When I was younger, I used to pray for a miracle to lift us out of the poverty my family existed in. It wasn’t until years later that my father finally struck gold, and we were thrust into the kind of wealth that people only dreamed about.

Except, once I was part of the privileged, I had to leave England to get away from the pressure of British society.

Then, I left Paris to get away from the demands of an education that left me constantly stressing and second-guessing myself.

So it’s only fitting that I’ve come full circle, sitting in a wood-paneled bar that so resembles the pub down the street we used to frequent in Liverpool when my parents only made scraps from blue collar, working class jobs.

The Crocodile Tavern is a cozy, but rather large, building just down the hill from campus. I saw it on the way in, and instead of sitting alone in my dorm room tonight, I thought I’d celebrate my first day as an American student with an extra dirty martini.

After calling my mother, who was on set with Dad in Scotland, to let her know I’d made it okay, I’d texted a handful of friends, including Nora Randolph, my American friend turned British royalty who was only a few states away in Pennsylvania. We’d made tentative plans to visit each other, and she promised to introduce me to her favorite things in the States. I was so looking forward to drinking a Slurpee from this mysterious place called Wawa, and potentially meeting a real live cowboy.

Running a hand through my long blond hair, I inspected the ends. I’d had it died with lowlights by my favorite stylist in Europe before I’d left, and I was pleased with the outcome. It went perfectly with my blue eyes, that also matched the green and blue plaid scarf I wore. I went a little nutty on my pre-Vermont shopping spree, snapping up every plaid, houndstooth and suede item I could find … but damn, I looked cute.

This outing was also a way to distract me from that mysterious letter I’d gotten in my dorm room. Who was it from? Was it a prank? Was I really going to show up at the boathouse tomorrow night to find out? I already knew the answer to that; of course I was. There was no use in denying I’d follow the bread crumbs, because I’d sensed from the minute I’d stepped onto this campus that it had some buried secrets, and I relished in a good treasure hunt.

“Is this seat taken?” A deep voice sparks my ear.

Rolling my eyes, I take the olives out of my glass and pop them in my mouth, and don’t even entertain looking at him. I came here tonight for me, not to meet anyone. Sure, I liked a sexy man as much as the next girl, but I was off the male gender for a while. After plowing through actors, musicians, club promoters, and every socialite playboy from Vienna to Ibiza … I needed a break. Fame and fortune had come swiftly into my life, making relationships and trust somewhat impossible. Every guy I met from my world knew who I was, and wanted to use me and my body in some way to further themselves.

“Oh, darling … how cute.” I give him a sarcastic grin and keep my eyes at the alcohol shelf across the bar.

“Excuse me?” The shock is evident in this boy’s voice.

When I’m good and ready, I finally turn, crossing my legs and baring my teeth in full feral female mode.

But I’m not prepared for the gorgeous wall of man meat standing in front of me. Taller than London Bridge and built like a Michelangelo statue on steroids, if I was considering strapping suitors, this one would make the cut. His hair is McDreamy-worthy, black as night and flowing in closely-cropped waves. His jaw is cut from steel, and there is a small mole just under his right cheekbone. Normally, that would look girly, but apparently on him, it works wonders.

Yet it’s his eyes that capture me. Blue in the middle, with a ring of green circling that aqua pool. It gives them a hypnotizing effect, like I’m staring into a kaleidoscope created simply to transfix me.

A grin paints those full, mauve lips. Oh, sweetheart, wrong move. Because I can tell he knows his effect on women, and that only serves to bring my sharpest claws out.

“I said, how cute. As in, how cute that you think that just because I’m sitting here, enjoying a cocktail by myself, that I’m desperate to be picked up by any male specimen in this bar. In fact, you probably thought I was easy prey, a pretty girl sitting here alone, drowning her sorrows in martinis. And yes, I know I’m pretty, so there is no use using any pet names or calling me beautiful to try to win me over. Let me give you a little advice … whatever lame line you’re about to use next, I’ve already heard it. It’s already worked on me and lost its effect just as quickly. So save yourself the effort, turn around, and go back to your table of buddies who dared you to come over and talk to the single girl. I promise, your night will end a lot better if you follow those instructions.”

Handsome tilts his head, pausing for a second as he stares first at my lips, and then up to my eyes.

“You have quite a mouth on you. And you know what, half the girls in here would use their mouths to suck my dick if I merely looked at them, but I think I’d rather sit here and talk to you instead.”

In one swift motion, he folds his big body onto the stool next to mine, people at the bar automatically making room for him. I’m so caught off guard by his casual reference to his plonker, that I almost don’t notice the way everyone is gravitating around him. But I see it, that aura, that spark … the special quality of air around him that people are just drawn to. I’ve seen it before, often really, with the inner circle I run with. Royals and diplomats, children of the highest politicians in the land … they all have it.

It isn’t hard to guess that around here, this boy must be royalty.

I plop my chin on my hand, half because I’m sloshed off of two double dirty martinis, and half because I’m thoroughly enjoying this cat and mouse game. I often find that banter is my favorite kind of foreplay, especially the naughty kind. Bugger, sometimes I don’t even need the sex if the talk is satisfying enough. 

I wait him out, his eyes roaming over my skin, making me tingle.

“I’m Colton Reiter. Now you tell me your name. Or make one up if you need that protection from my charm. Either way, I just want to hear that accent again.” His breath smells like cinnamon whiskey as he leans in, extending his hand for me to take.

I stare at it, then back up at his face. This one is exceptionally good, if not cocky as all the Queen’s men combined. But a yawn escapes me, the jet lag finally catching up. I realize I’m completely knackered, and that it’s time to go before Goliath here can talk me into staying.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that, superstar.” I slide a few bills out of my wallet and leave them on the bar for the bartender, nodding in his direction.

Turning to blue eyes, I smile genuinely. “Have a good night. Hopefully one of these girls will drool on your knob a bit so you can pick your bruised ego up from not getting my name.”

I don’t want to hear his answer, but take delight in turning on my brown leather heeled boot and heading for the heavy tavern door.

Oh yes, I think this semester is going to be just what I need.