Page 190 of Twisted Royals

“Princess Ada is vetted and perfect. I’m sure she won’t mind marrying you instead of your brother. You’re his identical twin and you know these royal matches aren’t about love.”

Love? How about like? Shouldn’t you at least like the person you’re marrying?

I mean, I don’t dislike her. But I doubt she’d say the same. I’m an asshole and I know it.

She’s everything a princess should be, well-bred, well-mannered, and pretty. But god, I want more. I want passion, excitement, sizzle between the sheets. And most of all someone I don’t have to pretend with. Why the hell would any princess want to settle for the unpolished, grumpy version of Rex?

Besides, the women my parents are pushing me toward put me to sleep. And being King is going to be boring enough. The job doesn’t even come with any real power since we’re a constitutional monarchy and basically just figureheads, with parliament and the cabinet minister making and passing all the decisions.

I shove my thoughts aside and slip out of my suite, feeling angsty. The adrenaline rush of a fast-paced, and violent, game of hockey would cure it, but watching one will have to do.

Remembering a bar I’d seen from the limo on the way back to the hotel, I shove my hands into my pockets and take a right on the street outside the hotel.

I’m instantly at ease as I walk into Bruno’s Sport Bar. It’s loud and boisterous and filled with TVs playing various athletics. It’s the perfect place to hide from my troubles.

Two hockey games are on, as well as a poker game, and an MMA fight. I pass the tables and head straight for the bar, preferring to blend into a crowd.

By the third period, we’re all cheering and clapping each other on the back as if we’re old friends.

I’m loving the anonymity and lack of expectations, but also the camaraderie. It reminds me of my teammates back home. There’s no one sizing me up as a future king, or future husband, and it’s freeing.

The only thing pulling my attention from the game is the women across the room at the pool tables. Understandably, they’re getting a lot of attention. They’re beautiful, confident and fun. My personal crack.

For a man like me, awaiting the shackles of responsibility and an impending two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar wedding, they’re extra tempting. Particularly the blonde filling out her jeans just right, and throwing back too many margaritas.

Rising, I head to the restrooms, intentionally taking a path right past her. I want her. Or rather, just a night with her. I know in my gut she’ll be a taste of freedom.

As she bends to take a shot at the pool table, her cue pushes back and I barely manage to block it before it hits the crown jewels.

“Oh shit, sorry.” The beauty’s eyes lift up to mine. They’re a gorgeous blue, the kind that shine with intelligence, a bit of mischievousness, and the promise of excitement.

The corner of my mouth slides up. “There are better ways to feel a man’s package.”

She cocks her head, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Ooh, an expert. What’s your favorite way to feel a man’s package?”

I laugh, taken aback by her seamless comeback.

Her eyes drop from mine to my zipper. “Besides, if that were my intention, I certainly wouldn’t use this cue.” She grabs her glass and takes a sip of icy green slush. “Where are you from?”

My brows rise, but then I remember my accent. “Denmark.”

Before she can say anything else, one of the men that’s been hovering around her all night comes over, stepping between us and blocking me with his body.

“Hey, honey, let me help you with that.” He takes the cue from her and she rolls her eyes.

“So many experts tonight.”

I smirk at the private joke. Her chin lifts in my direction as if she’s saying ‘watch this’ and she plucks the cue back from the man’s hand.

Taking her shot, she banks one of the striped balls, and two others find their way into opposite corner pockets.

“Nice shot,” I say, but don’t wait for her to respond. I do, however, look back when I get to the hall leading to the restrooms. She’s bent over the side of the table now; her ass, in all its curvy glory, is perfectly in view.

Leaning against the wall, I admire it. It would be insulting not to. My mouth dries at the way the pool cue slides through her fingers. She’s got a phenomenal body. My hands itch to smooth up and down her shapely legs, spreading them roughly before I taste her… The clack of the pool balls knocks me out of my fantasy and I realize my cock is getting hard which will make my visit to the men’s room pointless.

With a shake of my head, I slip down the hall, thinking of Ada to kill my stiffy.

“Not going to ask for my number?” are the first words I hear as I exit the men’s room.

---