Page 64 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

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We traipse into the manor, dripping puddles onto black and white linoleum. I hold Rory’s arm while Finlay squeezes my other hand, and together we tiptoe upstairs. Every creaking floorboard causes a minor heart attack, but the real tightening in my heart is due to how close we’ve become.

I can’t believe what just happened. I can’t believe what we’ve done.

Sharing our time, our bodies, out in the open in the middle of the night? It’s so stunningly intimate.

Even now, my legs are barely able to hold me upright without the chiefs there to rely on. I’m leaning on Finlay and Rory, awaiting their guidance and preparing to collapse. All I want is to curl into bed and sleep for a thousand years.

When we approach the wing with my bedroom, there’s a pause. A pause heavy withwhat happens now. Because I’ve been thinking about this every step of the way from the loch. Are we obliged to sleep together now? In the same bed? I only have books and movies and TV shows as a frame of reference, and generally people hug in bed and murmur soft, romantic things to each other after sex.

I wouldn’t be opposed. On the contrary. But beside me, Rory slows.

“Well,” he says, looking awkward as he untangles from me, placing his arms behind his naked back. He’s no longer drenched from head to toe, but his golden hair still glistens prettily. “I’d best leave.”

My heart pangs at his words, and in an instant I tell him, “Please stay.”

“I can’t.” His head dips, soft strands of hair kissing his forehead. “My father’s awake and I can’t be seen to be involved in any more kinds of distraction. And you are rather a major distraction, little saint.”

“A distraction?” I ask, glancing down at his bare chest, at the claw marks I’ve dug into his skin. As if he has any right to accuse me of being such a thing when he looks like a god.

He takes my hand in his again for one final squeeze, clasping my fingers tightly. “Besides,” he adds in a businesslike manner, “if I slept with you, there’s no way I’d be able to wake early for the birds. And sometimes they rely on me for food. Scraps from the freezer, things Porthos won’t eat.”

“Birds,” I repeat with a touch of amusement, oddly charmed by his newfound passion. “I’m being overlooked for birds.”

“Trust me,” Rory says, stroking my face gently. “I’ve never been able to overlook you. It’s something of a failure of mine.”

I lean into his touch, craving more of it.

“Finlay,” Rory says, and Finlay turns his head toward him. “Look after her for me.”

My stomach warms at the soft instruction, at the look of responsibility that crosses Finlay’s face. Right now, Rory is a captain delegating to his lieutenant.

“It’d be an honor,” Finlay answers grandly, with a mock salute. “If, of course, the sassenach will have me.”

I glance between the two of them, wanting them both. “Obviously,” I tell Finlay, repressing a roll of my eyes. “As if I could ever say no to you. But…” I give Rory a long, lingering look, my gaze drifting down to our joined hands. Now is not the time for further pleas; tonight I’ve said the wordpleasemore times than I have in the rest of my life. Instead, I murmur quietly, “Thank you.”

A quizzical expression flashes across Rory’s features. “For what?”

“For tonight. For opening up and giving me such an incredible experience.” My tongue feels stiff and strange, my words stilted and weird. This is far too formal. It’s like I’m thanking him for a job interview or something, when really I have to repress the urge to mount him in his ancestral home and kiss the living daylights out of him.

But I know Rory, and I know he’s careful about where he puts his heart. And tonight he considered me worthy.

Rory moves forward, one deliberate step after the other, an amused smirk quirked on his face. He cups the side of my cheek, stroking away strands of my messy hair, and says in a low voice, “If there’s anyone who needs to be thanked for tonight, it’s you. It takes a lot to blow my mind, and tonight you actually managed it.”

As we gaze into each other’s eyes for a heavy moment, Finlay stifles a pointed cough behind us. Reluctantly, we pull apart. Rory strolls away from us, looking like he’s no longer carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He crosses over to his room on the opposite wing.

“Tell me one thing,” Rory says suddenly, turning around just as I’m admiring the smooth glide of muscle down his back. He fixes me with his bright silver gaze, a strange, mischievous edge to it. “Was tonightlovingenough? Did it live up to your expectations? Your favorite fantasy?”

There’s a wry twist to his lips as I realize with a jolt exactly what he’s asking. Bringing Finlay outside tonight… He wasn’t there tobear witnessto whatever weird pagan ritual was supposedly happening. He wanted Finlay to please me, just as I’d mentioned on the piste about being with multiple men.

Fuck.

Rory takes my silence as assent, and, his smile broadening, he leaves for his bedroom.

My heart throbs as I stare after Rory. I’ve read him completely wrong. He’s so layered and I never knew it. All this wasted time believing he was a complete dickhead… but now that I’m in his sphere, in his orbit, in his realm, I’m realizing how untrue that assumption has been. In his own way, Rory is a tender little fucked-up sweetheart.

I realize I’m still standing there, gaping after him like an idiot when Finlay takes hold of my wrist, steering me into my bedroom.

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