The First Time We Met: The Oxford Blue Series #1 Read Online Free Page A

frankly, who cares?’
    ‘Now, now, Rupert, I thought you were friends.’
    ‘We are, but all’s fair in love and war, isn’t it, Lauren?’
    All this gossip has flown way over my head and before I can get in a reply Rupert winks and carries on. ‘What kind of a name is Cusack anyway? Sounds Irish to me.’
    ‘My dad’s grandfather was from County Cork.’
    ‘So you’ll be visiting the old country while you’re over here.’ The smirk tells me he’s no true fan of the Emerald Isle and I imagine Dad’s face.
    ‘I’ve no plans to.’ Keep it polite, Lauren.
    ‘Good, I’d hate you to be away from Oxford for long.’ He holds up the bottle of red. ‘More wine?’
    ‘No, I’m fine.’
    Before I can put my hand over the top of my glass, Rupert sloshes claret into it, spilling some on the table. ‘You’ve only had a sip. Fuck, I hope you’re not going to be one of those puritanical Americans who thinks it’s a sin to let alcohol – or anything else remotely enjoyable – get past your lips.’
    Freddie grins from opposite us. ‘Rupert will cure you, even if you are.’
    Immy reaches across me to swat Rupert’s arm. ‘Don’t be such a prat, Rupert. Lauren, ignore him.’
    ‘I’m trying,’ I say, summoning up a smile.
    ‘So is Rupert.’ Immy holds up her glass and giggles. ‘I’ll have some more of the white please, Rupes.’
    Despite Immy’s efforts, it’s obviously American-baiting season, and the barbs continue throughout dinner. No, I’m not ‘packing heat’, I don’t have a shrink and I’m not hoping to ‘pull’ Prince Harry while I’m here. Well, my mother secretly hopes I will, but that’s her problem and I’m certainly not letting that out.
    The waiting staff have brought platters of cheese and more bottles. That’s four courses and I’ve lost count of the bottles of booze. If this is going to happen every night, I am going to
have
to go for a run tomorrow and I’ll take up Immy’s offer of a game of tennis. Is it too much to hope there’s a decent health-food store nearby?
    I was prepared for the Brit humour and ready to take everything with a hefty pinch of salt, but I can’t help thinking I’d rather be washing dishes in the kitchen than spending time with some of these people. I guessI’ll get used to it, after all I survived a sorority house at Brown, but some of the baiting has a sharp edge to it. Everyone seems fair game and especially me.
    Rupert glares at the waiter as he places a bottle on the table. ‘Ah, the port. About bloody time too!’
    I see the waiter’s lip curl in contempt but Rupert either hasn’t noticed or is too drunk to care, and is it me, or has he moved closer? His voice is slurred as he speaks and he shifts his butt even closer to mine. ‘Did anyone ever tell you have a fantastic set of … teeth?’
    ‘Not often.’ My tone is icy but Rupert seems immune.
    ‘Bet you’d love to see my stately pile. It’s huge,’ he says, raising his voice loud enough for his friends to hear. Roars of laughter ring round the table, but Immy stares at her hands. I get the feeling she’d like to slap him down but doesn’t want to take sides.
    I smile sweetly. ‘It’s probably not as impressive as you think it is.’
    ‘Oh, mia-oww. Laurel has claws.’ He paws the air and growls.
    ‘It’s Lauren.’
    He leans close to my ear and whispers. ‘Whatever. I’d love to feel those claws in my back.’
    As I suppress a shudder, Immy chirps up, clearly trying to change the subject. ‘Lauren’s from Washington you know.’
    It’s a nice try but Rupert’s straight back in there. ‘And do you know the president personally, Laurel?’
    I lay my napkin on the table and treat him to my sweetest smile. ‘As a matter of fact, I do.’
    So that’s how you silence a table full of braying toffs in one second flat, but I almost wish I hadn’t because, a, it’s not quite true and, b, this is the kind of bragging I despise.
    Immy’s eyes are as wide as saucers.