My Prince by Anna Martin Read Free Book Online

Old Town. You should have let me get the bus.”
    Alex didn’t say anything. He wasn’t going to let George get the fucking bus to their date. George hadn’t mentioned his car before tonight, and even if he had, Alex wouldn’t have let him drive. He was planning on leaving the car in a car park overnight, or on the street if he could find a parking space. The Old Town was fairly quiet; he wasn’t worried about leaving it out.
    He found a space near the university building, and they walked up the Royal Mile close to each other, but not holding hands.
    “Where the fuck are we going?” George asked as Alex turned them down a dark, winding alley that had incredibly steep steps at the bottom.
    “Shh. It’s a secret.”
    They reached a red door at the bottom of the alley that was set back into an alcove. A phone was mounted on the wall next to the door. Alex picked it up, waited for it to click, then said, “Table for two, the name’s van Amsberg.”
    “Thanks. I’ll send someone up for you.”
    He was watching George’s intrigued, amused face the whole time, and reached over to brush his hand against George’s while they waited. Curiously, George didn’t ask any more questions, even when the red door swung open and a guy wearing 1920s style clothing looked them over.
    “Come in,” he said and shut the door behind them.

Chapter Four
     
     
    T HEY SAT at the bar, watching the bartenders mix drinks.
    “How the fuck did you find out about this place?” George asked.
    “Word of mouth, like most people.”
    The bar was set up like an old speakeasy. A blues band played on a dais in the corner, providing good, but not too loud, music. All the staff were dressed in that same old-style look: the girls with their hair in victory rolls, red lipstick, tattoos on show; the guys in pants with braces and white shirts, the sleeves rolled up to their elbows.
    Because of Edinburgh’s strange city architecture, the bar was situated in a series of arches under one of the huge bridges that bisected the Old Town. The walls were old, old stone, and there were low, exposed beams, bare lightbulbs, and lots of candlelight. The atmosphere was amazing, and Alex was incredibly pleased he’d decided to take Doug’s suggestion of bringing George here.
    “What do you want to drink?” he asked.
    “Do they do beer?”
    “Oh, come on,” Alex laughed. He reached over and squeezed George’s knee experimentally. George didn’t flinch, so Alex left his hand there. “This place has some of the best cocktails in the whole country. One of the bartenders was a European cocktail-making champion. You have to try something.”
    “Okay. Is there like a drinks list or something?”
    One of the bartenders leaned forward, neatly interrupting their conversation with a smile. He wore a flat cap over his short hair and had a very dark bushy beard and heavy eyebrows. It looked insanely good on him.
    “Hey, I’m Danny. What can I get you guys?” he asked, his voice rich with local flavor.
    “George doesn’t drink cocktails,” Alex said, squeezing George’s knee again.
    “Ah. Okay. What do you drink?”
    “I like beer,” George said tentatively. “Like craft beers, IPAs, that sort of thing.”
    Danny nodded. “No problem. Do you prefer whiskey or rum?”
    “Uh… rum, I guess.”
    Something twisted in Alex’s stomach as Danny grinned and winked at George, then turned to start mixing him something. In the background, the band switched to a more upbeat sound, and a few girls got up from their low tables to dance.
    He turned his attention back to Danny, who was free pouring liquor into a tin cocktail shaker, adding lime and something else from behind the bar, then slamming a glass over the top to shake it up. Instead of serving the drink in a martini glass, he poured it into a low, squat tumbler and left it unadorned of any fancy toppings.
    “Try that,” he said, pushing it across the bar.
    Alex watched as George sipped it tentatively, and