Chapter 2 #2
Rachel snorts. “Keep dreaming.” She pushes the drinks toward me. “This one’s yours, babe. Bottoms up.”
I stare at the tiny glass of impending regret while hesitation creeps in. I’ve never done a shot before. And the longer I look at it, the more I want to back out.
Rachel notices immediately.
“Don’t even think about it,” she warns.
I swallow hard, curling my fingers around the glass. Screw it. Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab the shot and toss it back.
The second it hits my throat, I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake. It burns like hellfire. It's a horrible, slow, creeping warmth that erupts into a full-blown inferno. I choke, desperately fumbling for my other drink.
Rachel, the absolute ass that she is, is laughing so hard she nearly falls out of her chair.
I glare at her through watery eyes, still gasping. “People actually enjoy this?” My voice comes out hoarse, rasping like I just swallowed molten lava.
“You’re a natural,” she teases, raising her own shot in a toast before throwing it back like an absolute pro. Show-off.
I’m still recovering when I see someone move past us toward the bar.
Okay. Hi. He’s more than just good-looking from what I can see. He’s tall, but that’s not saying much considering I’m barely taller than Rachel. He’s close enough that I catch the freckles scattered across his arms though.
And those arms? Yeah. They’re solid. Not that I’m into that.
Lies. I’m absolutely into that.
He’s wearing a button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and I can see a black tattoo on his forearm. I can’t make out what it is in this lighting, but it only adds to the need to see it.
The golden glow of the pub catches in his dark hair, and I can see the faintest traces of auburn in it.
It's pulled into a bun—just messy enough to be effortless, and just tight enough to make my fingers itch to pull it loose.
His lean muscle stretches the fabric of his shirt like a damn invitation.
Even from behind, he looks like the kind of man who could ruin a person without even trying.
Really? The universe is definitely testing me.
I roll my eyes. Let’s be real, there’s something irritatingly attractive about a man bun. The way it pulls everything together, the way it makes a sharp jawline look even sharper. It just adds an edge that makes me want to start fights I have no business winning.
I try not to stare too obviously, but I didn’t quite get my fill of those broad shoulders before Rachel steps right into my line of sight, waving a napkin in my face.
“Really? Twice?” She laughs, holding it out like an offering.
I blink, caught red-handed, and snatch the napkin from her, feeling my face heat. “Okay, fine. That time I was drooling. Not even going to lie.”
Rachel smirks, clearly pleased with herself, and shoves my drink back toward me before raising her glass of who-knows-what for a toast. “To drooling over hot men, even though you’re foolishly choosing this vacation to swear them off.”
I laugh, clicking my glass against hers. “To hot men.”
I should've asked Rachel what to expect from drinking before I dove straight into the deep end. It might’ve been wise to know what I was getting myself into.
The man at the bar chooses that exact moment to turn around.
And, oh fuck.
Rachel’s toast wasn’t just accurate. It was prophetic.
He looks like he could be my next mistake.
I've seen handsome men before, but him? Yeah, he's something else entirely.
He's the kind of gorgeous that makes smart people do very, very dumb things.
The first thing I see is his chiseled jaw and lips—Gods above, those lips—they're full and look like they were sculpted for sin.
His dark eyes sweep over the room like he owns it, and I'm not even exaggerating when I say he was born to be worshiped.
And honestly? Who am I to argue? Because damn.
The bastard is all hard lines and predatory grace, wrapped in the kind of beauty that make logic an afterthought. A very distant afterthought.
I’m lucky I didn’t start choking again, because that would’ve been the cherry on top of this already awkward moment.
Everything around me goes quiet as a sharp, piercing ring cuts through my right ear, slicing through the noise. It’s been happening more and more lately, or maybe I just started to notice it. But before I can linger on it, just like that, it’s gone.
Something feels off, but I push the thought away, forcing my attention back to him.
He’s walking right toward us. Paralysis creeps through my body like wildfire and my hands start to tingle. Heat blooms beneath my skin, seeping into every nerve, as every inch of me tightens under the sudden weight of his attention.
Shit.
Those deep brown eyes pin me in place like a blade pressed to my throat.
Eye contact. ABORT. ABORT.
Before the moment can spiral into something I know I won’t recover from, I whip my gaze away, pretending to be deeply, profoundly interested in absolutely nothing on the other side of the bar.
But two seconds was enough to sear the details into my brain. The freckles dusting his face, the rich brown of his eyes, and the flash of perfect teeth when he smiled.
I can only hope I’m radiating a solid don’t speak to me vibe, because right now, I'm not sure if I'm capable of forming actual words.
Just keep walking. Just keep walking. Do NOT stop and talk to me. I chant silently.
And thank God, he doesn’t.
He doesn’t look at me again, doesn’t acknowledge me, just keeps walking straight back to the dart game behind us.
Relief floods my system, even though I have zero reason to feel it. It’s not like I was in danger of throwing myself at him, but I also don't have the willpower of a saint here. I'm more like a little baby chipmunk out in the wild for the first time. Spooked.
The music swells or maybe it never stopped. It’s like someone hit mute for a second, then cranked the volume back up to full blast. The noise of the pub rushes back in all at once and the loudest sound is coming from the crazy brunette I call my best friend.
Rachel is standing in front of me, wide-eyed, waving her hands.
“HELLOOOO!” she practically shouts.
Oh, great. She saw that.
“Welcome to Scotland,” I mutter, raising my glass and sinking a little further into my chair.
You’d think I’d never seen a good-looking man before with that grand display. I shake my head, tap my glass against hers, and sigh.
This night is either going to be an adventure… or a complete bust when I inevitably embarrass myself.
Perhaps tonight wasn’t the night to try drinking for the first time.
It's far too late for that now.
We lose track of time, falling into easy conversation. We talk about all the things we want to do on this trip and laugh about my near-death experience with the handsome stranger in the corner.
There’s so much we want to see and explore, but we refuse to be tied down by strict planning, so we’re taking it day by day. Which, honestly, is exactly my kind of vacation.
“Holy shit, it’s late! How long did it take you to get ready?”
Rachel laughs, dodging the napkin I send her way.
“It’s your fault for sleeping the day away,” she teases. “However, we're not going to focus on that.”
She winks, then nods toward the open space in the back of the room. “What we should do is go over there and dance!”
The dance floor is conveniently located right next to the group of men playing darts.
The same group of men that the gorgeous idiot happens to be a part of.
I groan, and briefly consider faking exhaustion, but Rachel would see through that in two seconds. And then drag me over there anyway.
Before I can object, she’s already up, grabbing my arm, and pulling me toward the dance floor.
Well, here goes nothing.
I down the rest of whatever concoction she handed me, and it burns like hell on the way down. I cough, wincing. Are all drinks supposed to taste like this?
As we weave our way through the crowd, I start giving myself a little pep talk.
Who cares if they’re hot? I’m not blind. But that doesn’t mean I need to fall apart just because a few attractive men are nearby.
They don’t get a say in my trip, my mood, or my night.
With that thought locked in place, I step onto the dance floor, determined to have fun.
That's the spirit. Now let's get our ass on that dance floor and shake it like a saltshaker. Go big or go home, right?
All my lingering doubts scatter like leaves in the wind when the next song fills the room. I don’t recognize it, but it pulls me in instantly. The beat is rich and soulful, it’s the kind of folky tune that feels like it’s stitched into your bones.
My body starts swaying before I even realize it, moving to the rhythm like I don’t have a choice in the matter.
I swear the volume cranks up another notch, and suddenly, the energy in the room shifts. The beat pulses through my body, vibrating my chest and lighting me up from the inside out.
I let myself get completely lost to the rhythm. My hips sway and my arms move without a second thought. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of dancing, it’s a version of freedom.
In that moment everything else falls away and I feel completely alive. No doubts. No worries. No one holding me back. Just the music, my body, and the rush of being here.
You know what else is magical? Not being tied down by a relationship. I don’t care how many times I have to remind myself. I’m sticking to my no-men rule.
This moment just solidified that for me. Right here, dancing with my best friend, living my best life. I can’t even remember the last time I had this much fun.
The song fades into another and the music pulses, wrapping around me like a heartbeat. The songs start to blur together, some familiar, but most of them I’ve never heard before.
I know I've only been here a day, but if this is what Scotland feels like every day, I can’t help but wonder why my parents ever left. Why didn’t they just raise me here to begin with?