her cheeks as she rushes toward me, dressed in some sort of a flowy designer gown. Her eyes are this almost electric shade of teal. When she looks at you, her gaze seems to pin you in place.
But only if she’s here, of course. I glance at my watch again with a sigh.
We’ve been best friends for long enough that I expect her usual tardiness. Pippa is exceptionally late though, even by her standards.
I look down at my whiskey and soda in its glass tumbler. I’m up at the crack of dawn every single day to train for the one thing I’ve wanted since I was seven years old: to be a member of the National Space Institute’s next class of astronauts.
I know it’s a crazy goal. You have to be the best of the best and the brightest of bright to be accepted to the program. You have to have a ridiculous, impossible to maintain physique and your mind must be sharp enough to cut.
I’ve got that part down. The only thing that might hold me back, funnily enough, is my title. See, I’m not the heir… but I am supposed to be waiting in the wings in case anything happens to King Stellan.
I’m not much of the wait and see what happens type, but that’s neither here nor there.
At any rate, I’m trying not to drink too much while I am still training.
Draining the last drops of whiskey, I push my glass away. When the bartender comes by, asking if I want another drink, I shake my head. He nods and replaces my drink with a glass of water. I sigh, looking around the bar again.
That's when I notice a couple of girls looking my way. As a member of Denmark's royal family, I'm used to getting those stares. The ones people give you when they can't quite place you at first…
If I were my brother Stellan, the King of Denmark, I would be too famous to even lurk in this dark corner of the bar. But as second in line to the throne, people are much slower to recognize me.
I glance over at the girls again, trying to decide if they recognize me as Prince Lars or the just think I'm some guy in the bar that's attractive. They bow their heads together, giggling softly. I really hope that it is the latter of the two and that the girls are just flirting with me.
That would be optimal, because I’m seriously done with being royal at this moment.
After a moment, both girls approach me. I cast my gaze over them, my stomach starting to sink. Normally if there are girls that think I'm attractive in a bar, they don't come right up to me and tell me about it. No, I'm pretty sure that their approach means that they have figured out who I am.
I raise my hand to the bartender, signaling that I do want another whiskey soda. I’ll hurt tomorrow because of it, but so be it.
One of the girls is a pretty ash blonde. She leads the way over to me while her friend slinks behind her, a more timid brunette. The blonde smiles as she tucks her hair behind her ear, gesturing to show that she means no harm.
“Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to be Prince Lars, would you?"
I exhale slowly, looking her up and down. She is very young, probably only eighteen, but her tiny black dress shows off her cleavage and her supermodel legs. I spin in my chair, favoring her and her friend with a smirk. "Who is asking?"
Both of the girls blush an enchanting pink. The blonde speaks for both of them. "I'm Anya and this is Katya.”
I toy with the rim of my glass, looking at them. So young, so sweet, so innocent…
It happens the same manner that it always happens.
The rational, thinking half of my brain switches off. And the base, impulsive half of my brain turns on instead. One minute, I’m thinking of Greene’s latest article on string theory. The next minute, I’m thinking of the way this pretty blonde’s tongue will feel as she uses it to tease my cock.
It happens so quickly, between breaths. There’s nothing I can do to stop it, not that I particularly want to.
Biting my lip, I lean forward with an inviting smirk.
“You’ve found me out,” I say. I tilt my head to the side, eyeing both of the girls up and down. “Aren’t you two clever?”