Oh god. I’m a rambling fool.
He stares at me for a long moment, which only makes me wince. Finally he says, “I invited you to come to Scotland with me. I bought you a plane ticket just on the hope that you would come. Kayla…you’re my girl. You’re my beautiful world. And I’m whatever you want me to be, just as long as you know that I have never, ever, felt this way about someone in my entire life.” He lowers his face, eyes focused intently on my lips. “I’m losing myself in you. Every day. And it’s the most wonderful, terrifying feeling in the world. If I’m being honest here, you’re starting to drive me a bit mad in my affections for you. I don’t know if I will ever be of right mind again.”
Jesus. My heart is near combustion. His words are like sunshine, banishing everything scary and dark. It’s everything I want to hear.
I clear my throat, trying to act cool. “So, am I your girlfriend or what?”
He grins at me. “You’re my girlfriend. My girl. My woman. And I’m all yours.”
“My man,” I say, kissing the stubble on his cheek. “My beast.” I pause. “My sex slave.”
“Bloody right I am,” he says before kissing me so deeply that it steals my breath away.
Satisfied that I look okay, at least to him, I snatch up my purse and we head on out for the night. Lachlan calls a taxi, and it’s only about ten minutes before we’re on Grassmarket, heading for the pub. This one in particular is underground, though it’s done up with lots of teak wood and orange and green plaid seatbacks.
Lachlan nods at a table near the middle of the room where his teammates are sitting. I recognize them both from earlier, even though I was watching from far away.
“Hello, hello,” says one with a crooked nose and a mop of reddish brown hair. The other one, olive-skinned and darkly handsome, just nods with a shy smile.
“John,” Lachlan says to the ginger, then nods at the other one. “Thierry.” He pronounces his name like “tea-erry,” which sounds terribly French to me. “This is Kayla.”
“Ah,” Thierry says, and low and behold, he was a terribly French accent. “Nice to finally meet you. You must be the reason Lachlan’s been fumbling at practice.”
Lachlan gives him the stink-eye which would make any another man shrink in his seat, but Thierry only gives us a slow smile, pleased with himself.
“Oy,” John says, elbowing Thierry in the side. “You better watch your mouth, mate, or I’ll tell Lachlan all about your latest escapades over the summer.”
“Latest escapades?” Lachlan repeats, clearly interested. He sits down across from them and motions for me to do the same. “What did I miss?”
Thierry rolls his eyes but says nothing. He folds his arms across his wide chest and looks away.
“You see here,” John says, leaning forward with a goofy grin. “And I only found this out a few minutes ago, so you can’t blame it for being fresh in my mind, but it turns out Thierry met a girl back in Paris over the summer. She broke his bloody heart, though if we know our Thierry well, he probably broke hers. Always playing the victim, eh, Thierry? On the pitch and off.”
Lachlan is grinning at this and gives me a conspiratorial glance. “Thierry is what we call a manwhore, so even the idea that someone could have broken his heart is nearly joyous news.”
I look at Thierry and can immediately see why he’d be breaking hearts. He’s not as tall or as built as Lachlan, and he only has a few tattoos on one bicep, but with his warm dark eyes, honey skin, smooth lips, and thick black hair, he’s pretty arresting. If I wasn’t attached to the most gorgeous, giving man on the planet, I could see myself throwing some flirts his way. He definitely looks like he’s built for speed and agility.
“So,” Lachlan says to him with a nod. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Thierry gives him a dry look. “Right. To you, of all people.”