Page 26 of The Himbo and the Lord
This is a disaster.
This is...
The worst way ever to find out I have magical powers and might’ve actually teleported Ru to Melbourne.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
Ru
By the timemy flight lands in Melbourne and I’ve checked into my hotel, I’m keyed up and nervous.
I don’t know why, well I do, but I’m being ridiculous. Melbourne must have like five million people in it. The chances of finding Nate are close to zero.
Plus it’s been nearly a week and he’s definitely not the type to have been thinking about me. Damn, he probably barely even remembers me and has fucked his way through half the population by now.
And let's face it, with his body and good looks he could have anyone he wants. But with him I felt free to be who I want to be, who society and my family prevent me from being.
Carefree and easy going. Open and ready to go with the flow.
I want a slice of that life for myself, and Nate showed it to me. I try to reason that even if I don’t find him, I could try some of that uninhibited behaviour myself and pick someone up.
Like a himbo.
I actually snort at myself for the notion. I’m not good at meeting people. When I’m in work mode, I can pull in thelordpersona and talk to anyone, be gracious and charming. But when I’m being my true self, the awkwardness and self-doubt kick in.
The email my father sent, or rather Alex sent on his behalf, detailed that Chase was having a yacht party on Saturday night, so I have tonight and the day tomorrow to myself. After I shower and change into a smart but understated suit, I’m ready to sample the Melbourne nightlife.
I ask the young and very cute porter at reception where the best places to go are, and he rattles off half a dozen clubs to me. That seems too many to cover so I ask him for his top three.
I add them into my phone and see the first one is just a short walk down the street. When I go out in London, I have to be careful where I go. Some of the exclusive clubs have the press and bloggers outside in the hope of catching sight of someone famous.
I’m not famous, but being who I am, I’ll end up in the society pages of several magazines, along with anyone I’m with. I only go to those clubs when I don’t mind that happening.
There are also some clubs that are a lot more hidden—gay clubs that the press aren’t aware of and you only get to hear of them by invitation. They cater to the rich and famous who don’t want to have their predilections discovered by the rest of the world. I’ve been a couple of times, but I hate the closeted secrecy of it, even if it did allow me more freedom than normal.
I want to be out. I don’t want to be hiding who I am. But I can’t if I want a future as heir to the Harrington business and fortune. I had thought I could break free and start a business myself, but finance is all I know, and my father’s influence is wide. He’d make sure I never made it if I tried it alone.
So I’m stuck in this limbo of being not out enough to be able to meet anyone, but not being satisfied with the wholly secret side of it either.
Meeting Nate was kind of perfect.
Well, it wasn’t, as I was tired and rude—and he was an arsehole—but at least I didn’t have any expectations. So when I saw him a few days later the introductions weren’t required.
The memory that we had a chance meeting once, and then managed to meet each other again in a restaurant in a place the size of Sydney, is what keeps me going to try the third club when the first two don’t produce any results.
But I’m starting to think it’s a bad idea and a waste of an evening, just wandering around, so I order a drink and find a quietish corner to sit in so I can observe the club. I quite like it as clubs go, and there are plenty of handsome guys to watch. A couple of them even look in my direction.
I can’t help comparing them all to Nate, though, and I’m starting to hate myself for it. This has got to be a bad idea.
I fetch another drink and decide to resolutely start enjoying myself instead of scanning the crowd for the perfect combination of brown hair and green eyes.
After one more drink, I’m starting to feel the effects of having nothing to eat since a hastily grabbed sandwich at lunchtime. I ought to find some food. I stand too quickly and my head swims for a minute. When it settles, I cast around trying to orient myself and find the exit. That’s when I see him.
Nate.
He’s sitting with a few other guys, his friends. I recognize a few of them from the restaurant where we inexplicably met again. They’re laughing and look like they’re having a good time.
I’ve found him, but now what? Go over and ask for more sex?
