Page 65 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

Ourbedroom.

I can barely walk in a straight line. All my muscles ache. They’re raw with strain, having been well-used tonight, and by God, do they deserve a rest on the world’s fluffiest, softest bed.

Finlay guides me steadily, treating me as someone a long way from sober. Maybe that’s true, because right now my head feels drunk on life, on bliss, on the addictive sensation of skin against skin. I’m no longer a virgin, and that’s kinda overwhelming right now to think about. I’ve never been one of those people obsessed withlosing it, like there’s something to even lose. But in the sudden aftermath, in the harsh light of the Munro’s manor estate, it feels like my identity is adjusting, rearranging itself somehow.

Tonight has been epic in so many inexplicable ways, and I’m just grateful that Finlay’s been able to indulge my mindlessness.

Indeed, he seems somewhat entertained by it.

“Oh, sassenach,” he mutters fondly. “Whit are ye like?”

I sag gently against Finlay, who brushes a kiss to my temple. “Utterly pathetic?”

His lips twitch. “It’s cute,” he tells me, holding me close and running his hand up and down my arm. He flicks his damp black hair back, watching me with interest as I float toward my lovely, glorious bed. “Ye’re really in over yer head for ol’ Ro-ro, aren’t you? Ye think he’s pure dead brilliant.”

With an embarrassed groan, I settle on the edge of the four-poster bed. Finlay’s words ring around my head.Pure dead brilliant. It must be so obvious on my face how stupidly lovesick I am.

Finlay follows me, gripping the wooden bedpost and swaying around it. He leans his head against the post and begins to sing softly, “O my Luve’s like a red, red rose that’s newly sprung in June.”

I narrow my eyes at him. My body feels so tired as I unfurl from my position draped over my knees.

“O my Luve’s like the melodie that’s sweetly play’d in tune.”

I shed my denim dress without much ceremony. It isn’t even strange to be naked in front of someone anymore. It feels right. “Whatareyou singing?”

Finlay grins widely at me, drinking in my body. “Word tae the wise: learn yer Burns.” He swings around the wooden post and crash-lands backward into bed beside me with an utter lack of grace. “But that’s you, is it no’? Yer love is a red, red rose.” He grabs my wrist, guiding me fully onto the mattress alongside him, and I hold back my giddy laughter. “I’ll say one thing, sassenach. Rory better fuckin’ cherish it. He better talk tae ye and sing tae ye and water ye daily and feed ye the highest quality plant food on the market.”

There’s something in his tone, so adamant and strong, that prickles my curiosity. I clasp my hands beneath my pillow, and whisper, “Are you jealous?”

Finlay tilts his head to the side. “How could I no’ be?”

I pause for a long while before daring to ask, “Of him or me?”

He turns his bright green gaze in my direction, those vivid emeralds wide open and pure. “Either. Both.” With a deep sigh, he leans back into the pillows, his knuckles brushing my side. Curious, I pick up his arm, turning it palm-up so that I’m able to observe the fine ghostly lines that score Finlay’s forearm like a half-finished grid. Before I’m able to ask him about it, he tugs his arm away from me as though burned, stuffing it quickly beneath his head.

“It’s whit Rory does,” Finlay continues breezily, as though emotional scars are easier to talk about than physical ones. “Collects people who love him, makes sure he’s surrounded by his own personal cheerleadin’ squad. Ye’ve recently made the team.”

“I amnothis cheerleader.”

“Sassenach, right noo ye’re two gold pom-poms away from bein’ head cheerleader.” He runs a hand through his dark tousled hair, plumping the pillows behind him. “But tae progress through the cheerleadin’ ranks, I believe I’m the one who’d have tae hand over those pom-poms tae you. Metaphorically, of course.”

“Of course,” I say, completely serious. My mouth twitches nevertheless. “I don’t understand you and Rory. You either worship him or you’re arguing with him. It’s a bond of two extremes.”

The room is silent for a long moment, and then Finlay murmurs, “Have ye even seen him? Properly looked at him? The man’s a god.”

There’s a sharp jab behind my navel.

The same words could have come from me.

“Sometimes,” Finlay continues quietly, “he reminds me o’ that fact lang enough tae get me tae shut up and fall in line.”

Together, we observe the crimson canopy overhead. Finlay’s words are soft confessions in the night, words I’m not sure he’s ever shared with anyone. And yet I’m smiling. There’s this strange, magical sensation around me that all is well in the world, that everything is in its rightful place and behaving the way it should. I nudge closer to Finlay, who places his arm beneath my neck and plants another gentle kiss to the side of my face.

“Ye did well tonight,” he murmurs into my ear, and I hold back a shiver. “We were so fuckin’ beautiful together.”

We’re naked, and I suppress a hysterical bubble of laughter at the idea. Finlay shoots me a curious look, but I reach down and clasp his right hand in mine. Being with him like this is liberating. I never thought anything could feel this good. But I’m so comfortable right now as I droop into the plush mattress and resist closing my heavy eyes.

I want to be awake forever if it means lying here with a chief.

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