Page 21 of A Highland Gargoyle's Lucky Star
Iain lets out a hearty laugh. “I bet I could bench press you easily, lad. You’re just a wee thing.”
I pout. “I’m not that small.”
Yes, at five foot six, I’m a lot shorter than most men, and my build is slight too. Okay, compared to them I am fucking small.
I study Iain. Yeah, he probably could bench press me.
My balls give a faint tingle.
Fuck. That could be really hot, actually.
I spend the next hour drinking with the four men, all of whom can seriously hold their liquor! Keeping up is impossible, and three pints in, I’m definitely drunk and listing in my seat.
I’m also giggling at every little thing.
Not sure exactly why, but I tend to be a happy drunk who laughs a lot.
Fortunately for me, my new friends find it rather amusing and keep trying to one-up each other as they tell me dirty jokes.
“So, what are your plans here in Scotland?” Angus finally asks me as I try to stop laughing myself silly.
I wipe at my eyes. “Now that’s a story!”
The beer fuels my lengthy oration as I share my convoluted, and probably not entirely coherent, tale of woe.
“And that’s how I ended up here,” I slur a little. “Visiting bonnie Scotland! The bucket-list trip of my dreams.”
Iain nods sagely and drains his pint glass. “Aye, Scotland’s the best.”
“If it’s not Scottish, it’scrap!” I say, but I don’t attempt my very bad Mike-Myers-inspired Scottish accent. Even when drunk, I realize that might be offensive.
They all blink at me in confusion except for Jack, who gives a soft snort of laughter and tells his friends, “It’s from an oldSaturday Night Liveskit.”
I beam at him. “I like you.”
He blushes.
Awww, what a cutie.
“I don’t really have an official travel itinerary. Just planning to explore. Gonna start in Inverness and head all over.” I sighdreamily. “And if I happen to meet a sexy gay Scotsman who wants to start a romance with me, I’m all for it.”
I jolt.
Oops. I didn’t mean to say that last part out loud.
“Then you should definitely come to the Interspecies Highland Games. It’s very inclusive. In fact, I know a few men who’d love to eat up a cute thing like you,” Iain says with a wink.
My cheeks, already warm from all the beer, get even warmer.
I extend my hand, holding out my pinky. “Pinky swear you’ll introduce me.”
He throws his head back and laughs, wrapping his pinky around mine and shaking. “Aye, it’s a deal.”
By the time I’m ready to head to my compartment for some much-needed shuteye, I’m three sheets to the wind and staggering with my new friends as they start singing a rendition of a song rather appropriately called “The Drunken Scotsman”—although I’m actually far more inebriated than they are even though I consumed about half the beer they did.
We part ways when they head back to their coach seats and I make my way back to my sleeper compartment. Earlier, when I was still sober, we did share contact info, and I hope to be able to watch them toss cabers in the Highland Games before I have to return home.
I’m humming happily to myself as I drunkenly amble back to the bed that is calling my name. As I stumble onto a gangway between train cars, I shriek when a figure steps out of the darkness, blocking my path.
