effusiveness as bad as their gossip. Her twelve-year-old divorce would mean nothing in the face of momentous news like Avi’s second child. And the fact she was still single and childless would only add to their rumormongering.
The less time she spent at home in Dandenong over the next six months, the better.
“Hey, was it something I said?” Hipster Dude touched her hand, and she flinched.
“I’m old enough to be your mother. Go hit on someone your own age.”
His eyes narrowed, but not before she glimpsed a mean glint. “Not sure if you know, but when a guy buys you a drink, you act a little nicer.”
Before she could tell him to take a hike, his arm shot out and grabbed her arm, his fingers digging in too tight.
“Hey.” Outrage warred with shock, but before she could react, a shadow fell over them.
“Sorry I’m late, honey.”
Samira’s head spun a little—four drinks in less than an hour had been a bad idea—but she registered a surprisingly deep voice. A Chris Hemsworth voice, low and resonant, the kind of voice that sounded sexier with an Australian accent. Confused, she glanced at the owner of the seductive voice, and he looked nothing like what she’d imagined. From its bass timbre, she’d expected a Connery-Clooney clone, an older guy, suave and mature. Instead, he had a surfer thing going on, with ruffled hair the color of her favorite caramel latte, vivid blue eyes bordering on aquamarine, and the kind of jaw and cheekbones that channeled Chris. She really needed to stop watching Thor on repeat.
He was incredibly handsome. And young, mid to late twenties, max. Way too young to have a voice like that, and she wished Pia hadn’t put the thought into her head about boy toys and damn good screwings.
“I’d appreciate you taking your hands off my girlfriend,” he said, eyeballing the hipster, as she gawked like an ingenue.
“Whatever,” Hipster Dude muttered, releasing her, his mouth downturned in a sulk as he raised his glass in a mock cheers. “Old chicks have too many hang-ups anyway.”
Samira had no idea what happened next. Maybe she pushed away from the bar too hard, maybe Sexy Voice deliberately bumped the hipster, or maybe Hipster Dude was a vindictive jerk, but in a split second his wineglass had upended all over the front of her boyfriend’s white T-shirt.
“Fuck,” he muttered, as Hipster Dude smirked before sauntering away and Samira stared at the burgundy stain spreading across his T.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, ineffectually swiping at the stain with napkins she snatched off the bar.
He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he watched her pat down his chest, and Samira held her breath. He had a killer smile, one of those smiles that could make a woman swoon or rip off her clothes or both, the type of smile that transformed his face from cute to drop-dead gorgeous.
“That guy was a douche.”
“Yeah, thanks for saving me.” She placed the sodden napkins on the bar and eyed the stain with horror. “That’s my fault.”
“Don’t sweat it.”
“I’ve got something in my apartment that could get the stain out . . .” She trailed off, heat scorching her cheeks. She’d offered in a genuine attempt to fix his T-shirt, but it sounded like a ploy to get him upstairs.
If he noticed her discomfort, he didn’t show it. Instead, he fixed those bright blue eyes on her, his stare unwavering so she detected ridiculous things like green flecks around the irises.
“Th-thanks, that’d be great.”
Stumbling over his words made him cuter, if that were possible. Did her invitation make him nervous? He didn’t have to be. She was jittery enough for the both of them.
He thrust his hands into pockets, and she noticed his body for the first time. If the smile and face hadn’t been enough, he had some rig. Broad chest, stand-out pecs, great arms, all wrapped up in a plain white T. Impressive.
“It shouldn’t take long.” Were the green flecks in his eyes actually glowing, or did jet lag lead to fanciful observations? “It’s the least I can do.”
The knowing glint in his eyes made her flush, a rush of heat from her face to her feet and some choice places in between.
“Great. I’m Rory.”
“Samira.” She held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
The minute his fingers closed around hers in a firm, warm handshake and unexpected lust arrowed through her, she wondered if she should renege on her offer. What if he got the wrong idea? She