“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 on 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?”