Page 32 of Charlie

I breathe deep, the cool air helping to clear my mind. I have to admit that the idea of exploring a relationship with both of them is enticing. But that doesn't leave any room for Cam. He didn't sign up to share me with two strangers and I could never in a million years ask him. So that leaves me with three options: Cam, who wasn't even here; Lach and Jack, who are here and willing; or not being in a relationship at all. The third option was by far the easiest and the only option that guaranteed I wouldn't leave Scotland with a broken heart. I pick up a smooth rock and skip it over the water, watching as it bounces five, six, seven times. But the third option was also the most boring.

After walking for an hour, I finally decide that I'm not going to make any decision at all. If something is going to happen, I'll let it happen naturally.

The conversation plays over and over in my head as I make my way back to the cottage. Despite myself, I can't help but imagine what it would be like to be with both of them. After failing to distract myself with work, I give up and head into the bedroom, pulling my trusty vibrator from the nightstand. I shuck off my leggings and sprawl on the bed, running the smooth silicone through the moisture that has been building since I talked with Lach. I imagine myself in Jay's lap, Lach's head between my legs, his tongue doing unimaginable things. Oh God, Lach, I moan, the pressure already building.

"Are you praying to me, Carebear?" Lach's voice drifts through my open window.

"Fuck," I whimper, his voice sending me over the edge. I press the toy to my clit, clenching my jaw to keep in my scream as I splinter into a million pieces. As I come down, I expect mortification to settle in, but it doesn't. If anything, I'm more turned on than I was before.

"Charlie."

I walk to the window on shaky legs, the toy held out of sight. Lach is standing there, color high in his cheeks.

"Next time, let me help. You are my god. I want to worship you with my hands and praise you with my tongue until you beg me to stop without asking for anything in return. Do you understand?"

I nod, swallowing around the knot in my throat.

His gaze burns into mine. "I will get you off and leave if that's what you want, just let me take care of you." He nods as if we just agreed on something and then continues up the path.

I stand there, dazed. Nobody has ever said anything like that to me before.

19

Istruggle to regulate my breathing as terror races through my veins, my hands shaking as I grip the steering wheel. Isla's in the passenger seat, trying not to laugh. This is my second try driving to Stornoway. I gave up the first time and then waited until Isla had a day off work to try again. These sheer cliffs, slick roads, and single-lane highways will be the death of me, but I don't have a choice. I need to make up for lost time. I feel like this trip has been a failure so far, and I can't bear the thought of facing Arty with nothing to show.

The records office is located in the back room of the local library, which suits me fine. I use Jack's tip to find the error in my research and can work off that to add more generations to the tree. Once I have that part finished, I can start on the real work: the calligraphy and paintings. My favorite part, though admittedly, it's way more complicated than the research.

Isla gossips about people I don't know the entire time I do my research. Every time I look at her, she's in a different position: straddling the chair, sitting on the back of it with her feet on the seat, lying on the floor with her legs propped up on the wall. Normally this would be infuriating, but with Isla, I can’t help but find it endearing.

After her hundredth position change, I ask her if she wants to grab lunch.

"Really?"

I laugh at her expression. She looks so relieved I'm afraid she might cry. "Really. Let's go."

We only have to walk several doors down to find a cute little cafe that seems promising.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Isla blows on a steaming spoonful of stew.

"Sure?" I rip off a chunk of bread and dip it into the thick sauce.

"I have to run to Glasgow for a few days; will you take care of Sorcha for me?"

"Who's Sorcha?"

"My pony," she laughs.

I raise an eyebrow at her.

"God, sometimes I forget we haven't known each other for very long. I've had Sorcha since I was a little girl. I couldn't bear the thought of getting rid of her, so I've kept her all these years."

"That's sweet," I say. Imagining Isla as a tiny sassy brat makes me smile. "What exactly do you need me to do?"

"Just brush her and let her out to pasture in the morning, then feed her grain and hay in her stall in the evenings. It'll take ten or fifteen minutes tops."

"It’s been a while since I’ve had to take care of a horse, but I’m sure I can manage that. Where do you keep her?"

"There's a stable over at Jay's."

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