“That’s my glass.” I point to the one in the corner.
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is. I’ve been drinking out of it this entire time.”
“Then you’ve been moving my glass.” She gasps and reels back, a hand to her chest. “Oh my God, sabotage!” She points at me. “Sabotage. Right here, in broad daylight.”
Technically not broad daylight. It’s nine at night and the sun is still up, but I’m not about to argue with her.
“I’m not sabotaging you—that’s my glass.”
“You know damn well it’s not. You’re just trying to mess with my drunk mind. Well, I’m not taking it. I won—drink up.”
“It’s my glass.”
“God.” She shakes her head. “I knew you’d be a sore loser, but really, Rowan, acting like I’m cheating? Isn’t that beneath you?” She leans over the table, her cleavage in full display. “Drink up, lad.”
I gulp, telling my eyes to look up, but hell . . . I must be feeling my drink too, because I can’t seem to stop looking at her boobs.
“And while you drink, learn some manners. It isn’t polite to stare at a lady’s bosom.”
“Call it a ‘bosom’ and I won’t stare at it,” I say, picking up a glass and chugging. That’s a lie—I’ll still stare.
“I don’t understand what we’re doing here.”
“I think we roll the dice,” I say, studying the backgammon board.
“What are the dice for?”
“Uh . . .” I scratch the side of my head. “To tell us how many spaces to move.”
“Where are the spaces?”
I squint at the board some more. “Can’t be sure. I think it’s missing pieces.”
She runs her finger over the felt of the board and strokes the triangle sections. She starts with one finger, and then adds two . . .
“What are you doing?” I ask, shifting on the bench.
“Stroking the triangles.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “Drunk, and I haven’t stroked anything in a long time.”
“Stop it.”
She glances up at me, eyebrow raised. “Is this turning you on, Rowan?”
“No.”
Yes.
“Are you . . . sure?” she asks in a seductive voice.
“You know, two can play at that game.” I bring my finger to one of the triangles and start to slowly massage it.
Her eyes zero in on my finger, and her tongue peeks out, wetting her lips. “That’s a nice cadence you’ve got going on there. Looks like good pressure.”
“Aye. Really good pressure,” I say, dropping my voice.
Really getting into it, she strokes her triangle harder, faster.
Jesus. I swallow hard, watching as her tongue pokes out and wets the top of her lip. That tongue, what I could do with it . . .
This can’t be one sided.
So I pick up the pace, eyeing her, and when her gaze lands on my finger, I slow it down, really dragging out the “pleasure.”
“Oh God,” she says, her free hand traveling up her chest to her neck.
“Uh . . . do you two need a second?” Hamish asks as he steps up to our table.
We both jump and snap away from the board, hands going to our laps.
I clear my throat. “Just playing backgammon.”
“I’ve never seen it played like that.”
“American way,” Bonnie says.
“Aye, well, if you’re done playing, another table would like it.”
“Sure, yup, all done.” Bonnie folds the board and shoves it toward Hamish. He thanks us and takes off. Bonnie glances at me. “Were we just . . . jerking each other off with a board game?”
“I wasn’t . . . were you?”
“No.” She shakes her head quickly. “Nope . . . not even a little.”
“Good, because my dick is way bigger than that felt triangle.”
Her mouth falls open as I smirk and finish off another pint.
“You’re not so bad when you’re drunk,” Bonnie says, tossing a ladder ball clear across the playing area and missing the playing ladder completely. The sun is setting, the cast-iron lights that surround the courtyard are flickering on, and we’re currently battling a couple of tourists—Jim and Yolanda—who are on their second honeymoon. They’re staying at Under the Goat’s Kilt Inn and decided to extend their visit one more night because they’ve loved their time in Corsekelly.