Page 97 of The Highland Game
It’s time to stop being too scared—or too proud—to admit how I actually feel.
And maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to deal with my followers and my feelings in one bold move. Because in every romcom film, it all boils down to the grand gesture, right?
If Jamie can bare it all—literally—for me, then surely I can muster the courage to bare my heart for him.
It’s evening and I’m back on Ben Garve. After the chaos of earlier, the hill feels eerily still, save for the occasional bleat of a sheep and the soft whisper of the breeze through the grass. No racers or spectators now—just me, the heathery slopes, and an increasingly ominous grey sky.
A fat droplet of rain splashes onto my head. Brilliant. So much for the perfect weather we had earlier. I glance upwards as more droplets begin to fall, speckling my hoodie. Hopefully it won’t turn into a full-on downpour.
All right. Here goes nothing.
I pull out my phone, run a hand through my hair—useless, it’s already curling in the damp air—then tap the Go Live button before I can second-guess myself. Viewers join quickly, one after another. I wave at the screen, a nervous smile tugging at my lips.
“Hi, everyone! Thanks for joining,” I say cheerily, watching the numbers rise. My stomach performs nervous little somersaults as names flood in, usernames I recognise popping up alongside new ones. But there’s only one name I’m looking for—and it’s not here yet.
The rain thickens, turning into a proper drizzle. I shield my phone with one hand and force a laugh. “Ah, Scotland in summer,” I quip. “If you were watching earlier today, you saw how gloriously sunny it was. It’s amazing how quickly the weather can change.”
At this, the comments come flooding in faster than the rain:
I was watching earlier
Sunny? Didn’t notice. Was too distracted by other . . . things.
#TheHighlandFlash 4eva!
I bite back a groan and keep my expression light-hearted even as heat creeps up my neck at all the innuendo.
The longer I wait for him to appear in the viewers list, the harder it is not to get discouraged. Maybe he doesn’t want to watch this nonsense—maybe he’s avoiding me altogether after how I snapped at him earlier.
No. Stop spiralling, Maisie. You’re here for a reason.
Clearing my throat, I press on. “So . . . aye . . . there are some things we need to talk about. Like a certain unexpected event that occurred during today’s race.”
Predictably, the comments explode with laughing emojis.
Where’s the guy who won? Asking for a friend.
That guy had balls . . . literally AND figuratively!
When is next year’s kilt run? Because I NEED tickets.
Can we get a slow-mo replay please?
My eyes catch on that last comment, and suddenly my brain is unhelpfully obliging, flashing me a crystal-clear mental image of slow-motion Jamie: arms and legs pumping, bits bouncing like some wildly inappropriate sports highlight. A laugh slips out before I can stop it, a high-pitched giggle that I quickly smother with a cough. Oh God. Get it together, Maisie. Focus.
And then I see it: LochNLoad. My pulse stutters as his name appears in the list of viewers.
Right. This is it. No turning back.
“So,” I say, louder now to combat both rising nerves and rising rain, the latter of which is steadily soaking through my clothes and threatening to turn my phone into an expensive paperweight any moment now. “First off, thank you to everyone who tuned in earlier for having such a good sense of humour about . . . well, everything. I had no idea the race would feature full-frontal male nudity—that was a bit of a surprise! And while I’m glad the video gave many of you a good laugh, I want to make one thing absolutely clear: it was an accident and you won’t be getting any more content like that from me.”
The comments come fast and furious:
Booooo! Bring back #TheHighlandFlash
SassyLassie blushing while talking about nudity—she’s so pure!
Did you really delete it, though? Or is there a secret archive somewhere?
