Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Emerald Phoenix isn’t with us. They’re keeping to themselves, doing some kind of meditation they do before concerts. Maybe I should look into something like that for our band.
I’m too tired to think about it now.
The pub and restaurant are housed in a quaint building, with wooden beams, brickwork, and whitewashed walls. The centerpiece is its well-stocked bar, boasting an array of spirits, ales, and wines. Behind the bar, shelves showcase rows of whiskey bottles and a collection of local and international beverages. The bar counter is made of dark wood, like Murphy’s back home.
The remainder of the restaurant consists of wooden tables and chairs scattered throughout the space. Our group fills a big round table in the back of the pub. I take a seat and then slog my elbows onto the table and stick my head in them.
“Oh, no.” Rory yanks one elbow off the table. “No falling asleep here. We’ll get through the next couple hours of dinner, and then you can crash.”
“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 will never be 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.
The server comes around to take orders, and I order the meat pie while Rory scowls at me. I down all my water and then signal to our server that I need more.
I’ve got a headache from dehydration—or exhaustion or whatever. Who knows? All I know is a hammer is pounding nails in my head and I really want to find my pillow.
But no… I have to sit through dinner with a bunch of people who got to sleep on the plane, whose luggage didn’t get lost, and who don’t seem to care that Dragon is looking at Brianna as if she’s his next meal.
This day can’t end soon enough.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brianna
After dinner, and once we’re back at the hotel, Maddie goes up to bed, but I stay down in the bar with Donny and Callie for a nightcap.
We find seats at a high bar table and sit down. A giant yawn splits Callie’s pretty face.
“Did you get to sleep on the plane?” I ask.
“Oh yeah, I did. I’m just a little tired, though.”
“If you want to, go on up to the room,” Donny says.
“You know, if you don’t mind, I think it will.” She kisses Donny’s lips. “Night, baby. Night, Bree.”
“Good night.” I turn to my brother. “You can go with her if you want.”
“No, that’s okay. I need to talk to you.”
“What about?”
Donny leans toward me. “Remember back in November when Brock and Rory came over here to see Ennis Ainsley? To get information about his girlfriend of ages ago, Patty Watson?”
“Right, the first Steel winemaker. A friend of our grandparents.”
“Yeah. Well, Brock emailed him to let him know we were coming back, and he invited us to tea tomorrow. Rory won’t be able to go because she’ll be working with the band, and Callie booked a spa day. But Brock and I are going to go, and we thought you might like to join us.”