Page 18 of A Highland Gargoyle's Lucky Star
Me:I think you’re both getting WAY too ahead of yourselves on that one.
Mama Jama:You never know. The universe works in mysterious ways.
Papa Bear:Your Mom’s right about that.
Me:Sure, sure. Gotta go now, guys. I’ll send more pics soon. Love ya!
Mama Jama:Love and kisses. Be safe!
Papa Bear:Have fun and use your smarts.
I put away my phone as a steward comes over and shows me to my compartment.
When making my reservation, I splurged and got myself a sleeper car. How could I not? Movies always make them look so cool.
Thanks, Pops!I couldn’t have done any of this without my inheritance.
He always supported me and my dreams, and from this day forward I intend to live my life to the fullest in a way I know he’d be proud of.
The steward gives me a brief tour of the cramped space before punching my ticket and disappearing to assist other passengers.
Sure, the compartment is small, but I’m giddy as a kid while I explore every little detail, including the miniscule en suite shower room. I set my backpack on the floor and flop down on the bottom-level twin bunk that’s already made up for the evening. I’ll admit, I might be starting to feel a bit of jet lag finally.
It’s been a whirlwind of a day and my mind is still having trouble processing everything that happened during my impromptu bus-driving stunt earlier. But you know what? Part of me is seriously proud of myself. I never knew I had that in me. I don’t like to think how things could have turned out so much worse.
I shiver and drape an arm over my suddenly tired eyes. Feeling the train jolt as it starts to move and leave the station, I force myself to sit up. Much as I’d like to sleep, I really need to get some food into me.
As if on cue, my stomach makes a slightly terrifying noise that sounds like a wild beast demanding to be fed.
Priorities, Noah.
Food,thensleep.
The prospect of visiting the dining car and having my first serious meal on a train rouses me enough to get up. I squeeze into the shower stall and take a quick shower, which revives me quite a bit after my long travels. Once I towel off, I scrounge in my bag and find a clean knit sweater my mom found on sale that looks presentable and a fresh pair of dark blue jeans. After putting on deodorant and running a hand through my damp brown hair, I grab my wallet and cell phone and lockmy compartment, then make my way toward the dining car—or Club Car, as they call it.
Walking between cars on a train when it’s moving is a little awkward, and I nearly trip twice on the way to my destination. I’m swiftly shown to an open single seat by the windows. Opposite me and against the other wall are several booths for larger parties, but overall, the space is much smaller than I’d imagined.
A server comes and takes my order and then I sit back, taking it all in. The dining car is wonderfully retro and seriously cool. I stare out the window at the dark landscape passing us by. It’s a shame I won’t get to see more of the beautiful countryside as the train makes its way north, but I decide to make plans to travel during the day on my way back so I can actually see everything I’m missing right now.
The dining car’s filling up quickly, and just as my food arrives, another man appears and takes the seat next to me.
“I hope you don’t mind if I join you. Things are a bit crowded in here tonight.” He gives me a friendly smile, and I return the gesture.
He’s got a posh English accent, one I heard in different parts of London earlier in the day, and he’s dressed in a suit that looks like it could have come off a runway. Hell, so does he. The guy could definitely be a model.
He’s got lovely golden hair styled to perfection to frame his angular face. His high cheekbones and bright blue eyes scream model to me, and the watch on his wrist appears to be a designer brand and probably worth more than my entire meager personal fortune. Even his cologne smells expensive.
After he orders, he leans closer, studying me with obvious interest.
Ordinarily, I might be flattered by this kind of attention from such a handsome, suave-looking guy, but there’s something about him that sets my warning radar off.
Also, the model analogy my brain can’t let go of is conjuring up scenes fromZoolander.If this guy gives me the Blue Steel, I will totally lose it.
I narrow my eyes as he studies me with an increasingly sultry gaze. He’s got to be some kind of scammer. Maybe a gigolo.
I’m from Chicago, so I’m relatively street-smart and know to trust my instincts. This guy oozes sex appeal and practically gives off the “I’m rich” signs, but I’m getting big-time jackhole vibes from him too.
Dudes like this don’t go for guys like me unless they have unsavory ulterior motives.
