Page 6 of Free Wind (Lifeguards of Barking Beach #2)

The bass from some Kylie remix reverberated through Damo’s bones, rattling his skull. Throat dry, he searched for Blake, his armpits already damp.

The club had an ironic cowboy theme that explained the name, but he wasn’t sure why they’d bothered. As long as there were cheap-enough drinks and a beat, what more did you need in a club? Not that he was an expert.

Damo didn’t even know what the hell he was doing there, but he couldn’t just not show up when he owed a shout to a bloke who’d possibly saved his life. No, it wouldn’t be right, he told himself for the hundredth time.

All afternoon, he’d looked for Blake in the surf lineup in between scanning for trouble and hauling tourists out of the rips. If he’d spotted him, they might’ve been able to have a beer after Damo’s shift, but he hadn’t, so there’d been no choice but to show up to the club.

No sign of Blake now, either. Pulse matching the beat, Damo fiddled with the braided cord from Tabby as he scanned the club, feeling dressed up even though other people were wearing fancier.

After shifts at Barking, he normally went to the pub with other lifeguards wearing shorts, a tee, and thongs on his bare feet. Tonight, he’d put on suede Pumas. He’d fussed with his hair. He’d ignored Tabby’s teasing and insisted he wasn’t going on a date.

Because he wasn’t.

Guilt tugged, and he pulled out his phone. Tabby had proclaimed that at thirteen years old—and three-quarters—she was completely capable of watching TV, checking on Dad in his room, and going to bed by eleven before Mum came home from her shift at the hospital.

It was almost her bedtime, and Damo texted to make sure she didn’t need him to come home. Her immediate reply was a string of eye-roll emojis that he took for a no. He sent her back his own eye-roll, quickly following it up with a heart.

Damo had asked Mia to come out for a drink, but she had plans with her new boyfriend. Once upon a time, he’d been bummed that she was utterly uninterested in him, but they were better off as mates. Mixing work and a relationship was a bad idea.

“Though really good mates wouldn’t make you go to a club alone,” he muttered. To be fair, he hadn’t mentioned where he was going. He’d considered asking Cody, but he and Liam would be going to bed early since they were opening the lifeguard tower on Saturday morning.

And sure, Damo had plenty of other mates he could have asked. But he hadn’t, and he wasn’t sure exactly why. It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with him meeting up with Blake. It wasn’t a bloody date.

He elbowed through a crowd to get to the other side of the dance floor, swiping at a splash of beer on his arm. The floor was already sticky, and he was damn glad he hadn’t worn his thongs.

Even if it was a date—which it wasn’t—no one would care. He knew Cody and Mia wouldn’t. After all, Cody was gay, so he definitely wouldn’t judge Damo for being…curious.

And he owed Blake a drink!

Damo laughed at himself, the music loud enough that the mob around him didn’t notice.

Curious.

He was being a dickhead. Making a big deal out of nothing. Everyone was curious at some point, right? Didn’t mean anything. He was there because he owed Blake a beer.

For all he knew, Blake wasn’t even at the club after all. They’d only spoken for a minute or two. Blake had probably forgotten all about it when he’d disappeared into the throng of people on the beach that day.

The thing was, the thought that Blake wasn’t there to meet him made Damo’s heart sink with something he couldn’t deny was disappointment.

“Such a dickhead,” he whispered. Blake was still fairly new to the area—he was probably just keen for more mates. Which was great, because Damo dated chicks, not blokes.

And he hadn’t even had a girlfriend in a year. Everything at home had gotten worse, and he didn’t have the time.

As he scanned the club’s shadows, blinking into flashing lights, he checked out a group of girls in short skirts laughing under the huge antlers on the wall. He could go chat one of them up if Blake didn’t show, but fuck, he was tired.

“This is mental,” he muttered. If he didn’t spot Blake in a minute, he was leaving. He was—

Then he did spot Blake.

Or thought he did?

Damo picked out the wide shoulders and solid frame in the growing crowd by the bar. Though the sheer, sleeveless, skintight black shirt made him think twice. Black skinny jeans clung to the guy’s strong legs like a wetsuit—and there was that meaty arse.

The man turned.

Air punched from Damo’s lungs like it was his turn for a blow to the nuts.

It was indeed Blake he’d spotted, and along with the black see-through shirt, he was wearing makeup.

Not, like, full drag—not that there was anything wrong with that—but his lips were dark and shiny and that looked like eyeliner?

Damo supposed it was guyliner. Whatever it was, it gave Blake a fierce, focused look. And he was staring right at Damo, a slow, sexy smile spreading over his face.

Wait—sexy?

A silver disco ball spun overhead, and lights bounced around in time with the duff-duff of the bass. As Blake approached him, Damo realized he’d shaved off the scruff, but there was a hint of five o’clock shadow.

“Hey!” Damo shouted way too loudly.

“You came!”

“Um, yep. Here I am in all my glory. And here you are in yours!” He cringed as the awkward words escaped. “Far out.”

Blake’s smile faltered. “Too much?”

“No! I didn’t mean anything by it.” His cheeks went hot. “I talk too much. Ignore me.”

A furrow formed between Blake’s brows. “I want to hear what you have to say.”

“Careful what you wish for, mate. Hasn’t Kat told you I’m a pork chop?”

A smile tugged at Blake’s glossy lips. “I believe the word they used was ‘knob.’”

“See?” He had to laugh, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Look, I think you’re rockin’ it. Honest.”

Blake grinned. “Thanks. I like dressing up a bit when I go clubbing. Spend all day in a grubby uniform.”

“Looks great.” Great? Was that the right word? Was that a stupid thing to say? Probably. “Let me shout you that beer. Which kind?”

“Whatever you’re drinking.”

Damo pushed past a few people to get to the bartender.

He pulled out a fifty from his pocket and realized his hands were sweating.

He wiped them on his jeans, which was pointless since the bottles of Little Creatures pale ale were instantly damp in the humidity of all the bodies in the club.

Impulsively, he ordered double shots of tequila as well.

He returned to Blake with two drinks in each hand. They downed the shots with grimaces and clinked the necks of their bottles.

Damo said, “Here’s to saving me from being drowned by a mad Irishman.”

Blake grinned, the lippy gleaming and dimples out. He said something Damo couldn’t hear.

Damo chugged half his beer to chase the burn of cheap tequila. He shouted, “What?”

Blake nodded toward a corner of the club and reached out to circle Damo’s wrist, his fingers warm as he tugged him through the crowd. They reached stairs to a rooftop patio where a few people in a corner vaped and others chatted and drank.

Blake let go of his wrist, and Damo’s skin felt warm and damp in the cool evening air. The bass from downstairs thrummed through his feet.

“Don’t have to yell up here,” Blake said.

“Cool.” Damo nodded, trying to keep his eyes off Blake’s nipples. It was too dark on the roof to even see them, but his gaze kept dropping down over Blake’s body. “Um… That makes sense.”

Did it? What were they even talking about?

Blake laughed, a soft rumble. “I think so.” He watched Damo with a little smile tugging at his shiny lips, and Damo stared at those lips and wondered…

Everything.

He wondered it all in such a chaotic mess that he couldn’t even organize his thoughts. He felt jittery the way he did watching tourists ignore the warnings and swim in the rips, knowing it was only a matter of time before he’d have to paddle out and haul them back.

With Blake, it was only a matter of time until…what?

“So, um…” Blake said.

Damo shifted from foot to foot. He had to say something. Pretend Blake was just another bloke. He was just another bloke! Damo needed to talk to him like he would to anyone.

He blurted, “Were you a garbo in South Australia too? Are you from Adelaide? How old are you?” The silver light of the full moon peeked out from clouds, and now Damo could definitely make out Blake’s nipples.

His chest hair poked out in a few places.

Damo had to fist his fingers to stop the insane urge to touch.

“I’m twenty-seven and from Blinman. Back of beyond in the Flinders Ranges.

Old mining town, although the copper mine’s been closed more than a hundred years, and calling it a ‘town’ is generous.

Last I heard, there were forty-three people living there.

My parents run the hotel and pub, and I worked for them doing dishes until I went to uni. ”

“Wow. Forty-three. How does the pub survive? Is it one of those classic outback hotels?”

“Yep. Heritage listed, and it’s been in Mum’s family for generations.

Twelve rooms upstairs with shared bathrooms and covered balcony across the front.

But it’s the pub that keeps the lights on.

Folks come in from the sheep stations, and there are a surprising number of tourists passing through and visiting the old mine.

Blinman’s biggest claim to fame before opening the mine for tours in 2011 was our historic slag heap. ”

Damo laughed, a little bit of nervous tension easing as he did. “I’m sure it’s a spectacular heap.”

“You’ve never seen slag quite like it.” Blake swallowed a mouthful of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing above the neckline of the sheer shirt. Damo wondered if the material was as silky as it looked.

Blake said, “Kat mentioned they grew up with you here?”

“Yep, Barkers born and bred. Nowhere better. You’ve found the right spot, that’s for sure.”