The Calum

by Xio Axelrod

  Crossing the quiet street, she leaned against the railing that overlooked the river. The water twinkled like the night sky, reflecting the lights strung in the trees along the bank. Despite the chill, there were plenty of people out strolling. An elderly man and woman made their way along the walkway, hand-in-arm and speaking in hushed tones. Probably an old married couple that had taken that same walk every day for fifty years.

  How romantic.

  Another, younger couple walked toward her, crossing the bridge that spanned the river. The woman struggled with a baby on her hip and another in a stroller. The man was on the phone, completely oblivious. Typical.

  The guy didn’t have a clue until, suddenly, he did. He turned and took the baby from her arms, balancing his phone on his ear, and kissed her cheek. He must have mumbled a ‘sorry’ because the woman smiled and shook her head.

  Jesus. Everywhere she looked, people were in love. Her best friend was inside with, possibly, the man of her dreams, and where was she? Out in the cold. And whose fault is that?

  A lone figure walked toward her across the bridge.

  Black leather jacket, scarf wrapped around his neck up to his ears, threadbare jeans, and motorcycle boots. His hair, an unruly shock of black waves, was being mercilessly tortured by breeze blowing across the river. He was tall and lean. Not as tall as The Calum, but well over six feet. Head down, and hands in pockets, everything about him said ‘fuck off.'

  To her it said come and get it.

  He was too brooding for such an idyllic place. Like a Hell’s Angel at a Bar Mitzvah. Maybe the bad-ass persona was a cover for his shy nature. Maybe he was a beat poet. Were there still beat poets?

  Or maybe he was an anti-hero that tried hard to keep to himself, but kept getting sucked into situations where he had to save the day. Moving from town to town, leaving broken hearts in his wake. He wasn’t one to settle down. Oh no! But deep down, he was lonely and waiting for the right woman to love him.

  Lovie rolled her eyes. I’m starting to think like Jo.

  Whatever the case, she wanted to unravel his secrets. But she was never one to approach strangers. That was Jo’s gig. She pretended not to see him as he walked by her, even though the pull to solve the mystery was strong. After he had passed, she turned to get a look at the view from behind. In those jeans, it was well worth a look, especially since his fine ass was heading right into MacKinnon’s. Sweet cheeks stopped and turned as he opened the door.

  Wait, was he checking her out?

  She whipped her head back around to face the river, grinning like a mad woman. The sounds from the pub faded, and she dared a look over her shoulder. He’d gone inside.

  Seems a little more observation was in order. At a discreet distance of course.

  The Gang's All Here

  The scene at MacKinnon’s was the same as always. Gaz was on duty, pulling pints and keeping an eye on the patrons. Old Mr. Fitzgibbons perched at the end of the bar awaiting his evening tea of fish-n-chips, stovies, or spag bol. Liam, Roger, Burns, and the lads all sat around, laughing and toasting to nothing in particular.

  It was like stepping back in time.

  At the center, as always, was Hamish, bent over in conversation with a pretty blonde that Duff had never seen. Not that he knew every pretty girl in Inverness. Not anymore, anyway. He assumed she was Sofia, Hamish’s bride-to-be.

  A few heads turned his way, surprised looks on their faces. More than one dirty look, but he’d expected those.

  “Duffy! Get yer arse over here an’ have a pint on me.” Roger thumped Duff hard on the back as they hugged. “How are ye, ye wee teuchter?” Just how many rounds had he missed? Roger was usually the quiet one.

  “Good to see you, Rog.” Duff clapped him on the shoulder. “Burns, Liam.” He was greeted by turned backs and a loud belch. Well, fuck ‘em. He was here for his best mate. “Hamish.”

  The redhead turned as if startled. “Duffy!” He jumped up and pulled him into a fierce bear hug, nearly as big as a polar himself.

  “I hate that name.” Duff rubbed his sore ribs and laughed, more to draw much-needed air into his lungs than anything else. “How are ya?”

  “Och, fine as ever. Awright ya wee baw bag?”

  Duff nodded, smiling. “Yeah, I’m good.”

  Hamish glanced down at the blonde and back. His eyes narrowed and he nodded away from the group. “Talk to ye a wee second?”

  “Ah...sure.” Duff followed him. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to yer fiancé?”

  “That’s the thing.” Hamish rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s not her. Sofia’s off with her family down in Spain.” Duff glanced back at curvy blonde at the table. Come to think of it, she didn’t match Sofia’s description. He thought maybe she’d dyed her hair.

  “Okay, so who is that?”

  “Well,” Hamish grinned. “Ye see, it’s like this.”

  Shit. Duff knew that expression. Hamish was looking for a bit of play. And here he thought that he’d finally settled down. “Are ye daft, man? Yer gettin’ married in a fortnight!”

  “Keep yer voice down, will ye?” Hamish pulled Duff further away from the girl.

  Over his shoulder, another young woman entered the bar. Tall, leggy, curves in all the right places, she was a stunner. It took a moment for his brain to play catch up and realize that it was the girl from outside, the one he’d caught checking out his arse.

  “Are ye even listenin’ to me?”

  “What?” Right. Hamish.

  “It’s just one last go, yeah? Afore I’m marched to the guillotine.”

  Duff rolled his eyes. So much for being an adult. “You make it sound as if yer life’s over.”

  “Aye, it is!” Hamish exclaimed in hushed tones. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my bonnie Sofia. Truly I do, but...” He nodded toward the buxom blonde. She was prime, for sure. Hamish bit his knuckle made a sound that Duff never wanted to hear again. “Jes’ look at that!”

  Christ. “Pull yerself together, man.”

  “But she’s braw, aye?”

  She was, but Duff had bad luck with blondes. One blonde, really. “Aye, that she is. If you like the type.”

  “What type, horny American tourist?” Hamish wiggled his eyebrows.

  “Fer chrissake, man. Tell me ye don’t mean to shag ‘er!”

  “No! No...just have a wee bit o’ fun.” He licked his lips, and Duff wanted to smack him one.

  “It’s not a fuckin’ game, mate.”

  Just because marriage wasn’t on Duff’s list of things-to-do didn’t mean that he took the institution lightly. If you were going to make a commitment like that, you’d better be prepared to stick to it. Clearly, Hamish wasn’t off to a good start.

  The redhead adopted a conciliatory tone. “Look, she’ll be gone in a week or so. I’ll send her on ‘er merry way with some nice memories.”

  “You’ll break her heart, s’what ye’ll do. And Sofia’s.”

  “Nah.” Hamish waved him off. “Nothin’ so serious. She jes’ wants some holiday companionship.”

  “You better hope it’s that, seeing as ye’ll be saying ‘I do’ before too long.”

  “Like I said. A bit ‘o fun, so...mum’s the word.” Hamish still eyed the blonde like a juicy steak. Duff took a deep breath and nodded. It wasn’t like he could talk him out of it, and he surely didn’t need the drama. Maybe he’d let it slip about the wedding during conversation. Casually. Save the poor girl a little humiliation.

  As they made their way back to the group, he stopped in his tracks. The other new girl had joined them. If the blonde was beautiful, this one was crazy gorgeous.

  Creamy skin with a generous splash of coffee, cheeks dotted with tiny, star-like freckles, and deep red spirals that wrapped her shoulders, almost begging to be wrapped around his fist as she moaned underneath him. Her mouth was a sin all by itself and her eyes… fuck.

  Duff’s mouth went dry.

  She was friends with the horny Ame
rican. Better to steer clear of both of these women and opt for the bar. At least there he could quench one of his thirsts without worrying about the consequences.

  ****

  Lovie watched the dark stranger with interest. Clearly he was friends with The Calum, or Hamish as he’d been introduced. Yet, he’d settled himself well away from their group and was ensconced in conversation with the bartender. He hadn’t even bothered to come over and say hello.

  The pub filled up as the evening wore on. A few of the guys were joined by their significant others, and the singles clumped together like bidders at an auction. Apparently meat markets were universal.

  Everywhere she looked, couples were pairing off, chitchatting away. Jo and Hamish acted like old friends, soon to be lovers, and the rest of his group seemed content to let them be. Lovie was used to being on the fringe, but this shit was for the birds.

  Forget being the third wheel, she was the ninth passenger in an eight passenger van.

  After two hours, she’d had enough. There was only so much Cookie Crunch that her phone battery could take.

  “Hey Jo, don’t you think we should head back? It’s getting late.”

  “Huh?” Jo turned her head, her eyes glazed over with alcohol and lust. “Oh. No, I’m good. I’ll stay for a while longer, but you don’t have to wait for me.” She spoke to Lovie, but her eyes were for Hamish. Your place or mine, they said. The corner of his mouth quirked up in recognition.

  “Dinna fash yerself, Hamish Mackay always sees a lady home.” He bowed his head.

  ‘The lady’ blushed.

  Hamish smiled and ran a hand through his thick, red hair, making sure his arm came to rest on Jo’s thigh.

  Corny, but smooth.

  Dismissed, Lovie grabbed her coat and walked out. She got about half a block away and stopped.

  “Dammit!” She couldn’t leave Jo behind with some strange guy, no matter how much of a Calum he was.

  She knew this would happen. She just didn’t expect it to happen on their first friggin’ day in Scotland. It was going to be a long and lonely trip.

  Rather than head right back inside, she crossed the street and walked down to the river’s edge. Pitch black, it lapped at its banks in near-silence. Colored spotlights lit the bordering trees, casting ghostly reflections in purple and green. Fairy lights draped around the naked branches twinkled on the surface like stars.

  Lovie yawned as the jet lag kicked in hard. Even her bones were tired, but she had no choice but to go back inside and wait. Bodyguard indeed.

  “No beaches here.” She sighed. “I should have just gone to Punta Cana alone. Stupid romance novels.” She kicked the dirt at her feet. Jo would have been fine on her own. Maybe. “Stupid roommate and her stupid plan.”

  Despite the cold, anger made her blood run hot and steady. She looked around for the nearest thing to throw. Spotting a baseball-sized rock at her feet, she grabbed it and hurled it as far as it would go.

  Turns out, that was about five feet and backward. The stone landed squarely in the chest of a tall, shadowy figure.

  “What the-?”

  “Oh shit!”

  “What the hell are ye doin’, woman?” The figure bent down to pick up the offending object. Lovie pushed the hair out of her eyes and got a glimpse of long, thick fingers and a mop of black waves before he stood up and stepped into the pool of light. It was Hamish’s friend, the dark, aloof stranger. He had startling, aquamarine eyes and a scowl on his full lips. A scowl that was now aimed directly at her.

  “So sorry, it slipped.”

  “Slipped?”

  “I mean, I meant for it to go in the river.”

  Wow.

  He was…wow. At least Six-foot-three, with a powerful frame, and his eyes… The only word that came to mind was unearthly.

  “Dinna fash yerself.” The frown morphed into a smirk, revealing a dimple on his left cheek. He held out the rock as if offering a ripe piece of fruit. “I believe this belongs to you?”

  “Sorry about that, um...”

  “Friends call me Duff.”

  “Duff. I’m Lovie. Are you hurt?”

  “No damage done. Lovie, is it?” The smirk turned up into a full-blown, Hollywood smile. Damn. Must have been something in the Highland air. These Scottish boys were dangerous. She took the rock from him, careful not to linger.

  “Do ye always chuck stones about in the middle of the night, Lovie?”

  He really knew how to say her name. “No, I was just...getting out some frustration.”

  “Would that be of a sexual nature, then?”

  Is it that obvious? Lovie hugged her coat tighter. “No! What--why would you even say something like that?”

  He laughed, holding up a hand in apology. “Sorry, it’s...I saw the way you were looking at me min.”

  Her eyes dropped to his crotch before she stepped back, suddenly aware of how alone they were. “Your what?”

  “Ah, my friend,” he said, grinning as if he could read her mind. “Hamish.”

  “Ugh.” As if. That guy talked about himself in the third person. All evening, Lovie had kept trying to catch Jo’s eye to see if she found him as boorish as she did. Apparently not.

  “Sorry.” Duff laughed. “My mistake.”

  “I wasn’t looking at Hamish.” She suppressed a shiver. “I was looking at my friend Jo.”

  “Is Joe your man?”

  Was that a frown?

  “No, Jo as in Joana. As in my best friend.” She put ‘best friend’ in air quotes, not feeling it at that moment. “As in the person that dragged me three thousand miles away from home, during the holidays, to...uh.”

  “To what?”

  Oops. Get back in the bag, cat.

  “Never mind. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Seems it is, if yer throwing rocks at unsuspecting passersby.” He sure was milking that.

  “I told you I wasn’t aiming at you.”

  “For one not aiming, you sure hit the mark.” He rubbed his chest somewhat suggestively, the smirk making a return appearance. She could see why he was friends with the dolt inside. They were probably peas in a pod. Granted it was a very sexy pod, but best to ignore that. Lipstick on a pig and all.

  “Well, you’re the one sneaking around in the dark.”

  “Wouldn’t call it sneaking. I jes’ stepped out for a breather. I sure wasn’t expecting to have lethal projectiles hurled at me.” He winked one twinkling eye, and she bit her cheek to keep from smiling.

  “Hardly lethal.”

  “I think you had deadly intent, missus.” He ducked his head, suddenly adorable. An adorable bad-ass. So not fair. She gave up fighting the smile, but turned away. He had this sexy voodoo thing going on. Maybe Jo was under some Highland spell. Not this girl, no way.

  “Look, I already apologized, what more do you want?” Lovie sighed and chucked the offending rock into the water.

  Duff moved in front of her and bent to eye-level. Even at five-foot-seven, she barely reached his shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  ”I’m fine.”

  “Sure, I can see that.” He snorted. “Violent Americans.” He was close now. Close enough for his heat to dull the chill of the night air. To keep from leaning into him, Lovie folded her arms around her body.

  Duff’s voice softened. “Sometimes it helps, y’ken? Just talking and having someone listen.”

  A little bit of her ice melted. His gaze was comforting and full of promise. Like laying on your back in a spring meadow and staring up at a cloudless sky. Lovie exhaled long and slow while she tried to reign in her reaction. She concentrated on what she knew about him so far.

  ● Gorgeous eyes.

  ● Kissable mouth.

  ● She wanted to shrink herself down like Alice and run through the wonderland of his hair, it was so thick and wavy.

  ● He was friends with the shady redhead, so points lost there. But he didn’t hang out with him in the bar, so call it even.

&n
bsp; ● He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Of course, she’d checked.

  ● He seemed genuinely concerned and watched her as if he were trying to figure her out as well.

  But Duff. What kind of name was that? And his accent. She was no expert, but it was all over the place.

  “Were you born here? In Scotland, I mean?”

  The question caught him off-guard. He straightened up. “Aye.” He nodded over his shoulder. “In hospital across the river on Old Perth Road, though I didna always live here.”

  “I thought not. Your accent isn’t as, um, pronounced as your friend’s.” Lovie could actually understand him without too much concentration. Duff chuckled, scratching his nose.

  “Hamish? We’ve known each other since we were wee bairns.”

  “So, you’re more like brothers then?”

  “Aye, the kind yer wantin’ to kill every half-second.” He pulled his collar up to his ears. “It’s cold out, yeah? Come back inside and get warm.”

  She was already getting warm, but Lovie let him lead her back inside the pub. Once inside, they found a small table, away from the loudest patrons.

  “Fancy a drink?” Duff shucked his jacket, revealing a long, lean physique.

  “They have anything non-alcoholic at this hour?”

  “Tea awright?” He rubbed his hands together. He had beautiful hands.

  “Tea would be awesome, thanks.” She watched him walk to the bar, because nice ass. He returned quickly with a mug of tea and a pint of ale with a shot of whiskey on the side, for himself.

  Across the room, Hamish held court. Half of the women around him took up the rhythm of some ancient dance, pushing their boobs and asses in his direction. He eyed each bit of flesh like a wolf surveying a herd of hapless sheep.

  Lovie had never seen anything like it. “Is he for real?”

  Duff glanced over. He shook his head and knocked back the whiskey. “Define real.”

  ****

  Duff had meant to be heading home, but when he saw the sexy redhead by the river, his libido had other ideas. She intrigued him, to say the least. It was pretty clear that she didn’t want to be there. She’d watched her friend and Hamish with what Duff thought was jealousy. He was happy to be wrong. All the girls loved Hamish, but Duff wasn’t about to complain about having Lovie to himself.