Page 19 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

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Rory knew, because of course Rory knew.

At least it’s what he claims.

Finlay hugs me like I’m his victory prize, clinging to me, the earthy scent of fresh sweat filling my nostrils as I bury my face in his hair, overpowering the honey-sweet alcohol of his breath.

“A won, sassenach,” Finlay tells me over and over, no longer slurring but still managing to sound like a child boosted by sugar. “A won, a won, a won and a beathimand a won.”

“Well done,” I say, trying to shove him off me, but Finlay’s bulk only collapses harder against my shoulder, his arms tightening around my waist. I find I don’t mind him being slumped against me, especially when I meet Rory’s gray eyes in the process and note him quietly observing us together. “It’s quite late, you know. Maybe you should go to sleep?”

“—a won, a won, a won—”

“Or maybe not.”

Rory slips an arm around Finlay’s waist, helping me haul him upstairs, and Finlay stops talking altogether. “How much did you hear?” he asks me, his words directed over Finlay’s tousled hair.

“I’m sorry, don’t you have to win a point before being allowed to ask questions? Is that not how your stupid boys’ club operates?”

“Only with boys,” Rory replies archly, and I roll my eyes.

We stumble into the main entrance hall, both of them still kitted out in pristine white fencing gear. They look so incongruous next to the careful, almost gothic luxury of the surroundings, but Rory drags Finlay around as though this is a common occurrence.

“When’sdaddyback?” Finlay asks as we travel down gently lit hallways.

Rory steers him into one of the spare bedrooms. The layout is almost identical to mine — or Finlay’s former room — but the decor is plainer, with cream-colored walls and a bland watercolor of a lily hanging beside the four-poster bed. Finlay’s stickered guitar case is propped in the corner.

“Soon. He has some last-minute business to attend to in London.” He unfolds Finlay from himself, breaking free from the tangle of limbs as we position Finlay onto the bed.

“Liar,” Finlay mumbles, his head flopping deeply into the pillows. “Ye’re always such a lyin’ wee liar when it comes tae Daddy Munro.” He unleashes a huge yawn, his eyes sliding closed, though they suddenly spring open when Rory releases the top buttons on his fencing jacket. “Ahm no’ tired.”

“Good. Take off the kit. It’s not pajamas and I’m not having you sleep in it again.”

“Again?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

“He has form.”

“Why no’ undress me instead?” Finlay asks, attempting some kind of jokingly seductive act but failing from his inability to keep his eyes open. He fumbles with the buttons and hunts weakly for the zipper, and in the end Rory ends up undressing him as unceremoniously as possible, shrugging Finlay’s body free from the thick white material primarily by manhandling him.

It doesn’t seem to bother Finlay. He gives a sleepy, triumphant smile at the canopy of his four-poster, then rolls over onto his side, still fully dressed in his plaid shirt and dark slacks.

“Night, sassenach,” he mumbles into the pillow he’s gripping for dear life, hugging it as one would hug a person. “Missed ye lots.”

A blush sneaks across my cheeks and I figure I better get myself out of there. Rory follows close behind, ditching the fencing kit at the side of Finlay’s bed.

We meet in the silent, dark hallway, the door to Finlay’s room shut beside us.

“You remember the way to your room?” Rory asks courteously.

My eyes narrow. “What’s so special about that room?”

Rory sighs. His face leans close to mine and, in a dark voice, he whispers, “It’s haunted by the ghost of Lochkelvin. She had averyintimate relationship with Finlay.”

He sounds so grave, and Rory isn’t the kind of person to joke around, that I genuinely wonder if he’s telling a strange, distorted version of the truth. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were ghosts in this ancient estate. But Rory’s pause is long enough for a flicker of amusement to glint across his silver eyes, and my shoulders sag in relief.

“Yeah, right,” I scoff, and I’m about to say something snarky but important, something about the ghost being a symbol, about Finlay and Rory and what went on in that room, but before I can say anything at all, Rory’s mouth captures mine in a soft kiss.

I moan weakly, my head thudding back against the wall. I clutch my hands to his blond hair, grabbing, taking all that I can from this unexpected gift of a kiss. Rory’s body grinds against me, pressing me deeper into the wall outside Finlay’s room. It’s fast and furious, and I’m hooking my legs around his to feel all of him against me. Rory lifts me, balancing me onto his hips, and I wonder if Finlay can hear… I wonder if he can hear the banging, the wild slams and thuds of my body between Rory and the wall.

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