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"Is that a maybe to having a drink with me, or a maybe to tourists being touristy?"
When I don't reply straightaway, he props his cowboy h—Akubra on his shoulder and brings his hands together, like he's begging. "Come on, mate. One drink. I promise I'm not a baddie."
"And how do I know that?"
He drops his arms. "Look at me, would ya? I'm drunk off my tits. Half-dressed. I'm kid-free. I've just come off a brutal mustering season. All my friends bailed on me because apparently we're at that age where we haveresponsibilities…"
He says the word with about as much joy as he used forbusinessbefore.
"And I've had a totally fucked-up day. I got some real bad news."
I get the feeling that if I asked for details, he'd tell me. But I don't like it when people pry in my business, so I sure as fuck am not going to barge into his. Who goes around blabbering their unfiltered shit to strangers in the middle of the night? It's enough of a struggle for me to open up to the closest people in my life.
I'm about to yell out no and shut this down once and for all when…
"Pleeease?"
He's looking right at me with the biggest, cheesiest, most hopeful grin I've ever seen that's not on the face of a five-year-old pleading for a toy before Christmas.
I blow out a slow breath as I take in his smooth, tanned torso. My brain, much like my dick, is back online now, but it's not fully booted up yet so the window for me making a mistake is still open.
"Fine." I point at him. "Onedrink."
"Woohoo!"
He shimmies his hips and does the dorkiest dance I've ever seen in my life. I angle my head so he doesn't catch me smiling.
"One more thing," I say, turning back.
"Anything. Name it."
I stare at him for a full ten seconds. "Put your goddamn shirt on."
He gives me a military salute. "Yes, sir. I'll meet you out front in…oh five hundred…minutes?" He shakes his head, grinning to himself. "That doesn't work, does it?"
I bite my lip. "No. It doesn't. But I know what you mean. I'll see you in five minutes."
And with that, I close the window, shiver at how cold my room has gotten, and start getting dressed.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
2
Wilby
The sound of the window slamming shut echoes in the laneway.
Better get my arse into gear, then.
The entrance to the hotel is on the main street parallel to this one, so that's where I head, pulling out the shirt I'd tucked into the back of my jeans as I start walking.
Okay, so maybe today won't be a total write-off. Not that potentially hooking up with a grouchy New Yorker is any consolation for finding out we're on the brink of losing the farm that's been in our family for six generations, but hey, it's better than a kick to the balls.
I round the corner. The hotel entrance is lit up ahead of me, but he's not outside yet. I adjust my hat so that it sits comfortably on my head and fling the shirt over my shoulders, doing up the buttons from the bottom, stopping when I reach the one between my pecs. Yeah, it's a bit wintry, but I'm tipsy enough to withstand it.
Besides, I'm pretty sure my American friend was checking me out. And if I'm forced to use my body to make a good impression on a tourist visiting our country, who am I to say no? I'll email Tourism Australia with my Venmo details tomorrow.
I approach the hotel entrance and peer inside through the massive window. Right as I do, the doors to the lift open. A few people come out, and then there he is.
