Jock Royal (Jock Hard 4)

Tourists of every nationality are crowded here for videos and photos, elbows and shoulders knocking into us from every angle.

A hand grapples for mine.

I look down and follow the arm it’s attached to: Ashley’s.

Large and strong, he has a firm grip on me as we move through the throng, not wanting to call a cab since traffic is horrific too.

“So we don’t lose each other,” he calls over his shoulder.

Right.

So we don’t lose each other.

I crash into a ton more people because my head is down as I walk, staring at our connected hands, the sight and weight of his in my own palm making my heart soar.

He never lets it go.

Not when we’ve made it out of the mob of people, not when we enter the restaurant.

When we stand there, waited to be seated, he drops my hand but immediately places his on the small of my back as if that’s where it belongs.

I sigh happily, trailing along behind the hostess when she leads us to our table, a private spot in the corner, away from the noise and hustle and bustle.

Must be part of the contest prize, one of the best tables.

“Are we celebrating something special?” the server asks when we’re seated, setting a menu in front of each of us as another one fills the water glasses that have already been placed on the table. “An anniversary perhaps? Date night?”

“Oh, we’re not a couple,” I feel the need to blurt out, pointing between Ashley and myself like an idiot.

Why, Georgia—why? Just keep your mouth shut—this is why he thinks you’re not interested and you’re making it worse!

“I meant—we’re not celebrating anything special.” I sip from the water glass to stop myself from talking, face flushing with embarrassment.

“Can I start you off with a drink?”

I sneak a peek at Ashley.

His face is unreadable, his gaze trained on the menu he’s now holding in both hands, eyes roaming the pages. Mouth set in a neutral line.

“Sure,” he says. “I’ll do a Guinness.”

My top teeth meet my bottom lip, biting down indecisively. “Um, I’ll do a glass of white wine. What’s good?”

The server gives me a few options and I choose one, not actually having a clue what I ordered but sure I’ll love it just the same.

“What looks good?” I ask, picking up my menu and opening it like a book.

“Everything.”

Steak. Lobster. Pasta. Soup.

Dessert.

It’s all here and ours for the taking; we won’t even have a bill to pay at the end of the meal.

The lines on the page in front of me might as well be in a language I can’t understand because I’m barely reading them. I just told the server we aren’t a couple and aren’t celebrating anything special; I think I just killed the whole vibe.

We’re quiet until the server comes back with our drinks; I take a healthy sip from my glass as soon as it’s set down, needing the liquid courage. Wanting the courage to turn this evening around.

“You look handsome,” I blurt out. “Blue is your color.”

Actually, any color is his color, but I’m not about to say that.

“Thanks.”

Yup. He definitely has a wall up.

I lean forward in my seat, resting my elbows on the table, noting as Ashley’s eyes roam from my face to my cleavage.

Interesting.

So he’s not so immune to me after all…or maybe he’s not so immune to a nice pair of boobs. Does it matter whose body they’re on? I wish I knew.

He’s never actually seen much of my bare skin—if you don’t count me in a sports bra, which I don’t, because that thing flattens me out to unflattering levels.

Okay.

Okay, this is good. This I can work with.

He is a man after all…

Feminine wiles I can do.

I think.

I mean, it’s been a while, but I think I can flirt and be sexy if I try hard enough.

Leaning forward even more, breasts resting on the table, plumped up as if I’m wearing a push-up bra, I smile innocently.

“How’s your beer?”

He shifts in his seat. “Cold.”

“Looks foamy.”

“It’s supposed to be at the top.”

“Is it?”

“Aye.”

He’s being cheeky, a good sign.

I lean back, drinking more wine. I feel like we’re on a first date but one that’s not going well.

There’s a strange tension between us I cannot figure out; we’re “just roommates” so he shouldn’t have been offended by me telling the server we’re not a couple.

We are not.

And he shouldn’t have been offended I told the server we aren’t celebrating anything special because we are not.

We are two friends here for the weekend.

So why is he being weird?

Because he likes you but doesn’t want to cross the line, the voice in the back of my head says. You’ve been fooling yourself this entire time if you think he isn’t interested. Moving in with him was such a huge mistake.

I rack my brain for a conversation starter and settle on: “Would you rather cut off a toe or cut off a finger?”