Page 9 of Royally Rivalled

“What?” I asked.

“You’re the dickhead from the coffee shop!”

“What?”

“You ran into me and then threw a fit about me almost destroying your laptop and insisted on buying me a new cup of coffee out of spite!”

The kitchen lighting was terrible, but I put it together now. She was Latte Girl!

“No, you are the one who ran into me! You’re Latte Girl.”

We both pointed a finger at the other. She tossed her hair over her shoulder, annoyed.

“Sorry, princess,” I sighed. “We just keep running into one another! Can I please just grab the damn vermouth and?—”

She took the drink from my hand and stared at it. “This yours?”

“No, it’s for… a friend?”

“A friend… a girlfriend?”

I shrugged. I didn’t want her to know how poor my game was. She didn’t get to feel superior here! Latte Girl swirled the gin around the glass and contemplated her next move. Then, she raised it to her lips and sucked it all down before slamming the cup on the table. She muttered something in what I assumed was French as I stared, astonished.

“Don’t call me princess, dickwagon! Don’t fuck with me again!”

“I didn’t fuck with you. How dare you!”

“You took my drink; I take yours. Tell your girlfriend I’m sorry for her,” Latte Girl said.

The entitlement astonished me. Who was this girl? Why did she assume everyone was out to get her?How dare she!

“You don’t need to be such a pain in the arse! Jesus Christ! Why are you so insufferable?”

Her face balled up in a painful, sad scowl. I immediately knew I shouldn’t have said it.Why would I say it?I didn’t know this woman! I expected her to throw something at me. She would have been justified. Instead, she started to cry, running off to the garden.

I watched after her, confused. Well, I’d hopefully not see her again. This was thelasttime I came to a goddamn house party!

seven

ASTRID

Insufferable.The word enraged me. Howdarethis asshole call me insufferable! He didn’t know me. He ran into me and felt me up! Based on his reaction to touching me, I gathered he didn’t mean to assault me. I may have forgiven him with a contrite apology. To go from apologising to blaming me and calling me names? No one got to speak to me that way!

British men continued to disappoint. They were nothing like the heroes I remembered from books or movies. Needing air, I burst through the closest set of doors, past a fire pit, and back into a line of stumps. It was cold, and my jacket was probably buried under 30 coats inside Paige’s house. I shivered in the night’s chill, homesick for the first time. Because of our group chat, I knew Alexandra was up with the baby. Calling her would make her feel worse. She’d done so much to get me here. Now, all I could do was complain!

“You alright?”

I looked up. In front of me stood a tall man with dark hair. He looked concerned.

“I’m fine,” I lied.

“Darling, you are not,” he said.

Darling.Neandians didn’t toss that phrase around. We rarely used terms of endearment. Brits did it all the time. It confused the hell out of me.

The man popped down on the stump next to me. “I’m Jeremy Morgan. You’re new?”

I nodded.

---