I dig the key out of my pocket and unlock the door, pushing it open to walk into my new flat—temporary flat, loaned to me by my brother’s fiancée, for the sole purpose of finding an American girl to shag. All right, maybe that isn’t the reason I gave Chance and Elena. My brother and his almost wife wouldn’t have lent me this flat otherwise. When I’d announced to Dane, my other brother, that I was going to shag an American girl, no one took me seriously. Everyone heard me shout it, but they know I love to make jokes.
This time, I’m not joking. That’s my plan. Find, win over, and sleep with a New York woman.
Why not? It’s a bit of fun, nothing more. A holiday from my life which has started to, as my almost sister-in-law might say, suck royally.
“Another hot British guy in the Big Apple,” Elena had said when she and Chance saw me off at the airport, for my big holiday in the US. “Try not to leave a trail of broken hearts. You Dixon boys are impossible to resist.”
My brother found a wife in America, but I’m not after that. Women never want to date me, much less marry me, because they know I’m good for one thing. All I need is a girl in my bed.
Well, the bed is optional.
I drop my bag on the floor beside the sofa and turn in a circle to get the full view of my new temporary home. Elena’s flat, which she told me Americans call an apartment, has big windows with a view of the city. She says at night the view is spectacular, with all the skyscrapers glowing with lights. I suppose that view might help me win over an American girl. It can’t hurt.
A bar separates the living room from the kitchen, where I see the refrigerator, the cooker—ah, the oven—and all the other items a kitchen is meant to have. Elena told me her brother Kyle, a college student, had left the refrigerator stocked with beer in case he wanted to stay here for a weekend now and then as a break from living on campus. Elena also said she left food in the fridge for me, so I won’t have to live on beer. She gave me the numbers for all the best takeaway restaurants in the area too.
Elena called them takeout restaurants. I need to remember these American words if I’m going to impress the ladies instead of confusing them. Chance warned me about that problem.
He and Elena are getting married in fourteen days, in New Hampshire of all places. It’s where they live now. That means I have two weeks to make my American dream come true. I jumped on a plane the day after Elena offered me her flat. Chance paid for my ticket because it was expensive to get a last-minute flight and because I’m, well, financially challenged at the moment.
Losing my job has that effect. Not my fault I’m unemployed. Sometimes it just happens, and yeah, it royally sucks.
I drop onto the sofa, stretching out lengthwise on the very puffy cushions. Elena and Kyle used to share this flat, and they’ve left all the furniture. That includes the sofa, two equally puffy chairs, and a table. I cross my ankles, link my hands behind my head, and sigh with contentment. Closing my eyes, I begin to formulate a plan for hunting down eligible women.
“Oh!”
A feminine voice bursts out with that exclamation.
I spring off the sofa, as surprised by the intruder as she seems to be by me. The girl has on nothing but a sleeveless white top and plaid knickers that barely cover her arse. Her honey-brown eyes are so wide with shock that I wonder if they’ll pop out of their sockets.
She shakes her head furiously, making the ponytail she’s gathered her blonde hair into flap like a dog’s tail. “No, no, don’t rape me. I’m a virgin.”
“What? I—You’re the intruder.”
“Am not. I have a key.”
“So do I.” Raising the key, I wave it in the air. “Here it is.”
This girl is pretty, and she’s got a body I’d love to touch and kiss and lick all over. Maybe I’ve already found my American girl to shag.
If’ she’ll stop accusing me of being a sexual predator.
