There’s a happy student thrill in the air. If you’re looking for a place to get lost, this might just be it. I watch the bartender help some patrons, his hands working fast to get the glasses filled.

A door behind the counter opens, and I watch as another bartender place some clean glasses behind the counter before he looks up. He smiles at me and I have to admit, he’s not too bad looking – that’s if I’m into the kind that has more piercings than I do.

“What can I get y’all?” he asks, sending my stomach off on a mad dash around the pub. I’m a sucker for American accents and oh my, as long as he keeps talking I won’t need a flag. Forget about Queen and Country, I might just be able to do this thing.

“Uhm…” Hell, I don’t know. I give him an awkward smile. “Anything you can suggest?”

“Start her off on tequila.” Some smart-arse goes off next to me.

I scowl up at fellow next to me and then wish I hadn’t even given him the time of day. Yu-uck, not even for Queen or Country. I keep my hands on my lap, making sure I don’t touch the bloke by accident.

The bartender glares darkly at the bloke, and then gets busy. I watch him prepare the drink. What he’s doing looks rather interesting. Seconds later, he places a tall glass with some mixture of crushed ice and red fluid in front of me.

“Strawberry Daiquiri,” he says, winking at me. I reward him with a smile and tip.

I hope the drink will soothe my nerves real quick. It’s sweet and actually refreshing, not at all what I expected alcohol would taste like.

American men. I haven’t even dated a British bloke, how am I going to handle an American one? I’ve heard they don’t take nonsense, not exactly the Mr. Darcy types. If they see something they like they go for it, and I’m hoping that will work in my favor tonight. I hope if I throw the offer out there, the bloke will just take it and not ask me any questions.

Halfway through the dink, which is really only seconds later, a loud roar erupts from the entrance of the pub, and just like all the patrons, my curiosity gets the best of me. I glance back.

It must be the ‘in’ crowd that has just entered. Most of the girls are beaming and I think they’re just about ready to drop their knickers all over the place, as the hot group of men saunters in. There’s a whole lot of hugging going on. There’s only one girl with the testosterone brigade, and she’s built like a brick shit-house. And she definitely knows it. I can’t tear my eyes away from her. I’ve never seen a girl move with so much confidence before. Her black hair shimmers in the dim light, and the sparkly top and short skirt don’t cover much. But then, if I had her legs I’d be walking on my hands to show them off.

The men are built, I mean muscles ripple and even the stale air gives way to their presence. Definitely a crowd that knows they have the ‘IT’ factor, especially the girl and the bloke walking next to her. They just give off a vibe that says, ‘screw with us and you’re shit-paste.’

And I’m right, because the second her eyes meet mine the jittery feeling increases, and a cold shiver runs down my spine, making my stomach go all knotty. Her eyes are cold, merciless – like those of a shark – making sure this small British fish knows she should simply head right back to her faraway pond. Then she smiles, and no matter how I try to force my lips to curve up, I know it must look pretty grim.

I take big gulps of the drink. I shouldn’t have stared. The last thing I need is some crazed American Amazon woman getting – AHH! Brain freeze! Bloody hell. I slam my hand to my forehead, trying to rub the freeze away.

“Hey, sweet thing.” The husky drawl crawls down my spine.

Please, please, please let it not be her, but even as I send up my quick silent prayer, I know it’s going to go unanswered. My first night out and the first person to take an interest in me would be the Amazon woman. Just my bloody luck.

I take a deep breath before I look over my shoulder. Bugger! She’s got eyes straight from King Neptune’s deepest oceans.

“Ah …Hi.” I’m willing her to go away, but she doesn’t.

She squeezes in next to me, way too close, and I’m starting to wonder if I read her wrong. Is she lesbian? Did I give her the impression that I am? Just so not my thing and I don’t think it’s what Chloe had in mind for me.

“Rob, the usual, and one extra for our new friend here,” she practically purrs at the bartender before turning her sapphire eyes back on me. “Come on. A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be sitting here between the uglies. We’ll take care of you.”

She’s not asking. She’s demanding I join them, and I can’t begin to imagine why. If I looked like Chloe yes, I would understand. Chloe has brown curls I’d kill for and brown eyes to match them, and a body that would fit in with this group. Me? With my blond hair, green eyes and pale skin I look anemic, because I hardly ever got to leave the house.

For a split second I think about making a run for the exit, I really don’t want to be bullied tonight, and that can be the only reason she would take an interest in me. An easy target to get a few laughs from.

I look back at her, and that’s when I see him over her shoulder. I didn’t see him at first, but he’s all I see now. Now he, Chloe would approve of.

I’ve read books. I’ve watched movies. I mean I’ve gone through them like some people might go through toilet paper. But none of the characters and actors compare to the bloke I’m gawking at. He’s not built as stockily as the others, but the shirt sits tight enough for me to see there’s plenty of hard muscle hidden beneath it. His brown hair isn’t shaggy, but short and neatly kept. And his face is hard. Okay, maybe not hard. Serious? Or maybe it’s the penetrating look? I can’t put my finger on it.

What am I saying? I do want to put my finger on it – on his whole face, just to see if the tingling sensation I’m feeling can possibly get any more intense. That’s saying a lot coming from me, seeing as I don’t do the touching thing, at all. I like my personal space, a lot. I think the only reason I’m such good friends with Chloe is because it’s over a phone, and she can’t touch me. I never asked to be the way I am, it’s all because of the way my mum treated me. I learned from an early age that touching hurts, it disgusts me. People telling you they love you is just bullshit. My past made me who I am today, a broken soul.

Oh, tonight is going to be a problem. I look at the bloke again. Would I be able to let him touch me? I don’t feel the familiar wave of disgust well up in my stomach, and the words slip out. “Why not?”

I follow her, all because of him and the distracting tingling feeling growing in the region of my stomach. (Which is so much better than the nervous one I’ve been having up until now.)

“Look what I found all alone over there by Rob,” the girl drawls when we get to her group of mates.

They have a booth and table next to each other in the back corner, tucked away from the others.

“What’s your name, prettiness?” She throws her arm around me and I cringe. Oh hell, I hope she’s not the ‘let’s all be a groupie’ kind of person. I’ve read about those in some of my books. Reading it is one thing, doing it is completely another thing I’m not so interested in.

“Emma.” It takes everything I have not to look at him, at least not until I’m introduced. Then I’ll eye-stalk him a bit.

“Well, Emma,” she says my name as if she’s tasting it. “This is Colton. Mine.” I knew that from when they walked in together.

Colton has shaggy, light brown hair and sharp brown eyes. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes and it makes him look downright scary. I’ll make sure I stay away from him. The girl keeps going.

“Paul, Harper, Aiden,” My eyes stop on Aiden and I eye-stalk. Even his name … bugger, I’m going to drool just saying it. He finally looks at me and the pub takes a spin. Crikey! Does alcohol work that fast?