"I'm not."
"If you were, that's exactly what you'd say to convince me."
"Hey, you spoke to me first. You landed yourself in this mess."
"Clearly, mocking your choice of beer is worthy of my throat being slit."
"Exactly." I pointed an accusatory finger. "Never mock a man's alcohol. Especially when you're the type of person who thinks fries and Coke is a good late night snack."
"Oh, like you've never sampled the delights of deep-fried pizza," he shot back. "This is America."
"Sounds more like Scottish cuisine to me."
"You could be right. There was a chippie..." He studied my frown and went on to explain. "Chip shop? Like this place only slightly more down-market. A chippie. Anyway, there was one near where I used to live that I swear, sold deep-fried Mars bars."
"Get the fuck out. That's just an urban legend made to turn stomachs the world over."
"These facts," he said grandly, pushing aside the polystyrene container his fries came in, "are true. God, I'm so out of shape. I used to be able to polish off a whole serving of chips faster than you could say knife. So, what are you going to call me?"
It took me a second or two to catch up, just like when we'd been outside and he'd stopped outside this place, leaving me to walk ahead and double back once I'd caught on. "Oh. Names. Right."
"Remember I told you I don't have an overtly Scottish name."
"So not Angus or Jock then."
"Definitely not. If you were going to name me..." He leaned back, spread his arms in that universal come and get me gesture and I promised myself silently that I definitely, definitely would. Later. No, not later.
Soon. "What would you choose?"
"God, I don't know." I shrugged, more of an uncomfortable rolling of my shoulders inside my jacket. "Mavis."
"Now I know you're taking the piss, Texas."
"And that's something you'd never do, right, Andrew? No, not that. You don't look like an Andrew. Even if he is your patron saint."
"The breadth of your knowledge impresses me."
"Wait till you see my girth." I winked, pleased with the way his cheeks colored ever so slightly. I'd made him blush. Not in embarrassment; he was too forward and shameless for that. I flattered myself it was anticipation.
"They do say everything's bigger in Texas."
"John."
"Boring."
"Bob."
"You'd be as well calling me 'Beige.'"
"Daniel."
He cocked his head, looked thoughtful. "Not bad."
"Michael." It was my turn to take a few seconds to mull over my latest choice. "Yeah, that suits you. No, wait --- James. Yes, definitely James. That's what I'll call you."
"Are you sure you don't want to choose Rapunzel?"
I had no idea what he meant by that. "You've got short hair."
"No, not Rapunzel. What the fuck am I talking about? I mean Rumplestiltskin. If you guess my real name you win a prize and all that."
"I'll stick to James."
"And 'James' will stick to you. Now." He --- James, I suppose his name was now --- stared at me as if I was expected to know what he thought.
"Tell me more."
"About?"
"Your fuck-it list. What else is on it besides --- " a quick glance around the room, checking no-one was within earshot " --- an anonymous fuck?"
"Are you volunteering to help with it?"
"Maybe." James lifted one eyebrow, making himself look perfectly devilish. I wondered how long it had taken him to perfect that expression.
It was an ideal blend of overt self-confidence and mischief.
I sat back, depriving myself of his aura, but at least that way I'd be able to think. "I hadn't really gotten around to those details."
"Detail, details, petty details," James singsonged, mirroring my posture then, but with an added smile. He took a breath as if preparing to say something, but spoke not a word.
There was a pause between us which only lasted for a few seconds, but the air crackled with promise.
And he was the next one to speak. "I've got an idea."
Chapter Three
"It's fucking freezing out here." I zipped my jacket up right to the neck, surprised by the drop in temperature while we'd been in the restaurant.
"You don't know cold until you've lived through a Scottish summer,"
James said, looking over his shoulder at me as he walked ahead. "And yes, I meant to say summer. Come on, hurry up."
"Where are we going? Please say somewhere indoors." Somewhere with a bed. Or a couch. Anywhere with a piece of furniture on which it would be comfortable to get horizontal. And naked. Hell, the floor would do.
"Not yet."
"Jesus."
"Austin." He stopped, cocked his head and looked at me studiously.
"I'm only trying to help."
"You can help by doing something to warm me up."
"Oh." James grinned. "You read my mind. That was exactly the plan. Actually, 'plan' makes it sound devious and that's so not me. Anyway. You have a fuck-it list that you appear to have neglected to do anything about or to give any thought to so, me, being the benevolent and sluttish chap I am, have decided to give you a hand."
"Oh really?"
"No, not like that." He shrugged. "Well, yes like that, but that wasn't what I had in mind. You can't tell me you've never had a hand job before. They have to be things you've never done in your life."
"Things, plural?"
"What can I say? I'm a man with a lot of energy."
Scarlett Parrish "That's good to know." I fell into step beside him when he started walking ahead, our steps just rapid enough to keep me warm, though not to the point of getting me out of breath.
"Up here."
"I..." I looked around us, as if any passersby would be capable of clarifying what James was hinting at. As it happened, there was hardly anyone else about. We'd passed a few bars, but there were no lines to get in. The clubs weren't open yet. A couple of fast food restaurants spilled bright light onto the pavements but real, live people? We'd passed very few. Downtown on a weekend night was surprisingly
