by Karina Halle
“Yes!” I exclaim, slamming my palms on the table. Ava and Nicola both jump. “What is his deal? Can you find out for me?”
Nicola’s face scrunches up. “I told you, the guy barely talks to me.”
“Yes, but Bram would know.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Bram says he barely talks to him either, and when he does, you can be sure it’s nothing personal.”
“I need to talk to Bram,” I say, nodding to myself.
“Well, come to the Lion tonight,” she says. “I’m working a short shift so Bram is meeting me there. I’m sure he’d like to read the article, too.” She looks at her phone to check the time. “Speaking of, I better drop Ava off at my mom’s and get ready.”
I hug the both of them goodbye, then order decaf. I don’t need the caffeine because I already feel like I’m flying. This article really has me all jazzed about life, which is kind of a weird thing in itself. And it’s scary. Because what if this doesn’t work out the way I want it to? What if Joe just takes the article, prints it, and that’s it? I go back to my regular job, being bored out of my mind. What if I work forever in advertising, doing the same old shit every single day? I don’t know if I can do it, now that I know something better is out there, something that makes me feel…alive. It would kind of be akin to living your life in darkness and someone giving you the sun. Okay, scratch that—that’s way too schmaltzy and dramatic. But still…it would suck balls. And not the good kind.
Naturally my thoughts drift to Lachlan after that. I really need to get that man out of my head, but every time I picture his face, that body, that gravelly voice that holds a million secrets, I get this rush inside me, like birds being let loose from a cage. That, combined with the article, and I feel like I’m starting to go a bit insane. Perhaps I just need to put my head down and conjure up that black shriveled heart of mine that doesn’t get too excited about anything.
But curiosity killed the Kayla, and later that evening I find myself at the Lion.
The moment I walk in, I’m accosted by drunken hollers and James’s angry music—Faith No More, again. It’s Saturday night and everyone in the city seems to be pre-drinking here before they hit the clubs. I quickly scan the bar, looking for Bram, but I keep making eye contact with a few guys that I know I shouldn’t. I have to admit, it would be nice to just find a cute one and have a random hookup. Maybe it’s the lack of sex that’s turning me into a crazy person. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what it is. So much sexual frustration and no place for it to go.
But to be honest, even though getting laid would help in the short term, it wouldn’t do shit in the long term. I’d just feel empty afterward, because when it comes down to it, a random hookup with a random guy isn’t what I want at all. I know exactly what I want, and I can’t have it.
I spot Nicola at the bar, slinging drinks. She’s slammed, but as I come over, she catches my eye and gestures to the booths by the washroom. There’s a hint of warning in her eyes, which makes me pause, but she’s in no position to explain. People are practically throwing money at her. James, at the other end of the bar, gives me a nod but he’s equally busy.
I make my way through the crowd to the other side of the bar and finally see Bram sitting in the booth, nursing a few fingers of Scotch.
Sitting across from him is Lachlan, his big hand curled around what looks like a glass of water.
I hate to use the term clench, but that’s exactly what my body does when I see him. I clench, my thighs squeezing together, as if I can already imagine his cock inside me.
Damnit, I need help.
For a moment I stand there, wondering if maybe I should just turn around and leave. I’m only here because I want to talk to Bram about Lachlan, not actually see Lachlan, and the fact that he’s here makes me both turned on and absolutely terrified.
But then Lachlan looks up beneath his baseball cap and sees me. He doesn’t smile. That would be asking too much. But he stops frowning for a moment as he eyes me up and down, so I’ll take what I can get.
I swallow the lump in my throat, throw my shoulders back, and walk over to them, my eyes going from Lachlan to Bram and back to Lachlan again.
“Hey,” I say to them, standing at the end of the table.
“There’s the woman of the hour,” Bram says, but to my surprise it’s Lachlan who moves over in the booth to make room for me.
I give Lachlan a grateful smile and sit down next to him. Tonight I’m wearing a black fringe skirt with bare legs and when he glances down at them briefly, his own thighs so close to mine, I hope he likes what he sees.
If he does, though, he doesn’t give any indication. He doesn’t say anything at all, just takes a sip of his water. I watch his throat as he swallows until I can tell that Bram is staring at me.
I tear my eyes away to glare at Bram, but he’s already shaking his head like I’m being ridiculous. I ignore him and pull the article out of my purse, unfolding it and holding it out.
“Did you guys want to read the article?” I ask, and Bram immediately snatches it from my hands.
I glance at Lachlan. “It’s all about you. You really should read it first.”
He gives me a fleeting smile and scratches at his beard. “I’ll read it when it goes to print. Seems more special that way.”
Bram looks over the paper at Lachlan for a second, frowns, then goes back to reading. I drum my fingers anxiously along the edge of the table, waiting for his final verdict.
“Well, well, well,” Bram finally says. He hands it back to me and gives me a charming grin. “I’m impressed.”
“Really?”
“Aye. Reads like the real thing. Thank you,” he adds emphatically. “I think that this could really help.”
“I fucking hope so,” I tell him. “I wrote the shit out of this thing.”
“That you did. And you made Mr. Rugby here sound like an angel.” Bram picks up his drink and raises it to Lachlan in a mock toast.
Lachlan grunts in return before excusing himself. I quickly hop out of the booth, and as he gets out, his arm brushes against mine. I nearly burst from the sensation, that quick whisper of hot skin that sends my whole body ablaze.
He saunters off toward the bathroom and I watch that ass in those jeans for as long as I can. It’s becoming a bit of a habit. The best habit.
“Look at you,” Bram says teasingly.
I whirl around and glare at him. “Look at me what?”
“You,” he says, then nods toward the washroom. “Him. You are such the smitten kitten.”
“Smitten kitten?” I repeat, sitting back down. “You’ve been hanging around Nicola too long.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so hung up on someone before,” he adds.
“What?” I exclaim. “That’s ridiculous! I’m always hung up on someone.”
He presses his lips together, shaking his head. “Nope. Not like this. I know your looks. You’re practically drooling.”
“Bullshit,” I say, leaning across the table and looking him in the eye. “You may think you know me, Bram, but you don’t. So I think your cousin is hot, so what?”
“Just hot?” he says. He swirls his scotch around his glass and grins down at it. “All right. Too bad the smitten kitten is climbing up the wrong tree.”
My face twists in confusion. “Huh? Why are we still talking about cats?”
He shrugs. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. As if you couldn’t figure it out already. He’s not so easily…swayed.”
I roll my eyes. “Believe me, I’ve figured that out.”
And yet when Lachlan returns and asks if I want something to drink, my heart starts dancing to a hopeful beat.
“Hmmm,” Bram muses, watching him go.
“Let me guess, he never normally buys girls drinks,” I say.
“Not that I’ve seen,” he says. “Then again, he doesn’t drink much anyway.”
I want to press Bram mor
e about that, find out why. With his bruiser personality, Lachlan doesn’t seem like the straight-edge type. But if it’s something personal, I know Bram will shut me down.
Soon Lachlan comes back with another glass of water for himself and a Bellini for me. He slides it along the table to me and says, “This is thanks. For the article.”
Oh. So he wasn’t buying me a drink because he finally realized I was hot stuff. Damn.
“Did James make you pay for that?” Bram asks.
He nods. “I guess the courtesy doesn’t extend to family. I don’t think the guy likes me much.”
“James doesn’t like any guy who’s bigger than him,” Bram points out.
“Except for Linden,” I say. “But that’s a twisted bromance right there.” I give Lachlan a grateful smile and move down so he can sit next to me again. “Well, thank you for the drink. You’re the one who was gracious with his time and my fumbling questions.”
He nods, pulling down the brim of his cap slightly, fidgeting. After a few beats he says, “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you what kind of exercise you do.”
I tilt my head at him and he quickly continues, “You played really well on that field. I mean, you were tireless.”
“Oh,” I say, and exchange a look with Bram. “Thanks. I usually just go to the gym in the mornings but I take fencing lessons once a week.”
“Fencing?” he asks. “That’s….rare.”
I smile sweetly at him. “I’m a rare thing.” I don’t look at Bram, but I know he’s not looking too impressed at my flirting skills. I go on. “It helps me stay disciplined but lets me get my anger out at the same time.”
“You struggle with discipline?” he asks, and I can’t tell if he’s kidding or not.
“Isn’t that obvious?” I say, and find myself shifting closer to him.
He considers that, his eyes softening as he looks at me.
“Plus,” I add, “it gives me a booty. No flat ass for me.”
“Definitely not,” he says, and I can’t help but beam, my nerves tingling all over.
Bram clears his throat. Loudly. I narrow my eyes at him, annoyed that he’s interrupting whatever kind of banter Lachlan and I have going. Doesn’t he realize what a big deal this is? Bantering with Lachlan is like unlocking another level in the game. Plus he just complimented my damn ass.
But before we can get back to it, Linden comes into the Lion, strutting toward us with a big smile on his face.
“Hello, hello,” he says to us and plops down beside Bram.
“Oh great, the Scottish trifecta,” I say underneath my breath.
“You’ll be changing your tune in a minute, missy,” Linden says. “Because I’ve got some pretty fucking awesome news.”
The three of us stare at him expectantly. He licks his lips and smiles triumphantly. “One of my clients is a sponsor for the Outside Lands Festival. I guess he was feeling generous today because he gave me five VIP passes to the festival next weekend.”
“Nice perk,” Bram comments.
“Obviously I’m giving them to you,” Linden says.
“But there are six of us, including Steph and Nicola,” I say. “So we can’t all go.”
“It’s all right,” Lachlan says. “Count me out for the festival.”
I’m hit with disappointment. “Don’t be silly,” I tell him. “You’re the guest here, you’re definitely going. It’s a San Francisco institution. I’ll not go. I’m pretty sure Linden wasn’t inviting me anyway.”
And when I look at Linden and see the sheepish glint in his eyes, I know it’s the truth. When it comes to him making plans, sometimes he conveniently leaves me out of them until Steph gets angry. But I can’t say I don’t do the same either.
“Oh, for fucks sake,” Bram says. “I’ll buy my own damn VIP passes. There. Problem solved.”
Lachlan shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, mate. I’m not a fan of music festivals anyway.”
“You don’t like music?” I ask.
He frowns. “I love music. People, not so much.”
I can’t help but smile. “Maybe we are more alike than I thought.”
I swear there’s a ghost of a smile on his lips.
“Ah, but the people who attend Outside Lands are scantily clad girls who drink shitloads of wine and dance in their bikinis to music that isn’t even playing yet,” Linden says. “Easy place for you to pick up a few girls, wouldn’t you say?”
The fuck? I glare at Linden. I just know he’s suggesting this shit to piss me off.
“Nah,” Lachlan quickly dismisses him. “Not my crowd, not my scene.”
“Elton John is headlining on Sunday,” Bram adds, and I can tell he’s kicking Linden under the table because Linden is giving him the “what did I do?” look. “You can’t pass up a legend.”
Lachlan grunts in response. I think it means “we’ll see.”
The rest of the evening turns to talk about music festivals and bands. So many Scottish accents at once. Lachlan doesn’t provide much conversation and neither do I, we just sit there listening to Linden and Bram get in arguments over which band is better, Massive Attack or Portishead. In a way, it’s kind of nice. Their incessant yammering provides background noise and ensures that both of them are wrapped in their weird brotherly world. Which means Lachlan and I are in a world of our own.
Not that we even talk to each other, not that he’s even aware of being in this private world with me. It’s just nice to sit beside him and enjoy his presence, feel his heat, smell the warm amber of his skin. Being in the shadow of this beast is strangely comforting. He both kickstarts my heart and calms my nerves, and I can’t help but think that Bram is right. I do have it bad for him. Really, really bad. I am a smitten fucking kitten. And I’m starting to think it’s more than just in a physical way. I don’t know the guy at all—and it seems that nobody does—but I feel drawn to him, like our blood is made from magnets, pulling us together.
The sad part is, though, that all these crazy feelings are in my head. And that’s probably where they’re going to stay.
When the night gets on and Lachlan leaves to go home, I feel the loss. I don’t think I’ve ever felt sad over a guy, but all this Scot has to do is leave my vicinity and I miss him. Maybe I just miss staring at those lips, wondering what it would be like to take them between my teeth, what they would feel like against my mouth. Maybe I just miss taking in his tattoos, inventing stories for them in my head—the lion on his forearm is for his pride, the cross on his bicep is for the time he worked as a Trappist monk brewing strong beer in the Alps (I don’t know, it might be true). Maybe I miss fighting the urge to run my fingers over his beard, his nose, touching every faint scar on his face.
Or maybe I just miss the one-sided cat and mouse game that he doesn’t even know he’s playing. It’s the thrill of the chase, it’s how every small smile he gives me, every word he speaks, is a victory in itself. It’s challenging me constantly to try and win him over. And if there’s anything I’ve learned recently, it’s that I like to be challenged.
When I lie in bed later that night and stare out the window at the streetlights, I realize that, for the first time, my bed feels empty. Like it’s missing someone. And not someone who leaves in the middle of the night or the next morning. Someone who will stay.
The truth creeps in like an oil spill.
I, Kayla Moore, am a lonely, lonely girl.
***
When I walk into the office on Monday morning, there’s no denying I have a little extra swing in my step. Even though my piece won’t come out until Friday, I’m feeling good. Fantastic even. This is it. This is my new life. I’ve pushed aside all my woe is me crap from the weekend and am focused on the positive. Once that piece comes out, not only will it (hopefully) help Bram and Lachlan, but it will say to the world, “Hey fuckfaces! Hey, every person who’s doubted me! Look at me! Look what I’ve done with myself!”
But as I walk past Neil in the hallway o
n the way to lunch, he looks like the bringer of bad news.
“Kayla,” he says, pulling me to the side. “I need to talk to you.”
I’ve never seen him act serious before. “What?” I ask, wringing my hands together. “Everything okay?”
“Sort of,” he says. He examines his nails for a moment then looks up at me and sighs, looking completely apologetic. “There’s been a change to the article.”
I stand up straighter. “What change?”
“It’s still being printed, don’t worry,” he says quickly. “It’s just that, uh, well sweet cheeks, Joe won’t run it with your name. He’s putting down my name as the byline.”
“What?!” I exclaim, loud enough for people to stare.
“Sorry!” he says, whispering harshly. “I didn’t want it that way, but Joe says no one knows who you are. But the good news is that he’s running it. Yay.” He gives a tiny, desperate jump for joy. “Right?”
I can’t even speak to him. I push him away, whirl around, and march toward Joe’s office. I hear Neil yell behind me, “Don’t do it, it’s not worth it!” but fuck that noise. This is my article. My chance. It’s worth it.
Joe’s door is closed so I quickly rap on it, trying to take a deep breath, to control my rage which is totally out of control.
“What is it?” he asks brusquely from the other side.
I open the door and step in, shutting the door loudly behind me. He looks up in surprise then cocks his head and shakes it.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I say bitterly. “You know why I’m here.”
He looks back down at his papers. Always looking at fucking papers. Use a damn computer like the rest of us.
“I know you should talk to the damn editor with a little more respect,” he says gruffly. I’ve dealt with enough gruff from Lachlan this last week so it doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest.
“You’re not running my name with the article!” I tell him, hands waving all over the place. “I wrote it. That’s not fair. That’s like…that’s like…”
“It’s business,” he says with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The article is good, and you should be proud. And it might even get some attention, which is what you wanted for this goddamn charity nonsense. But it won’t help if it’s from someone who works in advertising. All the credibility is gone.”