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“Fine.”
I’m beginning to think that’s the only word in my vocabulary now.
Our server comes, and Brock orders pints for everyone who wants one. If I drink a pint of beer right now, I’ll pass out before dinner is over.
“Not me,” I say, raising my hand, which drains the remaining energy I have left.
“Good enough. Anyone want anything else?” the server asks.
“Water,” I say.
“Gas or no gas?”
“Huh?”
“He means sparkling or still, Jess,” Rory says.
“Oh. Nonsparkling, please.”
A few moments later, our drinks arrive, mine without ice.
“Could I get some ice, please?”
Our waiter, whose name is Snod—seriously—furrows his British brow. “We don’t serve water with ice, but I’ll see what I can do.”
“Right,” Rory says. “I remember that from my reading.”
“Whatever. I just need the water.” I take a big gulp. It’s…cold. Just not icy cold. Yuck.
“This place is known for its fish and chips,” Brock says.
“Along with every other pub across London,” Brianna gibes. “Didn’t you read your guidebook, cuz?”
I can’t help but raise my head to look her way. Fuck. She looks gorgeous, her cheeks rosy, her eyes shining…and awake.
“Fish and chips sounds amazing.” Maddie smiles.
“I think I’ll have the chicken pasty,” Brianna says.
“That sounds good to me too,” Rory says. “How about you, Jess?”
“My God, I don’t care.” I scan the menu quickly. “I’ll try the meat pie.”
“No, Jesse,” Rory says. “We’re all going for meat pies later on Fleet Street. Have something else.”
“For the love of God, Rory. What does it matter whether I eat a meat pie tonight?” I close my menu and place it on top of my plate.
I will eat what I want.
Brianna is sitting next to Dragon, and I don’t like how he’s looking at her and her shining brown eyes.
I clench my jaw.
Brianna is not mine. Brianna willneverbe mine. But she won’t be Dragon’s either. Or Cage’s or Jake’s, for that matter.
Or any randy Englishman who comes across her.
Jesus Christ. I’ve got to get a grip.
