Arrogant Aussie Read online

  Kat T. Masen

  ARROGANT AUSSIE

  A Cocky Hero Club Creation

  Kat T. Masen

  Copyright 2020 Kat T. Masen

  All Rights Reserved

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.

  Disclaimer: The material in this book contains graphic language and sexual content and is intended for mature audiences, ages 18 and older.

  Editing by Kay at Swish Design & Editing

  Proofreading by Nicki at Swish Design & Editing

  Book Design by Swish Design & Editing

  Cover Design by Opium House Creatives

  Cover Image Copyright 2020

  First Edition

  All Rights Reserved

  Arrogant Aussie is a standalone story inspired by Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s Cocky Bastard. It’s published as part of the Cocky Hero Club world, a series of original works, written by various authors, and inspired by Keeland and Ward’s New York Times bestselling series.

  Gabriella

  It was supposed to be simple—drink tequila, forget about the life I’m running away from, and have one wild night. That’s exactly what my next-door neighbor, Aubrey, told me to do.

  That’s when I met him—the arrogant Aussie.

  It’s easy to forget a night with a stranger until that stranger is living next door.

  Oliver

  If it weren’t for my horrific motorbike accident, I’d still be playing soccer. Instead, I’m crashing at my mate, Chance’s place with no clue where my life is heading.

  I needed an escape while I got my head together.

  But it was never supposed to be with her—the girl next door. The rich heiress arranged to be married to some wealthy snob, and I was the arrogant Aussie who didn’t care about anyone but myself.

  She couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Gabriella Carmichael is a heartbreaker—the worst kind.

  And I’m selfish, cocky, and won’t settle for second best.

  I have to make her all mine.

  There is no other choice.

  To my husband, my arrogant Aussie, my pain in the ass.

  My best friend.

  There’s no mistaking that Aussies love their slang. Our resident cocky hero is Oliver Madden, otherwise known as the Arrogant Aussie.

  Oliver loves arse. Yes, you read right, us Aussies love to throw in an ‘R’ just to make it sound rough.

  But, of course, our lovely Americans including our heroine, Gabriella, and ever so feisty side-kick, Aubrey, love to say ass.

  Arse, Ass, buttocks, backside… I think you get the idea.

  PS: This Aussie author loves arse. And especially when it’s attached to our sexy cocky heroes, Oliver, and, of course, Chance Bateman.

  PSS: This book is written using some Australian euphemisms and slang words that form part of the Australian spoken word. If you’d like further explanation, or to discuss the translation or meaning of a particular word, please do not hesitate to contact this Aussie author. Contact details have been provided at the end of this book.

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Note to Reader

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Bonus Scene

  More Books To Check Out

  Connect With Me Online

  About the Author

  Oliver

  The voices, disguised as whispers, travel through the thin walls and into the small guest bedroom.

  “Explain to me again how you know Oliver,” Aubrey asks.

  There’s a pause, followed by a clang, causing Chance to grunt out a string of profanities.

  “We played for the same club just in different divisions.”

  “What does that even mean… divisions?” I can hear the confusion in Aubrey’s tone. “So, he’s your friend?”

  “We’re soccer acquaintances,” Chance corrects her. “Mutha-fucking-hell, did you see the size of that thing?”

  “Can you tone down the language? Honestly, you know CJ is a sponge. The other day I caught him saying ‘bugger’ when his toy truck wouldn’t close.”

  There’s more shuffling and random noises which I’d rather ignore, but find it almost impossible given the proximity to where they are located in the house.

  I hate staying in other people’s homes. Invasion of someone’s personal space makes me uncomfortable—sharing the same shower, using the same bathroom, tiptoeing around the kitchen at night when you need some water, or God forbid, something to eat.

  It’s not like I can’t afford to stay somewhere else. I could have rented my own place, or even crashed at one of the hotels in Hollywood with housekeeping and room service at my beck and call. This wasn’t my preference.

  Yet, Chance insisted I stay until the media back home settles down. He was quick to warn me that isolation is a devil in disguise. No good would come of me being holed up in some fancy hotel with my phone and the internet in my idle hands.

  I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. This is the only place I could run to, at least the only place which welcomed me with open arms, or so I thought.

  “So, he’s your friend, acquaintance, whatever, and not some ax-wielding murderer?”

  “You forget serial killer,” Chance reminds her, jokingly. “Specializes in hitchhikers and annoying wives.”

  “You’re not being serious, Chance.”

  “And you’re being uptight, princess.”

  There’s silence between them, and part of me feels guilty for even causing this argument. I’ve known Chance for years. He’s as laid back as you can get, yet Aubrey is different. She is nice, greeted me politely, and not once in the last day has said anything to make me feel unwelcome. I’ll admit I was shocked Chance had settled down, especially with an American bird. But Aubrey is beautiful, and I can easily see why the two of them are together.

  Chance likes to prod.

  Aubrey gives it back two-fold.

  “Look, if anyone knows what it’s like to end your career early, it’s me,” Chance sympathizes, his tone
soft yet serious. “Give the bloke a break, okay? He’s doing it tough, and he needs to lay low while the media back the hell off. He can’t be alone right now.”

  Aubrey’s sigh is loud enough to break the walls.

  “Fine. Two weeks like you promised. Okay? We have a kid now, plus Pixie. Just make sure he doesn’t bring back any hussies.”

  Chance doesn’t hold back, his laugh barreling through the house until their voices fade and they’ve left the room.

  I continue to stare at the ceiling. It’s white, uninteresting, and a blank canvas for my thoughts. It’s dull compared to the rest of the room. Chance is into that whole recycled junk art thing. I’m not sure what is hanging on the wall—some scrap piece of metal bent into something artistic. Whatever the hell it is, it looks good against the pale gray walls. It’s obvious the artwork is the extent of Chance’s decorating abilities. The double bed is piled with a million pillows ranging from velour to something plucked from a peacock, and it screams Aubrey. Why women feel the need to scatter cushions all over a bed is beyond me.

  But bed cushions are the least of my problems.

  This is all shades of fucked-up.

  My life, that is.

  I’m Oliver-fucking-Madden, twenty-six, and Australia’s highest-paid soccer star.

  Well—past fucking tense.

  The nightmare replays in my mind. It’s taunted me every which way I turn. The red light, the green light, my foot on the accelerator, my brand-new Ducati mangled against a large gum tree.

  I was supposed to count myself lucky. The damage could have been worse. It could have been a spinal cord injury leaving me paralyzed or even worse—dead. So according to my physicians, treating specialists and every fucking opinionated medical dickhead, a shoulder injury is the best outcome I could have asked for.

  Right! An outcome which resulted in me being unable to play soccer—indefinitely.

  I rub my hands against my face, willing the voices to stop. It’s as if time is standing still until I hear a creaking noise at the door causing me to flinch.

  The goat.

  What the hell is the name of this thing again? Princess? I don’t think Chance mentioned if it were a boy or girl. I recall it was a feminine name.

  Fuck, it’s watching me.

  It looks ready to attack—eyes staring at me with a deathly stare. That thing can smell fear, I’m sure of it, just like dogs.

  I sit up, composed yet shuffling as close to the wall as possible, paying attention to our distance. “Hey, princess.”

  Nothing. The silence instilling fear into me.

  Okay, so maybe that isn’t the name. Like who has a goddamn goat for a pet? This is Hermosa Beach, not some hick-town farm in the country. Even back home in Sydney this would have been ludicrous.

  “Penny?”

  Nothing.

  “Polly?”

  Silence.

  “Peta, Poppy, Penelope, Pixy—”

  “Baaa!”

  It strolls out of the room as if it’s marked its territory and leaves me again with my thoughts. I let out the breath I had been holding in, allowing my head to fall back onto the headboard as I continue my stare-off with the ceiling.

  I will prove Aubrey wrong and find some other place to live in the next few days. Two weeks in this joint will suffocate me. I have my own penthouse apartment for Christ’s sake, with views of the Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House.

  I keep reminding myself, this is temporary.

  Temporary until I figure out my next move.

  It’s Friday night, and unless I had a big game the following day, I can’t remember the last time I stayed in on a Friday night. I need to get out of here before Chance and Aubrey whip out a Monopoly board and call it a ‘family-fun night’ in. At least, I figure that’s what married couples with kids do.

  Hermosa Beach must have something on tonight. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I type in ‘Hermosa Beach nightlife’ to be met with some possibilities. A few bars, known local establishments, and anything with the words ‘happy hour’ will suffice.

  I grab a pair of fresh boxers, my black jeans, denim shirt, and towel to head straight for the bathroom.

  “Where you heading to, mate?” Chance yells from the couch.

  “Some pub or bar. I need to blow off steam, you know how it is,” I respond, just shy of the door.

  Chance laughs, channel surfing with a Corona in hand. “A good ol’ blowie will cure the blues.”

  It’s my turn to laugh. Despite Chance settling into married life, he hasn’t changed one bit. The guy was quite the ladies’ man back in the day. It’s odd to see him so committed to family life now.

  “Sounds spot on. Don’t wait up. Tonight will be my lucky night.”

  Chance raises his bottle. “Good luck, mate. I’ll see you for breakfast.”

  If I have my way tonight, I’ll end up in some gorgeous woman’s bed blowing off some pent-up frustration. I can’t even recall the last time I’d been inside a chick.

  Yes, you do. It was Bianca the night before the accident when you told her you loved her and promised her a ring, house, and two-point-five kids one day. Shut the fuck up, brain. No good will come from your negativity tonight.

  “Don’t count on it,” I tell Chance with an air of confidence. “I’m gonna pull out the Aussie charm. These American girls won’t know what hit them.”

  “The last time I pulled out the Aussie charm, I met the girl of my dreams. Be careful what you wish for, unless, of course, you wanna be just like me.” Chance smirks.

  I move toward the couch, patting Chance on the shoulder. “Mate, there’s many things I want to achieve in life, but being pussy-whipped ain’t one of them.”

  Chance shakes his head, chugging the rest of the beer. “Never say never.”

  Throwing my towel around my neck, I continue my walk to the bathroom with a booming laugh. “Never.”

  Gabriella

  The afternoon sun bounces off the patio as I sit on the old wicker chair, staring into the serene blue sky. With my steaming hot coffee in hand and a new book recommended by the Oprah Winfrey Book Club, I inhale the salty sea air, releasing a breath as my shoulders relax into the padded cushions.

  I could get used to this.

  A house by the beach, bars and restaurants within walking distance, and more importantly—freedom.

  “Hey, Gabriella!”

  My neighbor, Aubrey, is standing in her front yard with her goat, Pixy. At first, the concept of owning a pet goat by the beach seems bizarre, but the more time I spend with Pixy, the more I fall in love with him. Sure, he has his quirks like a genetic disorder causing him to faint when he gets nervous. I recall the first time I witnessed it. The panic caused me to almost dial 911 until I realized it’s the emergency number for humans, and not ten seconds later, he stood up as if nothing happened.

  The cute little shaggy thing follows Aubrey as she moves closer to the white picket fence. Placing my book onto the small wicker table, I quickly join her, taking my coffee with me.

  “Hey, Aubrey. Taking Pixy out for his afternoon walk?”

  “Nah.” She grins, leaning down to pat him. “I just need a break. CJ finally fell asleep, and Chance is… let’s just say, I’m not entirely happy with him right now.”

  “What’s he done now?” I can’t help but snicker, the two of them have their quirks. One minute they’re in a heated argument over something trivial, and the next, they’re practically all over each other like college kids at a frat party. “I’ve got all the time in the world if you need to vent.”

  “He just…” Aubrey shakes her head in annoyance until she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “You know what? Never mind. His heart is in the right place. I’m just cranky from lack of sleep and a kid with the energy of a bucking bull.”

  “I’m sorry. If you ever need help, I’m here. I can’t say I’ve taken care of kids, being the youngest in my f
amily, but it can’t be that hard.”

  Aubrey snorts, covering her mouth instantly. “I don’t think you see the bags under my eyes, my unwashed hair, plus my stained shirt from the juice he spilled on me earlier.”

  “Sorry,” I say again, admiring her auburn hair even though it does look slightly unkempt. “Offer still stands, anytime.”

  “Thank you. Sometimes it’s nice to know that help is just a neighbor away. We don’t have much family around as you know, besides Adele.” Her face quickly shifts expressions, a ray of excitement shimmering in her blue eyes as she bites down on her lip suppressing her smile. “Enough about me, an update on Prince Charming, please?”

  I arrived in Hermosa Beach just over a month ago. I’d read about this place in a book, instantly falling in love with the name Hermosa which means beautiful in Spanish. It’s everything I could have dreamed of from a beach community. A long, beautiful, and clean sandy beach filled with sunbathers, surfers, and every water sport you can think of, beach volleyball being the most popular. I have spent almost every day on the sand, sitting and people watching. Who would have thought volleyball could be such a competitive sport?

  The cottage I’m renting for the summer is slightly run-down, yet clean and rustic. It’s painted sky blue with white windowpanes dressed with navy and white drapes. The owners, a couple from Arizona, decorated it in a beach theme. Wicker everything. It’s a far cry from my parents’ mansion back home, but exactly what I need for the summer.

  In the time I’ve been here, Aubrey and I have had many chats over the fence, and occasionally, if time permits, we have brunch at the café two blocks over. She knows I moved here as somewhat of a test to be away from my overcontrolling father.

  That sounded ridiculously stupid coming from a twenty-five-year-old woman.

  But it is the truth, plus more.