Page 20 of A Highland Gargoyle's Lucky Star
This is real and I’m awake.
The Star card was right. Good things are finally coming my way!
Like a moth to the flame, I flutter over to them, unable to stay away. I know I probably have hearts in my eyes but I don’t even care.
“H-hi, there. I’m Noah and I just have to say your kilts look amazing on you guys.”
To my surprise, they greet me warmly.
“Noah! Good to meet, ye.”
“Pull up a seat and join us, lad.”
Not one to pass up a golden opportunity to covertly ogle Scotsmen in kilts, I take them up on their offer.
They introduce themselves as Iain, Angus, Jack, and Craig.
“American, eh?” Craig asks.
I beam. “Yep. This is my first trip here. But I’ve wanted to visit Scotland forever.”
Iain hails a server. “It’s my shout. What’ll ye have, Noah?”
I decide to go with whatever they’re drinking, which ends up being large pints of beer.
When in Scotland, right?
“Can I ask where you all are heading?”
“Inverness for the Interspecies Highland Games,” Jack says.
My eyes widen. “Let me guess. Do you all participate in the games somehow?”
They grin in unison and Craig gives me a hearty slap on the back, nearly sending me reeling onto the floor.
“Aye, lad. We’re all doin’ the caber toss,” Iain announces.
“The what now?”
Angus, the redheaded one with a beard and biceps for days, lights up. “Och, Noah, ye’ve got to come to the Highland Games. The caber toss is when a bunch of Scotsmen compete in tossing a log as far as they can.” He winks at me. “And we do it while wearing a kilt.”
My mouth drops open, and I wipe at it in case I’m drooling. “A log as in atree?”
“Aye,” all four say in unison.
Sweet Scottish lumberjack porn fantasies, here I come—in more ways than one!
I fan myself and take a hearty swig of beer to try and cool down as visions of kilted Scotsmen tossing trees dance through my head.
Iain, a rather handsome bald man, flexes a beefy bicep at me. “We’ve been training for this. I’m determined to win this year.”
“How heavy is a caber?”
Craig, the group’s obvious jokester, waggles his blond eyebrows. “You probably weigh the same as a mid-size caber.”
Angus strokes his beard as he sizes me up. “Aye, mate, I think you’re right.”
Jack, the dark-haired, blue-eyed quiet one, gives a solemn nod and raises his pint before taking a swig.
