Page 10 of The Wrong Promise

It’s the end of the working week, and before I step inside the pub, out of the wind, my cell chimes in my bag.

It is Piper from the office.

Hey, we’re all meeting at a bar in Notting Hill tomorrow to watch the game. Do you want to join us?

It’s my first official invite that excludes meeting work colleagues for a drink after work. And, it is my first free Saturday where I haven’t busied myself exploring the city. After I text back,I’m still smiling as I walk into the grand old-time bar.

The bartender fixes me a gin and tonic, which I down quickly and ask for another before I leave the safety of the bar to find a seat.

Oomph. I stumble when some idiot bumps my hip. Thankfully, I somehow managed not to spill a drop.

“Sorry, love. Ahh… here she is. U.S. of A.” Oscar grins at me before eyeing my drink.

Oscar is tall, dark, and handsome. And not my type. He introduced himself the first time I wandered into this bar after the cheers of happy people drew me inside.

He is a gentleman, perfectly groomed with not a hair out of place or any sign of a shadow on his jaw. Oscar’s voice is soft and caring. Sometimes, it’s too gentle for me to hear over the boisterous patrons in the bar. Something about him screams he wouldn’t cope with a broken heart, and it’s a known fact I fall for the bad boy. But this move is about stepping into my own light—no more blending, not even with the way I used to be—so I promised myself not to rule anything out.

“Still afraid to try the ale?”

“I tried it a few nights ago and still not a fan.”

He smiles, clinking his drink with mine. “G and T it is. Do you drink anything else?”

Does a bear shit in the woods?“Wine. Cocktails. Champagne.”

He chuckles. “If you try the ale again, start with shandy.”

“Noted.” I look over his shoulder, but the table I was eyeing is now taken.

He turns to where I’m looking. “Do you have a table?”

I shake my head.

“Are you here with anyone?”

I offer a strangled laugh. “Not tonight, though my work colleagues have invited me to watch the game tomorrow.”

“Look at you fitting in with the locals. I assume it’s not atthe game?”

I frown at him. “You shouldn’t assume.”

He chuckles. “It’s incredibly difficult to get tickets and prices are high, but yeah, there are ways to buy them. So at someone’s house or a sports bar? I could name the bars in the area that are screening it live.”

“Notting Hill.” I clink my glass against his. “You can drop any detective skills, Big O. Unless, you are working for the FBI and haven’t told me?” I say, and smile.

He grins, though it’s more about his pet name—Big O.The reference is to his height and not to what every woman wants between the sheets. Oscar is six foot six, and my own personal drone to what is happening in the bar. “Not a chance. And it’s MI5, here, Americano.” He nods toward the back of the bar. “Let’s find you a table.”

Thirty minutes later, we are laughing about the differences between our countries, more so with the extra gins I have consumed. “You know something, Big O? I should be drinking champagne to celebrate. I have officially lived here for one month today.”

“If you want champagne to celebrate, then I’ll get us a bottle even though I like it as much as you do the ale. But you’re not in any state to be walking home alone tonight.”

I smile at my friend. “You don’t have to do either. I can buy my own drinks, and I’ll get an Uber home.”

“You’re not paying for your celebratory drinks.” He slides out from the table and heads toward the bar.

I eye his tight ass hidden beneath the perfectly tailored suit. Like me, he is here for Friday night drinks, though we haven’t shared our place of work. Should I be more careful? I pull out my cell to take a sneaky photo because I should have someone I spend time with on my camera roll.

A text from Penny lights up the screen.

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