Page 78 of The Highland Game

Jamie splutters and coughs. “Jesus Christ!” he mutters.

“And then,” I barrel on mercilessly, “that kiss in your garage? Boner.”

“Maisie!” He laughs now despite himself, his ears going red as sin.

“And obviously,” I finish grandly, waving my arms like a magician unveiling their pièce de résistance, “when we finally had sex . . . boner bonanza.”

Jamie groans through another chuckle and runs a hand through his messy hair. “Boner bonanza? Really?”

“What?” I ask innocently, folding my arms. “That’s what it was! You’ve got a very reliable track record of pointing north around me. Which means”—I stab a finger at him—“you can’t find me that hideous. So why did you knock me back at the engagement party?”

He scrubs at his jaw. When he finally meets my eye, there’s something almost sheepish in the way he exhales heavily through his nose.

“You didn’t seriously think I thought you were hideous, did you?” He asks it as if the very idea were baffling beyond words.

“Well . . .”

I don’t have major hang-ups about my looks, but I’ve never exactly been brimming with confidence either. I’m no curvy Iona, and I certainly don’t have Cat’s endless legs—or her confidence either.

“Bloody hell.” He shifts on the sofa, folding one knee up between us. “Maisie, it wasn’t about how you looked—God knows that wasn’t the issue. I mean . . . just look at you.” He lets out a small huff of laughter like this should all be obvious. But then his smile falters, morphing into something more uncertain as one hand rubs absently at his left thigh. “It’s just . . . dancing makes me self-conscious sometimes.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Pretty sure you’re not the guy who feels like that.”

“Aye, well, not every guy has a metal pin in their leg that makes everything feel off kilter when they try to move with rhythm.” He shrugs like he’s brushing it off but doesn’t quite succeed. “Gaming? That feels easier.”

I nod, not because I’m going soft or anything but because . . . well . . . I can see where he’s coming from. Breezily I say, “Gaming is way better than dancing anyway. Speaking of which, we’ve been loitering in this forest clearing for ages. Shall we crack on?”

“Let’s do it.”

We return to the game, our characters venturing deeper into the tangled forest. His warrior charges ahead with abandon, hacking through thorny vines and dispatching low-level enemies like they’re nothing more than minor inconveniences. Meanwhile, my mage hangs back, methodically gathering herbs and enchanting Jamie’s gear.

“Are you seriously picking flowers right now?” Jamie asks, glancing sideways at my screen. “We’re supposed to be hunting down a legendary weapon.”

“These flowers will save your arse when you inevitably get pancaked by another spider,” I retort without looking up. “No mana, no magic.”

He chuckles softly, the sound laced with a smile I can hear even without glancing his way. “Can’t argue with that.”

We continue on until we’re swarmed by shadow sprites, once-beautiful creatures corrupted by magic gone wrong. Their glowing green wings shimmer faintly against their skeletal frames, and high-pitched giggles echo disturbingly as they dive-bomb us like homicidal dragonflies. Lochie swings his blade so fast it blurs, deflecting the tiny darts they shoot at him with flawless precision. Even in the midst of battle, I can’t stop myself from risking a look at Jamie. His eyes are locked on the screen, his brow furrowed in concentration, his tongue poking out slightly—a detail so disarmingly cute I almost miss a sprite lunging at me from behind.

“Shit!” I conjure up an inferno spell just in time to roast it in midair.

Jamie’s phone buzzes on the coffee table, but he doesn’t pick it up until all the sprites are defeated. When he does check it, he puts it back down again without typing anything back.

“Anything important?”

“Nah, just Lewis. He’s wondering when exactly I’m coming back to the hotel, but I reckon I’ve earned a bit of time off. Besides, it’s still bucketing down and no one is daft enough to sit outside in this. Let’s push on and find this Staff of the Storm Witch.”

“Sure thing. Imagine if it were real. I’d use it to keep your beer garden so soggy it could double as a duck pond. Meanwhile, sunbeams would shine down directly on the Pheasant all day, every day.”

“Wow, you’d go full evil overlord with it? Like, twirling a sinister moustache and cackling on a throne made of tampons and custard creams?”

“Yes, Jamie. Because if I had magic powers, the first thing I’d do would be to grow a handlebar moustache. I’d maybe even grab a monocle to go with it, just to really complete the look. I don’t hate the idea of a throne made of custard creams, though.”

We both laugh as the game pulls us back into its dark forest. For a while, we lose ourselves in Highland Legacy again, delving deeper into the forest and fending off increasingly challenging enemies. Jamie charges ahead without an ounce of caution, hacking his way through monsters like a berserker on speed. Meanwhile, I trail behind, stringing together spells to keep him alive because apparently someone has to be responsible.

“You know,” I mutter, “if you spent even a few points improving your defence stat rather than trying to max out your strength, I might not have to babysit you.”

“But where would the fun be in that?” Jamie quips. “Besides, you’re amazing at keeping me alive. I wouldn’t want to rob you of your chance to shine.”