A fucking gaggle.
They're cute - I won't deny that. But guess who’s in my head? Fucking right.
I need a drink.
Scotch whiskey for me. I order a bottle. $4,000. Only the top shelf liquor for me. And by top shelf, I mean a shelf high enough that only I can reach.
The girls coo with delight as I order, but all I think is how this means so little to Daphne. She doesn’t give two shits that I’m a fucking Prince.
I mean, I’m fucking global, mate. Heir to a First World European island nation, the financial hub of Western Europe.
My face is splashed across the TV screens, newspapers, and tabloids - looking down on at least 4 billion people.
But that wasn’t enough for Daphne tonight.
I sigh as the girls sit down in the VIP section. I lean back, seeing what they're going to say. Maybe one of these girls will have something smart going on in their heads. Something that distracts me from thinking of the curves on Daphne, or that beautiful smile of hers, or those soft, wide, innocent looking eyes.
"Well, well, well, ladies," I say, putting my arms back on the sofa. "Who may you be?"
"I'm Carrie," the blonde next to me on my right says with a smile.
"I'm Anna," next to her.
"I'm Anya," her friend says.
"I'm Dee," one on my left chimes.
"I'm Candy," the one next to her says. She doesn't hold back either. "I give good head."
Fuck me. Whatever happened to fucking small talk?
I had looked for a night out with my mates to distract myself from Daphne. But all they wanted was for me to get them into the club. And all these birds want now is to tell their friends that they’ve been with me.
Fuck, a little late to discover how fucking shallow this is, isn’t it?
This life isn’t working for me anymore. It isn’t getting thoughts I didn’t want to think of out of my head. I looked at the sluts and expected it would be easy to fuck the feelings out. But I can’t do it. I’m not feeling anything for them.
I need to go.
"Listen, ladies," I say, clearly exasperated. "I'm having a bit of an early night tonight. Have to behave."
"Why?" Carrie asks.
"Don’t want to get in trouble with the law, love," I say, drawn into the hint of a conversation. “Besides, I can’t get the thought of another bird I met out of my head – I’m just not in the mood tonight, I guess.”
"Can I come home with you?" she asks.
And there it goes. Boom. Why would I take back home when I just fucking said I was hung up on another bird and not in the fucking mood? Even if there had been no Daphne, I wasn’t taking her home. Ever.
"No," I say, basically figuring a question like that only deserves a one-word answer.
"Can I?" Anya asks, her face lighting up.
What the fuck? She thinks because I didn't take her friend, she now has a better chance?
I sigh and take a large drink of my scotch.
I know what you're going to say to me, okay? Not every girl is like this. There's some with great personalities. I know what you're going to say. And a few days ago, I would have said that any girl that comes near me with whatever personality and brain