Page 19 of A Highland Gargoyle's Lucky Star
I’m wearing jeans and a cheap sweater. While I’m not an unattractive man, I sincerely doubt I’m the type this guy usually goes for.
That thought just heightens my overall wariness. Thankfully, I have my food to keep me and my mouth distracted. Being a fairly adventurous eater, I opted to try the haggis with neeps and tatties and a whisky sauce, and I’m pleased to discover everything is delicious. I focus on fully enjoying the experience as the man attempts to make conversation.
“What’s your name, gorgeous?” Mr. Model with Money purrs at me.
I arch an eyebrow at him and swallow a mouthful of food. “Isn’t it customary to introduce yourself first when trying to flirt with somebody? It’s only polite.”
He chuckles, but the laughter never reaches his eyes.
Red flag alert.
“I’m Malcolm.”
“Noah,” I say while shoving a large bite of haggis in my mouth.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Noah. Is this your first visit to England?”
I take a gulp of my water and nod my head. “Yep. But I’m going to be traveling primarily in Scotland.”
He rests a hand under his chin, never taking his gaze off me. “And is the purpose of your visit business or pleasure?”
I have to fight back a snort. He’s laying it on far too thick and must think I’m some kind of fool. Granted, there are a lot of idiot tourists out there, but
I like to think I’m a sensible guy with a good head on my shoulders.
“That’s private.” I shift my body as far away from his as possible, giving clear signals I’m not interested.
He just plasters that smarmy smile on his face and I try not to lose my appetite. I’m enjoying my meal too much and refuse to let him ruin it.
With resolve, I pop another bit of the neeps and tatties—some kind of blended mashed potato mix drizzled with the whisky sauce—into my mouth.
I moan like the food slut I am. These potatoes are so fucking delicious. Creamy and savory, with that slightly sweet sauce, and I think I’ve found heaven. The Irish better watch out because evidently the Scots know how to make some damn fine spuds!
I savor the rest of my meal, forgetting all about my dining neighbor, only returning to full awareness when my plate is empty.
“That good, huh?” Malcolm asks.
I lean back in my chair and rub my stomach, ignoring his bedroom eyes. “Divine,” I confirm.
“What do you say about getting out of here? I’ve a double room and plenty of space.”
Wow. He just went for it, even though I haven’t given him any encouragement. That seals the ick factor in my book.
My whole body tenses. “Sorry, but I’m not interested.”
His fake-looking smile once again doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s a shame.” He gets up. “Safe travels, Noah.”
Malcolm exits the car and I can breathe again.
I don’t know what it was about him that rubbed me the wrong way, he just gave me the ick.
When I’m about to get up and head back to my compartment, one of the booths opens up and a rowdy group of enormous men swagger into the Club Car and take the table.
Holy. Fucking.Outlander. Fantasies!
They’reallwearing kilts.
I pinch myself and yelp.
