style="font-size:15px;"> The annoying thing was that she had no one but herself to blame; she’d run away from her birthday party. Not the party her workmates had wanted to throw, but the family gathering her mother had insisted on arranging.
Very early in the night, Aunt Bettina had voiced the family’s collective thoughts.
‘Poor Alice,’ she’d said, her voice choking, while her eyes became moons of sympathy. ‘Married before twenty and divorced before thirty. It’s a crying shame.’
No one—repeat, no one—not a single member of the Madigan family had ever been divorced. Louisa, the family’s genealogy expert, had researched on the Internet, so she was certain of this.
No one had been infertile either. And if the men in Alice’s family had ever indulged in extramarital affairs, their women kept very quiet about it. It was an unspoken family law that Madigan women hung on to their husbands.
Alice had committed all three crimes—infertility, an unfaithful husband and a divorce. She was the family failure.
She’d been trying hard to feel good about herself in spite of these disasters. She’d survived a wrecked marriage with her ego intact—just. She knew that she was better alone than she’d ever been with Todd. And she’d learned the bitter lesson that a woman shouldn’t rely on others—certainly not a husband or babies—to make her happy or to give meaning to her life.
It was up to her.
She’d come a long way in the past six months. But tonight her family made her feel like an obliterated body in a single-vehicle crash. No hope. Dead on arrival.
As if turning thirty wasn’t a miserable enough milestone in any woman’s life. As celebrations went, her party had been a flop.
And as soon as the cake was cut she’d made her excuses, claiming that her workmates, who hung out at the Hippo Bar on Friday nights, were waiting for her.
The only problem was that her friends weren’t expecting her and by the time she arrived they’d moved on to a nightclub somewhere, and Alice didn’t have the heart to track them all over town on their cellphones.
So here she was. On the night of her big Three-O. Looking down the barrel of the rest of her life. Alone.
‘Another one?’
Alice blinked at the barman and he pointed to her empty glass. ‘Did you enjoy the French Kiss?’
‘Yes, it was delicious.’
‘So you want to try another cocktail?’
Should she have another? Why not? This wasn’t a night for being careful. Picking up the menu, she scanned the list of outrageous names and smiled. ‘I think I’ll be adventurous and go for a Screaming Orgasm this time.’
‘And I’ll have one, too,’ said a lazy voice beside her.
Alice spun to her left and was surprised to find a man sitting on the stool right next to her. When had he arrived?
He smiled. Slowly. It was a smile that started at his eyes—light blue, clever and good-humoured—and took its time reaching his mouth. With the same lack of haste he let his gaze linger on her and he didn’t try to hide the fact that he liked what he saw.
Something about his eyes and the very male way he was checking her out made her stomach feel ridiculously weightless—as if she’d suddenly toppled over the edge of a cliff.
‘Hi,’ the stranger said.
Alice had no experience of meeting men in bars; her ex-husband had been her first boyfriend and she’d married him before she was out of her teens. If only she could think of some smart, metro-chick response.
‘Hi, yourself,’ she replied.
At a guess, he was in his mid-thirties. He had dark brown hair with just the faintest hint of silver at the temples and a longish face. A strong face. He was lean and suntanned and dressed in chinos and an open-necked white shirt with long sleeves rolled back.
‘You seem to be drinking alone,’ he said. ‘It’s not a healthy habit.’
Alice felt compelled to defend herself. ‘It’s not actually a habit. This is a one-off experience.’
He accepted this with a slight nod. ‘Are you having fun?’
‘The best.’ She straightened her shoulders. ‘What about you?’
‘I prefer the company of others.’
‘But you’re on your own tonight.’
‘Ah, yes,’ he admitted and he sent her another slow smile. ‘But then, I have an excellent excuse.’
She drew a deep breath, aware that a kind of game had begun and the ball was in her court. ‘You just got out of jail?’
His eyes widened slightly and then he chuckled. ‘In a manner of speaking. I’ve escaped from Sydney. I only arrived in town today and I don’t know anyone.’ His blue gaze held hers for breathtaking seconds. ‘Yet.’
OK. Now was the point when she should give this guy the brush-off. But their drinks arrived. And before she could pay, her neighbour pushed several bills across the bar.
‘My shout,’ he said.
She was about to protest.
But she changed her mind. Why the heck shouldn’t she test her wings on a little light flirtation? She was thirty—and for the first time in her adult life she was out on the town as a free agent; two good reasons to let a rather nice-looking guy chat her up in a bar.
If he wanted to.
And if she decided she wanted to let him.
‘So, what’s your excuse for drinking alone?’ he asked her.
‘Aliens abducted my friends.’
One dark eyebrow lifted. ‘How unfortunate for them.’
‘Yes. I guess they’ll wake up in the morning with their memories wiped clean.’
He grinned. ‘It’s happened to a few of my mates after a night on the town.’
Picking up her drink, Alice took a slow sip. ‘What do you think of the cocktail?’ She tried to feel detached as she watched the movements of his lips while he tasted his drink.
‘Not bad.’
‘Have you had one of these before?’
‘No.’ He held his glass to the light and gave the contents a swirl before taking a longer sip. And then he flashed her a wicked smile. ‘This is my very first Orgasm.’
She almost choked, gasped for breath. A cloud of steam rose through her and she tried to ignore it. Stay cool, Alice. Lifting her glass, she offered him a shaky salute. ‘Don’t drink too fast, then.’
And
