Page 30 of How to Date a Prince (Being Royal #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

O n Monday afternoon, I’m back out at the estate for the third week of filming on Renaissance Man . Colin gathers us all together.

“Welcome back, gentlemen. It’s a delight as ever to see you all.

To recap, Thomas currently holds first place, on the lead to a million pounds.

And our dark horse, the esteemed Prince, is now in second position after last week’s shock virtuoso creation.

Who knew we had a true sculptor in our midst? ” He gazes at me.

I redden over so lightly under the scrutiny of the cameras.

We’re outside in the rose garden this morning, in the midst of pink and red climbing roses along the side of the house.

I give Thomas a sidelong glance, the first time I’ve seen him for week three.

He smirks and lifts an eyebrow. I roll my eyes.

On the other side of him, Wilson’s expression is sour.

Thomas and I are supposed to be pretending this week not to like each other.

After the rally, I can’t help but feel betrayed.

“And now, I’m sure you’re all keen to know the theme of this week. Just in time for a heat wave, no less, gentlemen.” Colin chuckles. “I don’t control the weather or the schedule, I’m afraid. With no further delay, this week’s challenge is—Sporting and Athletics.”

There are some excited murmurs. I suppress a groan. I mean, I’m more than passable at sports. But I gave up my sport of choice years ago. Meanwhile, Wilson grins. Clearly, this is his forte. And I’m sure Thomas is a ringer for this challenge as well.

“That’s the enthusiasm I’m always looking for.” Colin bobs his head, grinning broadly. “And for extra fun, we’ve split this into three mini challenges this week.”

There’s a mumble in the crowd.

“We’ve added a new element—team sports—for one of the first challenges. Which is—football!” He looks terribly excited. “Five-a-side, to be specific.”

“Soccer,” Thomas breathes beside me.

“American.” I give him a stern look.

He rolls his eyes. “You don’t even know what real football is.”

“Gentle-men.” Colin claps his hands to bring us back to order.

“The winning team of this challenge each receives one point. The other events are individual. Day two is a mini triathlon-style event. Day three brings out your equestrian skills, which you all have—with steeplechase! I believe this should all give you a chance to show your sporting skills.”

The group descends into excited chatter, as everyone has their strengths. My guts twist, but I’m quietly determined to win. As for the other two sports, I’ve had plenty of practice in school, along with kicking a ball around with friends in uni.

“Take today to get kitted up for tomorrow’s challenge, do what you need to get ready. The crew, as always, is here to help. The match is set for noon tomorrow. Any questions?”

“For the triathlon,” Jax asks, “Can you tell us a little more?”

“My pleasure,” says Colin. “We will follow an adapted standard for our triathlon sampler, including swimming for 500 m, cycling for 15 km, and running for 5 km.”

“Metric,” Thomas murmurs with disdain.

“American,” I retort again. “You can’t even get your weights and measures sorted into the modern era. It’s vulgar.”

“Like you’re one to talk. I mean, if I had a shilling for every time I heard a Brit say something metric?—”

“I’m surprised you’re aware of English history, actually?—”

“I hear the monarchy is obsolete, so you’re one to talk?—”

My face burns with the real sting of his comments, knowing his true opinion.

“Gentle- men .” Colin looks at us sternly. “Please.”

But somewhere beyond Colin, our producer beams because nothing fills her dark heart more than a bit of trash-talking between competitors. Of course, Gisele thrives on drama like a lion out on the Serengeti with a choice antelope in its sights, and preferably, between its teeth.

“What about the horses for the steeplechase?” Connor asks, running a hand through his hair. “When will we meet our mounts?”

Feeling a little reckless, with my hands in my pockets, I smile guilelessly. “Oh, how wonderful—equestrian events. I do so love riding.”

Thomas starts a little beside me. He coughs to clear his throat. “So I hear.”

I focus with rapt attention on Connor, who waits patiently for Colin, who ignores us and our exchange of barbs.

“I believe on the day of the event. And I understand they are horses that have done plenty of steeplechase courses before, don’t worry. You’ll have the opportunity to walk the course ahead of the event as well to take note.”

Connor nods, satisfied.

“Is that all?” Colin asks us, and no one asks any further questions. “Very good. I’ll leave you to go find your sporting kit for tomorrow and your teammates, should you wish to discuss strategy.”

“You’ll tell us our teammates today?” Wilson asks, surprised.

“I believe the lists will be posted late this afternoon.” Colin’s eyes sparkle. “Along with the rules for five-a-side football if you aren’t familiar with them already.”

“We don’t have that many men,” Wilson points out.

“Ah. Don’t worry, we have a special guest joining each team.” Colin assures us all. “No one will be at a disadvantage.”

“Will we have keepers?” Jax asks. “Or, you know, anyone playing with actual skills?”

“I’m a keeper,” says Connor. “I’ve played.”

“Me too,” says Thomas.

I try not to look surprised.

“I play with friends these days as a goalkeeper.” Thomas shrugs nonchalantly as he slides his hands into his pockets. “But I also played on my university team.”

Colin finally releases us to go get ready for tomorrow. Buzzing, we head off for a tea break before we go down to the equipment store in shifts to get ready.

* * *

At 5:00 p.m., word’s out that the team rosters have been posted in the entry of the grand country house.

I make my way to check out the sporting landscape and tomorrow’s fate.

Thomas considers the list pinned to the wall.

He twists the cap off his water bottle and downs a generous mouthful as he contemplates it.

The air is hot and still indoors with the heatwave.

Stately homes are not one for mod cons like air-conditioning.

I come to stand beside him. There are two headings: Team Red and Team Blue. At least there’s not an A team and B team like I had in school. Scanning the list, I chew my lip.

Team Red:

Connor

Auggie

Martin

David

Guest

Team Blue:

Thomas

Wilson

Jax

Travis

Guest

“Interesting arrangements,” I say at last, my hands in my pockets. The producers are certainly working an angle. Across the entry with its sweeping staircase, the film crew is wrapping up filming Wilson’s reaction to the team rosters.

“Isn’t it. Let’s go, #TeamThomas. I’m so going to kick your ass.

” He gives me a glance, tilting his head back ever so slightly, exposing the long line of his neck.

I’d dearly love to trace my way with my tongue to explore his skin and risk some more whisker burn.

A heavy feeling settles into my chest. I have to confront him.

Thomas brushes his fingertips with mine, fleetingly, as we stand side to side, so close no one can see.

I arch an eyebrow at him.

He goes back to studying the list. Stupid resolve. What good came of it? But no matter how tempting he is, I shouldn’t give in. Be sensible, I tell myself sternly. Focus on the competition.

“Is that so?” I ask finally.

“Prepare to lose,” he says loudly.

“You should have more faith in yourself, Thomas.”

A smile teases on his lips before he looks sternly at me. “I have all the confidence.”

“Too bad you don’t have all the skills,” I say regretfully, shaking my head. “I guess you can’t have everything.”

He snorts, flicking an eyebrow. It’s all I can do to suppress a smile. “Oh, I can show you skills.”

“Will you? I haven’t the faintest clue about sport, actually. I’m too busy reading about Divine Right in Latin day and night to keep up with sporting these days.” I give him my best demure look.

“Liar.”

And I make a choice. I lean over ever so slightly. “2:00 a.m.,” I murmur. “My room. We need to talk.”

Then, I walk away.

* * *

When there’s a soft knock on my door at 2:00 a.m., I open it after checking the door viewer.

Thomas waits, languid, smiling with his hands in his pockets.

His green eyes sparkle. He’s in a black T-shirt and athletic shorts, I suppose getting a head start on the theme of sporting.

I stand back to let him in, heavy-hearted.

A soft light glows from a lamp on the bureau, the only source of light in the large room. The door clicks shut behind him, and I flip the lock. All of the windows are as open as far they can go for any hope of a breeze, but the air remains still.

“Mm, I like this,” says Thomas, running his hands over my arms, covered by my silk black-and-purple floral dressing gown.

I tilt my head, considering him, then let my robe fall open.

“Fuck, I like this look even more.” Thomas gazes at me in frank admiration, running his hand down my chest to take my cock in his hand.

I shiver, forcing myself to focus. It’s important Thomas understands there are limits to this fling.

If I’m honest with myself, I’m establishing the rules for my benefit too.

So I don’t get emotionally invested. Because feelings only lead to problems. Then, it’s next to impossible to think clearly with Thomas’ teasing. “We need to have rules.”

“Rules?” Thomas looks intrigued, then sinks to his knees on the plush rug. “Sounds hot. What sort of rules?” He tastes the tip of my cock.

“For us.” I shudder, my gaze fixed on him, hardening. The immediate shift in blood flow from my brain to parts decidedly south is dramatic. “You know, otherwise, this is only going to be, err, harder. Our situation is utterly impossible beyond a tryst.”

“Tryst,” he confirms, flicking his tongue along my shaft, teasing the length of me.