
Flo sighed. “But they’re not you, sweetheart. I miss you. It’s been too long.”
Uh-oh. I could withstand a little blackmail and a boyfriend challenge. I couldn’t withstand tough-nut Flo showing her emotional side.
“I’ll think about it, okay?”
It was the best I could do. I had a job I enjoyed, a nice apartment, great friends and a city I loved on a par with Hugh and Alex.
Sydney suited my lifestyle. Some backwater town that traded on its corny name held little appeal, even for a flying visit.
I didn’t trust the wicked grin accentuating Flo’s laugh lines. “Think fast. Because I may need some girly advice for the boudoir—”
“Chat soon. Love you.”
I disconnected, not sure what horrified me more.
The fact my aunt could potentially solicit sex advice from me.
Or the fact she was getting some action and I wasn’t.
CHAPTER FOUR
Aunt Flo’s tips to be lucky in love.
If you must use batteries, choose rechargeable. Save the environment and your sanity if they run flat at inopportune moments.
Please don’t think I’m a sad case; I had a Sunday routine. Market day. I loved to explore local haunts, checking out the merchandise and fresh produce. Retail therapy without the cardiac-arrest-inducing credit card bill.
Brody, my best bud from work, usually tagged along as Nat worked or spent the day with Marlon in couple-dom. I liked a little one-on-one with him: a guy who made no demands, a guy I could be myself around, a guy I lived vicariously through. Brody’s Saturday night exploits could rival Fifty Shades.
He bumped me with his hip. "Do anything last night?"
“Went to Amanda’s housewarming party.” I picked up a magenta silk scarf, draped it over his shoulder and ducked when he made like he wanted to strangle me with it. "How come you weren’t there?"
He winked. “Big date, you know how it is."
“Yeah, I do."
Surprise widened his hazel eyes. "Did you meet someone?"
“Yeah.” I held the scarf up to the light. "You don’t have to look so shocked."
“I’m not.” He slugged me on the arm. “Any guy would be crazy not to date you.”
I usually found his rueful grin endearing. Today for some reason it pissed me off. Okay, so I may not pick up guys with the regularity of changing my knickers—I swear Brody dated a new woman daily—but was it so hard to believe I might’ve actually met someone worth dating?
“Details?"
I glanced at the price tag on the scarf, equivocated for a second, before replacing it on the display. "James Goodall. Twenty-one, six foot, green eyes, bod to die for."
He made a barf noise, an odd reaction totally unlike Brody.
"What’s up with you? Didn’t you get any last night?"
"We’re talking about you, not me.” His smirk made me want to slug him. “So what does Jimmy do for a living?"
I’d omitted this pertinent fact on purpose, knowing Brody would tease me mercilessly. "He’s in customer service."
"What field?" Brody gave me one of his famous ‘I know you’re holding out on me’ looks.
"He’s a barman," I blurted, wishing he’d drop the subject. I shouldn’t be ashamed of James’s career. Invitation/wedding coordinating wasn’t brain surgery.
“A barman?” Brody’s raucous laughter drew the attention of several passers-by. "I get it. He gave you Sex on the Beach, a Slow, Comfortable Screw and an Orgasm, and you’re his.”
Brody had heard my woeful dating disasters many times so his teasing hurt. I thought he’d be happy for me. Instead, I felt ridiculous and cheap rather than hopeful in the uncertainty of a new romance with endless possibilities.
“Bastard."
“Lighten up.” His chuckles petered out as he placed an arm around my shoulders. "If Jimmy’s what you want, go for it."
My indignation faded. "Not sure if I want James."
He hugged me to him. "You mean he didn’t give you the big O yet?"
I wriggled out from under his arm and whacked him in the chest. "None of your business. So which woman did you BS last night?"
As he proceeded to tell me about his latest conquest, I wondered for the umpteenth time why we hadn’t hooked up. We worked together, went out every weekend, told each other personal stuff and generally had a good time. Yet nothing. He’d never shown a glimmer of romantic interest and I pretended to feel the same. Pretended being the operative word, because I fancied Brody a tad.
Okay, I fancied him a lot; he was smart, good-looking, funny, and sexy. But nada. I’d tested the waters by inviting him over to watch When Harry Met Sally yonks ago but he’d laughed at the classic film, insisting men and women could be friends without sexual attraction. End of story. I’d quashed my crush. Buried but definitely not forgotten. How could it be, when he was in my face every day of the week and on Sundays too?
"I’m tired. Do you mind if I pike out?"
Translated: I wanted to rush home and see if James had called. I’d deliberately left my cell at home, not wanting to speak to him in front of Brody.
He stared at me through narrowed eyes. "Sure, though it’s unlike you to mi
ss out on a cappuccino. You really like this guy."
Not yet, but give me time. Like four weeks. Long enough to keep me out of Love.
“Ton of work to do tomorrow and I need to get a head start. The Lovell wedding’s coming up, remember?"
Cameron Lovell, son of Australia’s wealthiest media mogul, and his pending nuptials to Tara Shaw, the supermodel, promised to be Australia’s wedding of the decade. Amanda had personally given her staff the biggest lecture in history, demanding we bend over backwards for the Lovells, or resign now. Apparently Cameron was a close friend and she’d insisted his wedding had to be the best.
Brody smacked his head. "How could I forget? Amanda has us walking over hot coals for her ex."
"Ex?"
"Amanda used to date him and by the way she simpers whenever he’s around? Still has the hots for him. Big time."
"You’re kidding? She let him slip away?"
Brody rolled his eyes in a perfect imitation of Amanda. "Cam prefers stick-insects and I couldn’t compete. Why do you think I had my boobs done? I give the marriage a year max and he’ll come groveling back to me. I need to show I’m loyal. That’s why I’m investing so much in this farce of a wedding."
I cracked up. Brody’s imitation of our illustrious leader always made me laugh.
"You’re such an old woman, for a guy."
"At least I don’t look like one," he quipped, punching me lightly on the arm.
I returned the favor with a resounding whack to his chest. He staggered, clutching his chest in mock pain. "See you tomorrow, WonderGal."
"Sure thing, BatBoy."
I grinned as he flexed his biceps and struck a pose. I loved that about Brody. No matter how flat I felt, more frequent on a Sunday after my usual disastrous Saturday night, he managed to cheer me up.
The superhero thing had started years ago when he’d taken me to the movies and some creep had tried to grope me in the dark. I’d twisted the offender’s wrist and yelled pervert. Brody had manhandled the jerk out of the theatre to a round of applause. We’d high-fived on his return, joking about what a great superhero team we made and the nicknames had stuck.
After we parted I raced home to check my cell. A tiny envelope icon indicating I had a message taunted me, and anticipation made my palms clammy. Until I saw the caller was Nat. I hit voicemail and listened.