One Month Later
Hamish
“Two pieces of great news,” Jody says through my AirPods. I’m in the middle of a run along the Charles River. Not the kind Amy does–mine's a two-mile warmup before ball training–but it's enough.
It's been a month since I left Amy on that trail. She's reached out to me via text.
Text.
We “talk” in sentences and emojis, but it's slow. Methodical. Simple. And we're not sexting–we're talking.
But we're not touching, which is killing me.
Work is an entirely different issue. No longer following me wherever I go, she's based here in Boston, living at home, working in the office in the city. As for me, I've been all over. A shoot in New York, back to L.A. for a week for an expo match, and now a few days with Uncle James, doing more commercials with him.
Next, another expo match. I've been in Boston for three days, but I leave for New Jersey tonight.
“Actually, three,” Jody corrects.
“Aye?”
“First: the deal with ExpertCourse. You read the details?”
A guy on a bike whizzes past me, cutting it very close.
“I did. It's inventive. Gives me broader exposure to Americans, establishes me as an expert. The money is crap, though.”
“Yes. But all the other reasons are solid, so it’s an investment. Amy did a fine job getting this deal together.”
“Amy?”
“Yeah. She's the one who secured it. Not the money part–no one had much control over that, but we got as much as we could. Turns out your uncle is indirectly connected to ExpertCourse's venture capital funding, and was able to help out.”
“She's a sweetheart fer doing that.”
“It’s her job. I think you think she's a sweetheart for other reasons.”
“Aye.”
“Still in limbo?”
“Are ye in manager mode, or friend mode now, Jody? I need to know whether ye’re fattening ma wallet or about to wound ma pride.”
He just sighs. “Friend.”
“Fine, then. Amy and I are texting.”
“Texting?”
“Yer tone of voice is exactly how I feel, Jody. It's table scraps, and I'm a hungry stray dog. What's the other great news? I need some.”
“Expo match is still on in New Jersey.”
“Was there ever any doubt?”
“Ticket sales are low, but they just crossed the threshold.”
“Damned Americans.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“They dinna appreciate football.”
“Enough of them do, so stop your whinging.”
“Nice to hear ye picking up Scottish. Now, what's the third piece of great news?”
“The big deal is moving forward.”
“The big deal? THE big deal? Eight figures and all?”
“Yes.”
“Holy shit!”
“Yes.”
“Because I kept ma todger in ma trousers?”
“Because you kept yourself out of scandals. Also, oddly enough, the ExpertCourse deal helped.”
“It did?”
“Don't quite understand it myself, but yes. Lends legitimacy to you? Not sure. I just know that when one company says yes, others follow. That, and Jace Canton's newest scandal.”
“What does Jace have to do with ma deal?”
“He was in line for it, too.”
“He was?”
“Sure. You were far and away their top choice, but they were considering four other players.”
“Of course I was. But Jace? Is that why he kept baiting me? Sent the girls to ma room at the hotel, confronted me in public, all that rubbish?”
“Amy thought so.”
“She did? She never told me.”
“In memos to Quintana, she outlined it.”
“Was this before, or after...”
“You were a jerk to her?”
“Which time was that, Jody? There were a few.”
“The big one. The one that made her leave L.A. She sent an email to me, then a report to Quintana explaining it all. Wondered if Maddie Farsill had been a plant.”
“Maddie? Why would she think ma team owner's stepdaughter was a plant? I slept wi' her of ma own free will, I assure ye.”
“Amy posited that Jace might have convinced Maddie to come on to you, knowing it would cause a scandal and hurt your chances for the big contract. After all, somebody released that tape.”
“Whoa.”
“Is that possible?”
“Possible? Anything is possible. I shagged Maddie because she's a pretty girl. Never thought much about why she slept wi’ me.” I frown. “I dinna want to talk about ma past sex life.”
“You were never shy about it before.”
“No’ shy now. I just dinna want to think about it.”
“You can't rewind time, Hamish.”
I'm close to my hotel now, the mirrored windows reflecting the water, the towering modern structure like shiny LEGO blocks but much larger in scale.
“Nah. I canna change the past. But I do know what I want ma future to look like.”
“Let me guess. Auburn curls, bright blue eyes, carrying a suitcase full of Striker vibrators.”
“Ye've a sick sense of humor, Jody. Go back to manager mode.”
“I was in manager mode.” He pauses. “One of those sex toy companies just upped their offer.”
“No, thank you.”
For the next ten minutes, as I jog back to the hotel gym to lift, Jody tells me business details, including what we've funded back home, then moving on to talk about tax structures.
If I weren't running, I'd be snoozing out of boredom at that last part.
When I reach the hotel lobby, I come to a screeching halt, literally. The rubber soles of my trainers let out a loud squeal of surprise on the polished marble.
There before me stands Amy, wearing an aqua sundress and a beaming smile.
She's in my arms before I can stop myself, laughing and squirming.
“You're hot and sweaty!”
“I went fer a run!” I grab my phone from my waistband and check. “Ye didna message me ahead of time!”
“I wasn't sure I would actually do this.”
“Do what?”
“Come here to say I'm ready.”
“What?”
“You told me that you'd be waiting for me, and to find you when I was ready–”
I cut her words off with a kiss, this one whole and sustaining, every piece of me flying high.
She came back.
She came back to me. She found the courage and crossed the bridge inside her, walked across to me.
Amy makes a little sound of pleasure, of release, a slight giving with her body that I take with my tongue, my mouth, my hands, and my heart.
“This wasn't how I thought my day would go,” she whispers. “But we still work together, though not for long.”
“What d'ye mean?”
“You're not creating scandals,” she says with a laugh. “And that deal with ExpertCourse, and how I've handled your todger, have made an impression.”
I open my mouth, shut it, and open it again, unsure how the hell to respond to that.
“I did a good job,” she says with a laugh, hitting my chest. “So I'm being reassigned. It's nothing personal.”
“Where?”
“Ever heard of Carlos Boraso?”
“Who hasna?”
Narrowing her eyes, she peers at me, hard. “Jody hasn't said anything to you?”
“About what?'
A sweet smile tightens her mouth. “Never mind. Let's just say you should expect to hear from him soon.”
“Yer working fer him now?”
“Something like that.”
“Then who'll watch ma willie?”
“I am happy to do that for free.”
“Really?”
“Aye,” she says, sounding like a pirate in the middle of eating shards of glass.
“Right now?”
“No, unfortunately. I have to go to the office. Left my laptop there.” She makes a face.
“Then yer forgetfulness is ma bounty. I'm wildly happy to see ye.”
She studies my face. “You know, Jody explained in detail all the programs you single-handedly support back home. Why didn't you ever tell me how involved you are? You're carrying the world on your shoulders.”
“Nah. Just a tenth of Glasgow.” It's my turn to go quiet. I don't like talking about what I do for others.
“It's a lot. You really care about people.”
“I really care about ye. Are ye here to stay?”
“For the short term or the long term?”
“Both.”
“No.”
“Which one is the no?”
A strange, sad smile comes over her, even as she's in my arms. “I found you. And I'm ready, but I still need a little space.”
“Yer a paradox.”
“That's how it seems to be for me. This is all new. Can this be enough?”
“A few kisses in a hotel lobby? Nae.”
“No?”
“It'll never be enough. I'll never have enough of ye, Amy.”
She steps up on tiptoes and gives me another kiss.
“Thank you.”
“Fer what?”
“For letting me make mistakes.”
“Na one lets ye make mistakes. Ye just do. We're all human. We all err and we all forgive. That's how it works.” I swallow hard, my heart slamming in my chest, and I hope my next words aren't a mistake. “I made a mistake that night. No’ just the obvious one. It took time to realize another reason I stopped.”
“Another reason?”
“Aye. I was scared.”
“Scared?”
“Ye’re a commitment, Amy. That's new to me. I didna want to hurt ye, but I also didna ken what to do with such a big catch.”
“Did you just say 'big catch'?”
I laugh, my words sounding stupid when they’re echoed back to me, but they're true. “Have ye ever gone fishing? Wi' yer da?”
“Of course.”
“And ye try and try to catch a fish, then when ye get one, ye realize it's more than ye can handle?”
She clears her throat, a sound of warning or encouragement, or maybe a bit of both.
“But ye canna let go. There's a moment, though, when ye freeze, stuck there, thinking ye have a choice. That's where I was that night, Amy. Stuck wi' a bigger catch than I thought I'd ever have in ma hands, and paralyzed.”
“You come on to me constantly, Hamish! Over-the-top flirting, the infamous three a.m. booty call, all the salacious comments, the whole shebang.”
“Aye. Never thought ye'd take the bait.”
“I don't think that's true.”
“I'm spillin’ ma heart out to ye, pet.”
“Oh, I think your feelings are true.” She splays her hand over my heart. “I just think you chased me for so long because you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“Knew that this–” she waves her hand in the air between us, “–that this...” Her words trail off and she dips her head down, laughing softly.
“What?”
“We're similar. More similar than I ever realized until now,” she says softly. “You were a relentless flirt with me, and I was a never-ending insult machine right back. It was how we–”
The rest of her sentence cuts off so fast, I'm certain she was about to say the words I'm thinking, too.
How we fell in love.
“Amy, I–”
“Wait.” She holds up a palm. “I need space to learn to forgive.”
“To forgive me?”
“I did that a long time ago.”
“Then what d'ye mean?”
“I need to learn to forgive myself.”
I hold her hands in mine, looking down into her eyes. “Amy?”
“Yes?”
“Will ye come up to ma room wit’ me and let me right a wrong?”
My meaning is clear. Passion flares in her eyes, a look that only strengthens as we breathe together.
With a squeeze of both my hands, she sighs and says, “Not yet. But thank you. Really.”
“No?”
“Some day soon, yes. But not today. I need more.”
“More what?”
“Not sure. Space? Time? Just... more.”
“I can give ye more.”
“What if I'm the one who has to give it to myself?”
“Then I'll be here to support ye. I want more, too.”
“More of me?”
“More of us.”
Bzzz
It's her phone.
“Mike, the admin at the office. Says the cleaning crew is doing the carpets tonight and I want to get my laptop before the place turns into a toxic fume storm.”
“Ye have verra elaborate rescue-text schemes.”
With a laugh, she gives me a great big hug, then turns away, resolute. She slips out into the sunlight as quickly as she appeared earlier, like an angel.
More, huh?
I can give her more.
Andrew's direct line is in my phone. I decide a call is best.
He picks up instantly.
“What do you need?” he barks into the phone.
“Well, fine day and hello to ye, too, cousin!”
“This is my personal number. You're calling because my dad did something horrible, or because you need something from me.”
“Aye. That Anterdec jet of yers. How many does it seat?”
“Twelve. Why?”
“I need ye to bring Amy's family to ma game in New Jersey next week. And ye, and Declan–the lot of 'em.”
“To watch you play?”
“Nah. To watch me do... more.”
Amy
The Coaches Club suite at the stadium in New Jersey is insane. It's 20,000 square feet of every amenity you can possibly imagine, except one: It's impossible to see the actual game, because the owners, sponsors, guests, and support staff block my view.
So I'm forced to watch everything on the giant television screens. Ah, irony.
No complaints, though. It's luxury beyond my dreams, and Maartensi pays for every penny. Part of my job.
And, I realize with a thrill I haven't allowed myself to indulge in, this would be part of life as the girlfriend of a famous footballer.
I don't know if all party suites at stadiums are like this one, but I do know I've come a long, long way from the high school football bleachers in Mendon, or the nosebleed seats at Gillette Stadium that Dad got for us twice when we were younger. I think some private boxes are on a higher level, with a view of the entire playing field. This one is adjacent to the locker rooms, so the view is more limited, but the glass doors open out on the center line. It even has a special private entrance.
A server comes by with shrimp puffs and bloody marys. I'm definitely in a different world.
“Look at this place,” says a woman behind me, her voice breathless.
And familiar.
Very, very familiar.
“There she is!” I hear Carol call out as I turn to find Mom, Dad, Carol, Jeffrey, Tyler, Declan, Shannon, Andrew, and Amanda, all here.
Here?
“What are you doing here?” I exclaim as hugs go around, everyone laughing with the glee of surprising me.
“We were just in the neighborhood,” Dad jokes.
“This was my doing,” Andrew boasts, earning a dark look from Declan.
“You mean it was Gina's doing,” he corrects.
“But what are you doing here? And where are Ellie and Charlie and Will?”
“At home with Pam and Mia,” Shannon explains, eyes sparkling. Declan's arm is around her waist as she takes a glass of white wine from a server’s tray. “Between the two of them, we're stealing a night away. We've never seen Hamish play in person, so this is a treat!”
“Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I can't hang out with you because I'm working, but I could have carved out some time.”
“It was spur of the moment,” Dad says quickly as Mom opens her mouth to say something. “And we thought it would be fun to surprise you.”
Carol looks around, grabs the first piece of food she can find from a tray passing by, and pops it on Mom's tongue.
“Mmmmmm,” Mom gasps. “Mut uz at?”
“A muzzlepuff,” Carol says, dry as a bone.
“The match already started,” I tell them. “We're ten minutes in. It's Dunsdill versus Atachee. No one's scored yet.”
“How many quarters in a game?” Mom asks, swallowing whatever Carol gave her.
“Halves. Match. Each is forty-five minutes,” Jeffrey explains, reaching for a beer and having his hand smacked by Carol. She plucks the same beer from the table and takes a big swig in front of her offspring as he pouts. Fourteen is waaaaay too young to drink.
But not too young to push boundaries.
“Are you all here overnight?” I ask her, eyeing the boys, who are settling into a booth close to the big screens, now clutching sodas and digging into plates of appetizers, all of them fried.
“Yes! Andrew got everyone hotel rooms.”
Something about this isn't adding up.
“Why the impromptu family vacation?”
She gives me a happy smile, the kind I don't see often on my single-mom sister. “I don't question it when billionaires offer to take me and my kids on a private jet to watch a game at a club suite, and pay for a hotel. I'm just enjoying it. Unclench.”
“I can't unclench. I'm working.” The words would normally come out tighter, but something about her happiness is rubbing off.
“Speaking of work, how is Hamish's willie?” she asks, winking, knowing full well he and I are in a strange, in-between place.
A place that is entirely my decision.
“Well contained.”
“Not getting taken out for much fresh air?”
“Would you please stop? We're fine. Getting to know each other.”
“But...”
“No, I haven't slept with him yet!”
“You will. When you're ready.”
“I know.”
“Do you? You do know, then?”
“Yes. It's a matter of time.”
“That's... wow. That's amazing, Amy.”
The crowd erupts, the closed-captioning on the big screen blasting Hamish's name under an instant replay of him, his body all wide planes and liquid flow, the vision of him making my skin light up.
And my heart lift.
“What'd he do? Kick a goal?” Mom asks, slinging her arm around my shoulders and giving me a good squeeze, a cocktail with a maraschino cherry in it in her other hand.
“Hamish took the ball away from the other team, and three players surrounded him. With his back turned, he kicked it over their heads, right to Luis, who headed it into the goal,” I explain.
“Awesome!” Mom leans in and whispers softly, “I assume we're all here because you two are together?”
“We're... something.”
“If I had the eye of a guy like Hamish, we’d be everything. We’d be everythinging nonstop, if you know what I mean.” Mom's new lash extensions make her winks more dramatic than usual.
“Mom,” I say flatly, twisting out of her grasp.
“I’m just sayin’.”
“Just stop it.”
“Okay, fine. But I'll bet a guy like Hamish is amazing in bed, and you deserve someone who is amazing at everything.”
“Please stop!”
“I mean everything, not just sex. Hamish has a deep heart. I've known that since the day we met him.”
“When you met him, you said you wanted to climb him like a fire truck ladder at a five-alarm fire.”
“I did? Must have had too much wine.”
“No, you were stone-cold sober.”
“What kind of mother-in-law says that about her future son-in-law?”
“Whoa there, Mom. Don't get ahead of yourself. We're not even officially together.”
“What does that even mean to your generation? What makes it official? You change a status on your social media accounts? Share an avocado? Split an Uber ride to the drugstore to pick up birth control?” She frowns. “You’re on birth control, right? For your endometriosis.”
“Marie,” Dad says, inserting himself gently between us. He catches my eye as I mouth, Thank you. “They have that fancy pumpkin-spice-drizzled popcorn with toffee that you love so much.”
“Where?” Mom's intently scanning the room.
“Let me show you,” he says, guiding her away. The thrill of free, fancy snacks is even greater than the joy Mom gets from digging into my sex life.
“Jason’s smooth, isn't he?” That's Declan, holding a half-full pint glass. He’s wearing jeans and a polo shirt, and looking more relaxed than I think I've ever seen him, which makes me relax, too.
“Dad has some very specific Mom-related skills he's honed over the decades,” I reply with tact.
Declan's laugh is unexpectedly intense. It’s the kind of chuckle that makes your abs hurt if you do it for too long, yet you can't stop until all the air has drained out of you, because it’s about a core truth.
“What's so funny? I haven't heard you laugh like that in a long time.” Shannon appears, sipping from a tall milkshake glass, a chocolate thing with pieces of cookie and candy bar in it.
“Talking about Dad's mastery over Mom's quirks.”
“Quirks!” Declan gasps, still laughing.
My sister and I share a look and walk away from my still-giggling brother-in-law to focus on the game.
Technically, I'm supposed to be schmoozing with sponsors here, and also making sure Hamish is fine, though I'm not allowed in the locker room per his coach's strict instructions. Jace's nose has healed, but when I shook the coach's hand–er, manager in European football terms–the guy looked me in the eye and said, “Stay the hell away from ma guys and we'll be fine.”
“Hey!” Hamish had interjected. “Ye canna block me from her!”
“I can block her from ma men. Stay out of the changing room, especially, ye ken?”
Hence my position now in the club suite, suffering. There’s nowhere to escape to.
For the next twenty minutes or so, we watch them play and stuff ourselves silly. I monitor my email and texts, weaving in and out of the crowd, juggling family and business.
It's a strange feeling, and a wave of empathy for Declan, Andrew, and Shannon washes over me. They do this all the time, business woven with life and no clear boundaries between them.
“We're coming up on the half,” Amanda says, her arm around Andrew's waist, the two watching at the window. We're surprisingly close to the players themselves, the benches slightly to the right, the coaching staff's backs to us.
“Good. I need a bathroom break and a makeup refresh,” I reply, but she grabs my arm and gives me a weird look.
“You can do that later. I think something really important is about to happen.”
I can't see anything through the guys standing at the center, so I look at the televisions.
“Ooo, Atachee's about to score, if that's what you mean by important.”
“Hmmm,” is all Amanda says as a very excited Carol walks up to us, eyes shining, pinging between the television screens and me.
The ref calls time on the half, and the players leave the pitch. This is my chance, so I–
“IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT!” blasts over the loudspeakers, easy to hear even over the crowd's din. On the screens, you can see people who were headed for concessions and bathrooms stop in their tracks, though a smaller, steady stream continues on their way, like ants in a line.
“IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HAMISH MCCORMICK FROM DUNSDILL!”
The guys in front of the open glass doors part like the Red Sea did for Moses.
I look around. Mom is across the room, Dad's hand literally covering her mouth as she hops up and down in place.
Oh, God.
What is happening?
And then Hamish's voice is on the loudspeaker. The television screen changes, cutting to him standing alone in the center of the pitch, holding a big mic in his hand. As usual, he seems to be eating up all the attention.
“I ken this isna the norm, but it's an exhibition game, so this doesna matter anyway,” he says into the mic, the crowd laughing. “Nothing I say will hurt us. Or help us. But that's no’ what this is about anyhow.”
The crowd goes hushed, anticipation rippling like they're doing the wave.
“Would a cameraman please find Amy Jacoby? In the club suite, I think? She's a ginger like me, but better looking–long curls, and a thousand-watt smile.”
My stomach drops as my face appears on the jumbotron, some camera inside the club finding me quickly. Of all the times to have a bad hair day. And before my fresh lipstick, of course.
Of course.
“What is he doing?” I say to Carol through gritted teeth, slumping down onto a stool, Mom eagerly coming to stand next to me.
Carol's grinning as she moves away from me, and now I'm front and center, featured on the screen, Mom's blonde hand the size of an elephant on the screen.
“I don't know. Just enjoy it! Whatever it is, it's big,” Carol says
“That's because Hamish is big! Larger than life.”
“Amy,” he says from down on the field, “would ye please look at the camera so everyone can see how pretty ye are?” He clears his throat, adding quickly, “And smart, too, of course. She earned her MBA just this year!”
Carol, Shannon, Dad, and Mom all start giggling.
Mom swats my arm, so I stand up slowly from my seat, the crowd cheering. I am on the big screen and every pore, every fleck of stray mascara, plus all my fear, is on my face.
I hate being the center of attention in public. Hate it.
Plus, I still have to pee.
“I have two announcements, the first necessary fer the second. So here goes: Dear women ye call 'jersey chasers' here in America –”
Screaming women dominate the crowd noises and Hamish gestures with his palms, trying to get all the estrogen in the stands to settle down.
“Ye willna squeal when ye hear I am retiring ma todger from ye. Nae more.”
“What's a todger?” Dad asks, mystified.
The shrieking turns to a keening wail, a female chorus of boos erupting.
“I think he's saying he won't sleep with groupies anymore,” Carol says to Dad.
“Oh, God,” I groan. “Of all the ways to do this, he has to do it in front of tens of thousands of people?”
“He's that kind of guy, Amy,” Carol says. “Go big or go home.”
“Is that an option? Can I just go home and see him there?”
Dad moves next to me, hands on my shoulders. He's either comforting me or preventing me from leaving.
“I think you want to stay and hear this.”
“Hamish is why you're all here, isn't he?”
“Maybe.”
“And he arranged this? Not Andrew?”
“He got some help from Andrew.”
“Oh my God, Dad, he's not going to propose, is he?”
“No,” Dad whispers. “He's not that stupid. Fastest way to get you to move to another continent. He wouldn’t put you on the spot like that.”
“Good. Then... then what?”
“Why don't you just wait and see what happens?”
“You know I hate surprises!”
“I know.” He squeezes my shoulders, then leans forward and whispers, “But what if you didn't?”
“AMY JACOBY!” Hamish booms into the microphone, his arms wide. “Would ye stop talkin’ and listen fer a moment, pet?”
The jumbotron changes to a split screen. He's the left half of the screen, and I'm the right half.
Then he shouts, “I LOVE YOU!”
Oh.
My.
God.
“I loved ye when I made that booty call seven years ago...”
The crowd quiets down, listening.
“...and I was even more determined when ye turned me down.”
A cheer goes up, mostly men.
“But I knew I loved ye when...”
Please don't mention being in bed with me. Please don't mention the virgin thing. Please don't–
“...ye talked me out of endorsing a certain device...”
A number of women begin chanting “STRIKER! STRIKER!”
“...and saw the good in me. The deep. Ye see all the versions of me, no’ just the footie player. The whole man. I am sae grateful fer ye, Amy. I owe ye so much fer showing me the world through a different lens. Ye've given ma life more meaning than I knew possible, and ye did so just by being yerself. Make ma life whole and come give me a kiss!”
My eyes dart around the room, trying to take it all in. Carol gives me a firm shove from behind.
“This is the part where you run into his arms, kiss him, and tell him you love him back.”
“I can't.”
“Can't, or won't?”
“Can't. I'm frozen.”
“Then unfreeze.”
“I CAN'T.”
“Amy. Stop it. Stop trying to control everything. Do it.”
One step. I take one step.
Another.
A third.
By the fourth, I'm trotting; by the fifth, a group of people have pushed open the double glass doors; by the tenth, I'm flying, running fast and free. The crowd is chanting AIM-EE, or HAIM-ISH, or maybe the jersey chasers are chanting a two-syllable curse word, but I don't care, because my legs feel like all the running I've ever done in my entire life was preparing me for this moment.
I run as if my life depends on it. As if my heart relies on it.
I run as if my soul is reconnecting with a piece of itself, lost long ago, now found.
Launching myself into his arms is an act of faith and trust, and he catches me, our kiss full and intense. It vibrates from our combined emotion and the energy from the crowd.
Hamish's brash act is bold and unreal, and so is my reaction.
But you can't control feelings. They just are.
“I love you, too,” I whisper in his ear, unwilling or unable to shout it to the rooftops, but the microphone still in his hand picks up my words. The crowd goes nuts again.
He laughs. “Thank God. Because if ye didna, I just pissed off a lot of other women.”
Then he kisses me again, still holding me in his arms, my legs around his waist as he holds up the world.
And I let him.
This time, I don't have to announce my big secret in bed.
This time, Hamish prepared his room, with scented candles, a bouquet of roses, my favorite Prosecco, and soft Celtic music that feels more grounding than jazz.
This time, as he reaches for me, I know he wants the real me. I'm not a notch. Definitely not an impulse. We've talked enough, and certainly suffered too much, but we're stronger for it.
This time, as his mouth takes mine, I'm fully present for every second of this moment.
“Ye were amazing today,” he whispers against my cheek. “Running out to me like that, yer hair a flame on the wind behind ye, face full of excitement.”
“And terror. Don't forget the abject terror.”
“Naw. I saw only yer beautiful smile.” His words make me give him more of it, a full contentment floating through me.
“Carol had to shove me, you know. I don't like being the center of attention like that.”
His fingers touch my chin, lifting my head a bit, our eyes locked on each other now.
“Ye should be. The world should appreciate ye as much as I do.”
“And how much is that?”
“Ah, Amy, I'll have to show ye tonight, over and over and over.”
There's no beer. We haven't opened the wine. The buzz on my skin is adrenaline from earlier, the pure joy of being with him more than enough.
All the voices inside me that make me go flat, shut me down, shut him out – they're all quelled now.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper, needing to say the words, even if it spoils the mood.
He rears back a bit in surprise, touching one long, curly strand of my hair, as his tender, questioning eyes meet mine. “Fer what?”
“For doubting you. I wasn't really doubting you. I was doubting me.”
“I ken that. Ye've said it before.”
“I need to say it again. I put you through a lot. I wish I could go back in time that night at the hotel in L.A. and have the courage to answer the door. Or one of your texts. Not just run off and beg my rich sister and her billionaire husband's family to help me.”
“The fact that ye asked fer help and got it was a relief to me.”
“Really?”
“Ye have so many people who love ye.” His kiss is sweet, turning hot as our tongues touch, the rising need in me a magnet, drawing our bodies together. “It warms ma heart. And I'm one of them, too. I said so on the pitch today, Amy. I love ye. I know it sounds rash, but I'm a man of impulse.”
“Something I'm coming to appreciate.”
“Ye'll be coming soon, aye.”
I laugh as he kisses me, but the moment is too serious for giggles, though it doesn't feel wrong.
I pull back and look him full on. “Nothing's ever wrong with you.”
“Wrong?”
“We're serious, then we're playful. We're deep, then we're silly. You make every feeling I have acceptable.”
“Of course yer feelings are acceptable. It's a feeling. Ye canna control how ye feel. Only what ye do. And I'm grateful to ye, Amy.”
“You said that on the pitch, too.”
“Aye. Deeply grateful. Even in the middle of a broken heart, ye set up ma ExpertCourse deal. Ye found a way to give me something new, to level up.”
“That's just business.”
“Naw, Amy. That's good business. Being a good human being. Ye ken how important all of these high-profile projects are to me. Ye gave me something new. Ye do this, over and over, working and connecting, always on the go, finding patterns, acting on them, and enriching everyone. Ye do it selflessly.”
“I collect a paycheck to do all that.”
He squeezes my breast so hard I yelp, a tingle whipping through me. We're shirtless, just beginning to wrap ourselves before each other. “Learn to take a compliment, pet. I'm trying to tell ye how amazing ye are. How I appreciate ye. How I see the real ye and how much ye care fer other people. Even me, when I gutted ye. Ye have a kind soul, Amy. A soul I want to memorize with every beat of ma heart.”
Swept up in his arms, he pulls me off my feet, our hearts pressed against each other as his bare chest meets mine. It's time for me to say the words back to him.
As I open my mouth, there's nothing stopping me. He's melted all my defenses away with his goodness, his hotness, his own free-spirited reveal today.
“I love you too,” I confess, tracing his jaw with one finger. “I never thought I'd be saying those words to anyone, much less you.”
“Then we have a first we'll share together tonight, and no’ just the one that's a first fer ye.”
“You've never said it to anyone?”
“Nae. Yer the first.” He kisses me, soft and sweet. “And only.” His fingers undo the clasp of my bra and he threads it around my shoulders, moving it off the bed, cupping my breasts, kissing my shoulder. I touch his chest, stroking the long lines of him, memorizing the way bones connect to muscle to form the man before me.
“That makes me feel special.”
“Ye are special. Ye're also damn hard to get close to,” he says in a low voice as his tongue licks one nipple, sending shivers through me. “I've never met someone so closed off, but so soft on the inside.” Hands roaming over my back, they settle on my waist, pulling me closer to him, my breasts pressed against his chest, our mouths close.
“There isn't much room inside me. I have to let very few people in.”
“I'm honored I'm one of them.”
“I'm grateful to you, too, you know,” I say softly, fighting the piece of me that wants to close back up. “I get confused inside. It's easier to shut down than to look you in the eye and talk through something I don't have words for. I'm so sorry I made you chase me. I'm sorry I was mean to you. I wish I could explain why I'm like this, but please know I'm thankful for you, too. You made it safe for me to show you the real me.”
Hamish moves me, my bare back on the bedspread as he stands and strips out of the rest of his clothes, eyes on me the entire time. “Ye're so beautiful like that, Amy. Hair spilled out above yer head, yer body relaxed and bare, all fer me. I could hold ye in ma heart like this forever.”
“How about you hold me in your arms, too?”
“Ye dinna have to ask twice.” His mouth drops to the spot between my breasts. “And Amy?”
“Yes?”
“I'm about to make more room inside ye.”
I laugh, his words taken two ways at the same time, his eyes meeting mine, confused. Our bodies touch so intimately, his erection pressed against my thigh like it's been there a thousand times before, my breasts rubbing against his biceps as he lays next to me, propped up on one elbow.
“What's so funny? I mean it. I'll make room inside ye fer me.”
“Literally?” I reach down and grasp his shaft.
A very beastly chuckle comes out of him at that. “Ach. Now I understand. I suppose ye could take ma words that way, too.”
I reach down and unbutton, unzip, and discard my pants, pulling my panties off in the bargain, his eyes watching me slowly, calculating. A man who studies movement for a living takes precious care to track movement itself, and right now, I'm all he's watching.
Being the singular focus of his attention is generative. Affirming. So energizing it's a battery made from love.
Hamish's broad palm flattens at my belly as he bends over me, dropping kisses in a line that goes in one direction, down to a place he's touched before, but this time, it's not a first. There's no question about what it means, and there's no racing, looping worry in me.
This time, I know how the evening ends.
And how we begin in the morning.
He's about to part my legs when I roll, pulling the covers, motioning for him to crawl under them, too. The room is chilly enough that a rippling layer of goosebumps covers my skin, but it's not just from the cold. He joins me, and something about the cocoon of the covers, the slide of sheets against skin, the haven of being under the covers together, adds intimacy to the moment.
“God, I love this,” he says as he picks up where we left off, his mouth going between my legs, my hips arching up against him, his hands moving up to touch my breasts, the coordination divine.
The excitement of the day flashes through me, my hands on his hot shoulders, a warm thrill shooting through me as another layer of me relaxes enough to find pleasure, to receive it, to know that there's more.
Always more.
A pulsing begins, deep and wet, and while the sensation is so hot, so tight, my core clenching and ready for what's next, I stop him, hands going into his hair, fingers pulling gently on his shoulders.
We kiss, and he breathes into me, arms wrapped around each other, his teeth pulling my lower lip in, tongue sucking, bodies lost in touch.
“Come here,” I urge him, moving my legs apart again, knees pinning his hips, the tip of him against my inner thigh.
“Yer sure?” His simple question is perfect, my fingers brushing his hair off his face.
“I am. I love you. I want you. And I'm sorry it's taken me so long to realize that.” I caress his face, his green eyes smiling down at me. “I'm a pain in the ass, Hamish. Are you sure you want me?”
“More than anything in the world.”
He rolls away, finding a condom in the nightstand, dispensing with the formalities quickly.
“You're a glutton for punishment.” I kiss him again, reconnecting.
“I'm a man who knows what he wants. Who he wants. And who does the work to meet the goal.”
“I'm your goal.”
“Nae, Amy. Ye’re yer own goal. I was just here to watch ye change and grow, and ye grew to be with me.”
And with that, I guide him in.
There is no pain.
There is no fear.
There is no wall.
There is no holding back.
The feeling is full and intense, a connection I didn't expect rising all the way up to my heart, my mind, my soul. He's in me and I lift my hips, changing the angle, bringing him in deeper. Hamish's thighs are tight and controlled, his body positioned with delicate strength.
And then he moves slowly, pulling out a bit, then back in.
“Oh,” I moan, the feeling too perfect, everything I'd wondered and more than I'd hoped. Our eyes are locked, the gaze going deeper than any coupling ever could.
“Ye feel so good.”
“This feels – you feel –” Words fail me as we move together, the sensation exploratory, slow and careful. I want to do more but as I pull my knees up and cradle his face in my hands, all we can do is ride this wave of feeling, the electricity running through me turned up, mingled with the scent and taste of him, with two bodies moving as one.
“Is this good?” he asks.
“Better than good.”
His pace quickens and he's kissing me, slow and wet, almost lazily. Lost in the feeling that I'm living in a dream that's real, the flow of passion between us is all that I know.
All that I am.
Being in the now is no longer a challenge. It just is.
Hamish kisses my shoulders, my neck, his tongue slipping to a spot under my jaw that makes me shiver, my walls clamping hard around him as he lets out a groan. Hearing that sound shoots triumph through me, the power of his pleasure coming to the forefront.
I move up against him, matching his strokes, the pace picking up as his breath gets louder, my own chest rising and falling quicker, words long gone as we move against each other for what's coming soon. My hands explore his back, his ass, his hips and waist, all contoured and fine.
“Amy, I – ”
And then we go, both of us, Hamish's orgasm hard and clear, our mouths in a kiss that lost its purpose long ago. We're together, sharing each other however we can, and that's all that matters.
His head dips down, our gaze broken as his raspy breath covers my chest, both of us recovering from what just happened between us.
Then he stops moving, hand going to my cheek, eyes on mine again.
“Yer okay?”
“More than okay.”
“Did it hurt?”
“No.”
Our kiss seals the deal, Hamish rolling over and out of me, the feeling one that surprises me. I never thought about the end of sex, the “what comes after” part, how it feels to have a man inside me and then suddenly, he's not.
It's a bit like having a party and escorting the houseguests to the door. You are thrilled everyone had such a good time, but you're also relieved to have your house to yourself.
And it's been left in a bit of a mess.
Curled up in his arms, he's stroking my hair when we're rudely interrupted.
Bzzz
“Is that your phone?”
“Nae.” His hand goes flat on my ribs, sliding up to cup my breast, a kiss on one nipple punctuating his words. “I kept one of the samples. Ye know, the Striker? Must be going off spontaneously in the drawer. Canna wait to use it during round two.”
I freeze.
“Yes, it's ma damn phone,” he says with a laugh. “I'm ignoring it, just like I ignored it most of yesterday.”
RING!
That's the hotel room phone this time, the landline. We both look at it on the desk as if it’s an antique Victrola.
“Someone is really trying to reach you.”
Standing, Hamish slides the covers off, giving me a much-appreciated eyeful. My hands have just touched all those parts, my mouth on plenty of him, the rest of me shivering with delight at my new reality.
He's mine.
I'm his.
And oh, how much fun having fun can be.
“Hello? Aye? Ach. Thank ye. Yes, I'll handle it.” He puts the receiver back in the cradle and gives me a dark look.
“What?”
“It's ma mum.”
“Your mother?”
“That's what I just said. She called the damn front desk to track me down.”
“Because you've been ignoring her calls and texts?”
“Aye.”
“You can't blame her.”
“I can blame Da! He needs to hold her in line.”
“Excuse me?”
“That's the man's job, ye see.” On his hands and knees, he crawls toward me on the bed, a big grin covering his face. “He needs to make her obey.”
“OBEY?”
“Aye. It'll take me a lifetime to teach ye, but I'm game.”
Bzzz
“You should answer that.”
“Wasna mine.”
“Who's calling me?” I wonder, worried something's happened to Mom or Dad.
God forbid they have another sex swing accident.
He stands and grabs my jacket, fishing in the pocket.
“It's ma mum!”
“YOUR mother?”
“Aye!” He hands me the phone. “Dinna answer it, fer goodness sake! It's FaceTime.”
There's a text from my own mother.
Hamish's mom called James, whose assistant called me, to ask for a way to reach Hamish. Sorry, honey, but when she and I talked, I realized mothers have to stick together, so I gave her your cell number. Besides, she'll be your mother-in-law someday.
Followed by eleventy billion hearts.
“Yer turnin’ beet red, Amy. Who's texting ye?”
“MY mother gave YOUR mother my cell number. Apparently, they talked.”
We look at each other for a few seconds of shared horror.
And then, as if we planned it, we say together, “Welcome to my mother.”
“HAH!” I gasp. “Mine is way worse than yours!”
“Are ye kiddin’ me? Look at what ma mum is doin’, chasin’ her adult son all over the world.”
“My mother named her dog after a vagina and broke her leg while having sex with my dad on a swing in their bedroom. She made our cat wear a kilt in Shannon and Declan's wedding. And there's so much more.”
Hamish peers at me as our phones buzz again, the hotel phone lighting up, the buzzing and ringing making us smile harder at each other, until he gathers me in his arms, kisses me hard, then declares:
“That cements it! There's only one way to decide who has the worst mother.”
“What's that?”
“Ye’re comin’ to Scotland wi' me to meet her.”
THE END… sorta.
Still want more Hamish and Amy? How about a BONUS EPILOGUE that takes place three hours later?
Yes… three hours later. Go here to get your fun extra epilogue ;).