Page 96 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

For what feels like hours, we kiss in the overstuffed armchair as the city burns.

* * *

In the morning, Finlay breaks three dishes. He burns the toast, sets off the fire alarm, and is unable to meet my gaze without his face cracking into a sloped, devil-may-care grin. It’s not what I expect from someone who usually plays it so cool.

Rory shoots him an inquisitive frown, like he’s wondering what the hell Finlay’s playing at. “You mind not smashing up my dead mother’s crockery, Fin?”

Tension radiates between the three of us, and from the flirty glances Finlay and I keep giving each other, I know Rory’s feeling left out. But I can’t help it. Last night had been special. I’ve never seen Finlay lower his guard so substantially. I’ve never burned so hot and bright before without Rory by my side.

Rory examines us both in silence, his brow furrowing like he knows, like he can tell something’s happened, but that he needs more proof before he goes on the rampage. I endeavor to ignore them both, spreading marmalade so hard across my burnt toast that I’m surprised holes don’t appear.

My heart shudders with the memory of Finlay’s mouth on mine.

God, I want them both. I want them both so badly.

“I’m gonnae take some photos,” Finlay says in an attempt to sound casual. I get the impression he would have succeeded had he been saying this to anyone but Rory. “Check oot the destruction from last night. See how bad it got.”

Rory makes a neutralMmmnoise before stalking out of the kitchen. Finlay glances up at me, and both of us listen to Rory’s departing footsteps tensely.

“I want to tell him,” I whisper, glancing over my shoulder in case Rory’s suddenly behind me. I reach out and take Finlay’s hand in mine. “He deserves to know.”

For a long time, Finlay says nothing, though he doesn’t look delighted by the idea. “And if he says no?” he murmurs, “Then we’ll never be able tae dae this.” He squeezes my hand, stroking my knuckles with a gentle thumb. “I’ll never be able tae kiss ye again. We’ll never be able tae touch. It’d be the end o’ everything, sassenach.” He gives me a dark, humorless smile. “Because when it comes doon tae it, I know ye’d pick him over me. I dinnae even have tae ask.”

He’s not wrong. Rory still rules my heart. He possessed it long ago, conquering it with attacking words and heartless deeds and cruel, cruel smiles.

“My legs are still sore,” Finlay says, smiling impishly. “I didnae dae much last night. I was kinda useless.”

I take a bite of my toast and smirk at him. “You held me up.”

“Aye…” Finlay runs a hand through his hair, pondering this statement as though it means more than I’d intended. “That’s whit Rory wants. He wants tae make ye intae a leader, he wants someone tae hold ye up. After last night… I think it’ll be easier than I realized.”

I frown at this change in topic. I still don’t understand why Rory’s hell-bent on turning me into something I’m not. I’m not a loud person. I’m not a foghorn activist. I’m just myself.

“He sees somethin’ in ye, and I dae, tae,” Finlay says, piercing me with those bright green eyes, as though I’d voiced my thoughts aloud. “Ye’re oor conscience. We’re just arseholes who get it wrang half the time. But you understand things better, have mair… I dunno… empathy? Ye see things the way we would never.”

“The gift of female socialization,” I mutter to myself, peeling apart the crust from my toast.

“Well, whitever it is, ye’re a great asset for the chiefs.” He beams a winning smile at me, which I hesitantly return.

“I still don’t get it. A leader for what? And why? What good ever comes from leaders? They’re a waste of space.”

Finlay stares at me with the kind of horror usually reserved for breaking news of the most brutal murders. “Ye think leaders are a waste o’ space?” I almost expect a dramatic gasp following this question. “A movement needs a leader, sassenach. People need someone tae rally behind, a figurehead, a good person who champions their ideals. Otherwise, how dae we get things done, ideas organized, without leaders tae promote them and apply pressure?” He shakes his head adamantly, dark hair flying across his forehead. “Leaders arenae a waste. No’ at all. But perhaps someone who believes them tae be so would make for a far better leader than someone who chases the position a’ their life.”

I bite my lip, unsure about this.

“That’s whit Rory sees in ye. That’s whatIsee in ye. We’ve been so used tae hangin’ around sociopathic rich kids that you’re a revelation. And that’s why, after some trainin’, I think you should lead the chiefs.”

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