Page 7 of The Highland Fling

The parking space for the minibus is a wee way off, so—acting nonchalant—I drive us there, then Ally and I return to the leisure club on foot. We head inside and into the men’s changing rooms.

“Well, that was a nightmare,” Ally gripes. “I don’t know if we should accept bookings from hen parties going forward.”

“Are you kidding me?” I sit on a bench and remove my boots. “It was a laugh! Besides, we’re not in a position to turn down clients, and there were twelve of them—we made a good bit of money from a single booking.”

“Of course you enjoyed it. Hanging out with a group of loud women who want to book you as their stripper is probably a dream of yours. Which reminds me . . . you’re not meeting up with her.”

“What do you mean?”

“Deborah—I saw her give you her number. Thought you might slip into her room tonight, did you?”

Opening my locker, I flash him a sly grin.

“It’s not happening, Aidan. She’s a client. You can’t sleep with her. It’s unprofessional.”

“Er, excuse me, Ally, but you got to know Emily when she was a guest at your hotel. That’s no different.”

“It’s completely different! As you said, I got to know her when she was a guest. Then I slept with her. And now I’m marrying her. There’s nothing wrong with that. But you? You do things differently. You see a woman you like, you sleep with her, then you never so much as look at her again. That could get us some very nasty reviews online, so it’s not happening. You’re not sleeping with her or any other client, for that matter.”

I sigh then unzip my wetsuit and start working my way out of it. Ally’s already got his top half out. He angles himself away from me then tugs the suit down and over his feet. Like me, he goes commando underneath.

Ugh, it doesn’t matter how many times I put one of these on, they’re always a nightmare to get off. Eventually, though, I manage.

“Teaming up with the Glen Garve Resort may be the best thing we ever did,” I say, deciding to drop the Deborah chat. “After freezing your balls off in a loch, nothing beats a hot shower, does it?”

Ally wraps his towel around him then peers into my locker. “I’m looking forward to my shower, aye. But as for you . . .”

“Hey, what are you doing in there?”

A perk of working with the resort is I get a permanent locker, rather than one you put a coin in and borrow for a few hours. I always like to be prepared, so I store a few different things in it.

“Ah, perfect!” Ally pulls out a T-shirt and some shorts. “You’ll need these for your jog.” He throws them my way.

I catch them and, since my towel is still in my locker, hold them in front of my crotch. I’m not exactly modest—a changing room is for getting changed, after all—but I am confused, and I’d rather not have my dick out while trying to understand what’s going on here.

“What are you talking about?” I ask Ally.

“I’m talking about the very long jog you’re going to go on to get all that sexual energy out of your system.”

I groan. “Hold up, mate! How about I just give you my word I won’t sleep with any of the hens. All right?”

“Like you gave me your word you wouldn’t sleep with Grace?” Ally smirks as if he’s put me into checkmate, which he kind of has. “Do you remember I was worried it’d make things awkward and stop Grace from wanting to come and visit? Well, guess who hasn’t been back since the engagement party?”

“Jesus! That was only three weeks ago. She’s hardly going to travel up every weekend. And besides, it was her idea, I swear!” I recall how Grace looked that night—silky dress, corkscrew curls, luscious lips—and can’t help but grin. “Anyway, it’s not my fault Emily’s got such a beautiful friend. How could I say no?”

“You couldn’t, apparently, which is why I’m sending you on a jog to ensure it doesn’t happen again. Track yourself on the app, and don’t bother coming back until you’ve done at least ten miles. I’ll be monitoring you!”

“Mate!” I protest. “Are you being serious?”

I shift my weight from foot to foot. I was sure I’d be getting laid tonight. I’ve not been with anyone since Grace, due to focusing all my attention on the business, and I’ve been getting restless. This is a spanner in the works.

“Aye, I’m being serious. Now get your stuff on and go!”

CHAPTER FOUR

GRACE

The small town of Bannock is nestled in the beautiful green valley of Glen Garve. Stone buildings line both sides of its main street, which is narrow, having been established long before motor cars. The odd private home sits between businesses such as the gift shop, the Otter’s Holt; the café, the Coffee Bothy; and the pub, the Pheasant. The Bannock Hotel, where Emily now lives and works, is also on the main road.