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Big mistake.
In the short time I’d worked here, these guys had become like my brothers, and just like my actual brothers back home in England, they would pounce mercilessly on any perceived weakness or pause in the conversation.
At least these guys meant it with love. My real family? Entirely different story.
Still, that didn’t stop a mouthful of smart-ass replies getting hurled in my direction.
"Asshole?" That was Miguel.
"Arrogant?" Joel offered, a wide smile stretching his lips.
I covered my ears, muffling the sounds from reaching them but not stopping them entirely, either. All I heard was more taunts being thrown at me, even if I couldn't tell by who.
"Narcissist?"
"Full of it?"
"British twat?"
I uncovered my ears, raising my palms into the air in surrender. "All right, all right. Yes, it makes me sound like all of those things. For my poor word choice, I apologize. It's just…"
My voice cracked, and I cast my gaze to the hideously tiled floor. And then, just like in any proper family (so, unlike mine back home) when the guys sensed something real or painful, they did the right thing and huddled around their pathetic, wounded brother, protecting with a shield of nothing but unconditional love.
"Just what?" Leo prodded gently.
A gentle shudder shot through me.
I was being shallow and conceited, and I knew it, too. "This is going to make me sound bad. Even worse than I already do," I warned the group.
"Is it because of your horribly posh English accent that makes you sound like you’re walking around with a giant eggplant up your...arse?" Miguel ribbed.
I flipped him the bird. Most Americans liked my accent. It was a total leg-spreader, as Joel so eloquently put it.
Except for tonight, it seemed.
"I've never had someone say no to me."
The sad, pathetic words gushed from my mouth, and now that they were out, they made me sound like the asshole, arrogant, narcissistic, full of it, British twat that I was but really didn’t want to be.
Urgh.
My face crashed into my palms as someone soothingly rubbing my back. I felt like a total idiot, but it still didn't change the fact that for the first time in my twenty-four years, a guy had said no to me.
"Take your time." Leo’s deep yet soft voice filled the air. "Only tell us what happened if you’re ready. We’re here to listen."
So I told the guys what happened.
How I'd finished my shift, had a quick shower, and then went to see what was happening at the onsite bar. The place was pretty busy, as it had been ever since we’d reopened after the renovation.
I plonked myself down on a stool, and it wasn't long before I’d acquired my target. Hard muscles. Bright tattoos. An irresistible smirk. He had even heard of Oundle, the small city about two hours north of London, where I was from. More impressively, he'd been there.
Best of all, he was returning my flirty banter—matching me nicely, witty joke for witty joke—which had me thinking I’d be balls-deep inside that tight, round ass of his before he’d finished his drink.
So, when I pulled up next to him, so close I could practically taste the Issey Miyake cologne wafting off his skin, and whispered a preview of the naughty things I’d like to do with him and that sexy butt of his, I was more than a little shocked to see him straighten up, roll his shoulders back, and answer with a clear, "No, thank you."
I hated to admit this, but at first, I thought he was kidding. That we were having one of those comedic trans-Atlantic lost in translation moments.
So I asked again which only led to him repeating the rejection.
