Page 99 of The Highland Game

“I was like, Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s . . . oh God!”

Three different men have congratulated me on going “balls out” in the race, and each of them was so proud of themselves for coming up with that pun. Don’t get me wrong, if folk want to take the piss about what happened, fair enough—I’d absolutely do the same thing in their shoes. But at least put in the effort and come up with something original, eh? I mean, try a bit harder!

Oh, and another thing that keeps happening? The mock toast. I hand them their freshly poured pint, then they raise it with a smirk and say something like, “To the fastest arse in the Highlands!”

Aye, it was funny the first time I heard it, mate.

But you know what? Beneath all the ribbing and piss-taking lies something real. These guys have known me since before the crash. They know what I’ve been through. And a Scottish man doesn’t say he’s proud of you—he shows it by ripping into you while raising a pint in your honour. The sentiment is there, even if it’s unspoken, and I appreciate it. That being said, if one more guy claps me on the back and says I really went “balls out”, I might just lose my patience.

For now, though, I’m all chuckles and grins, even though my leg aches like hell. I wasn’t prepared for a race today, and the fall didn’t help either. But you know what? I won, so I’m not about to let a bit of pain get to me.

What is getting to me is the knowledge that I’ve royally cocked things up with Maisie. God, I’m such a bloody idiot. What the hell was I thinking? Charging ahead like that, as if crossing the finish line first was more important than using my brain for half a second.

I’ve just poured Roddy and Hugh their usual order. I thought these two liked it when the snug was dead, but even they have come along to say their piece, which is . . .

“To winning gold and mooning the competition in style!” Roddy announces, raising his pint high.

“I’ll drink to that!” Hugh lifts his too.

“To be fair, a better toast than some I’ve heard tonight,” I admit. “You two old buggers enjoy your drinks now, you hear me?”

“Ach, you may have won the race, Jamie, but you’re still a cheeky sod,” Roddy observes.

“Whatever happened to respecting your elders, eh?” Hugh adds.

I wink at them then notice my phone lighting up with a notification. Just as I go to reach for it, David and Johnny make an appearance. Before David even opens his mouth, I just know he’s going to be the first person this evening to make me blush. And I’m not wrong.

“And that, Jamie, is why I moved to the Highlands. Thank you!” He throws his arms around me and pulls me into the tightest hug.

“Er . . . didn’t you move to the Highlands for me?” Johnny asks.

David releases me and pats Johnny’s chest affectionately. “Oh, right, of course. But, c’mon, you’ve got to admit. That finish?” David fans himself. “It wasn’t just the sun that got me hot and bothered today!”

Johnny rolls his eyes in that way people do when they pretend they’re irritated but they really think the world of you. Honestly, I’m not sure what’s more nauseating—the lovesick puppy eyes that Lewis still gives Iona (even though they’re together now) or the way Johnny gazes at David like he’s just hung the moon.

“Anything you want to get out of your system?” I ask Johnny. “Because every other guy here has made a joke at my expense. You may as well go ahead too.”

Johnny taps his chin. “Well, unlike everyone else, I’m not really in the habit of commenting on another man’s . . . performance. But . . . congratulations, I suppose.”

David laughs uproariously. “Trust me, Jamie—Johnny and I have already dissected your performance in great detail, and he was very impressed with all aspects of it. He’s just too embarrassed to say so to your face.”

And now it’s not just me who’s blushing but Johnny too.

“All right, now that you two have had your fun, what can I get you?” I say, trying to get things back on track. “Oh, and be warned: you get one attempt at embarrassing me per drink. So if you want to have another go, you’ll have to wait till your second round. House rules, I’m afraid.”

Once I’ve served them, I get a chance to check my phone. The notification says: SassyLassie has gone live.

I don’t even hesitate. I tap to join the stream, and there she is, looking as stunning as ever, raindrops dotting her face.

The landscape behind her is familiar, not least because I was there myself earlier today. I’d like to know what she’s up to on Ben Garve, but unfortunately it’s too bloody loud in the snug to hear a thing. That’s the downside of the place being so damn busy for once.

I make my escape, squeezing past folk and enduring a few more hearty slaps on the back. I check the office: empty. All right, I’ll have a very quick breather. If anyone needs another drink, they can wait a minute or two.

Dumping myself in a chair, I prop my elbows on the desk and hold my phone in front of me. Maisie’s voice fills the room, clear now that I’m away from the chaos.

“There’s something else I want to say . . . something important.” Damn, I must’ve missed whatever her first point was. That worry takes a back seat when she add, “And, believe it or not, it involves the man you all saw today . . . saw rather a lot of, in fact.”

Wait, she’s talking about me? Ah, I get it. She’ll want to apologise to her followers for what I did earlier. That makes sense. Well, I hope they forgive her.