Chapter 25 Tierney
The sound of the coffee machine gurgling, bubbling, and hissing had become a familiar background noise to my biweekly coffee date with Cammie and Taran. The coffee dates had started at the same time as my affair with Ramsay, over three weeks ago.
My time with the dominating, talented Scot seemed short (which, it technically was) but also not short.
Not short because there was a familiarity between us that time couldn’t account for.
Even though … well, I barely knew anything real about him.
I only knew the Ramsay McRae who had lived on Glenvulin for six years.
Who he was before that … I had no real clue.
Although he’d promised he’d talk when he was ready, it clearly wasn’t going to happen in a week.
So, all I knew was that he had connections that made Hugh almost pee his pants and I hadn’t heard a word from that slimeball since our confrontation.
“Okay, I’ve tried to be polite and respectful about this, but my curiosity is killing me,” Cammie announced abruptly.
I blinked at her changed tone because a few seconds ago, she and Taran had been discussing helping at the Halloween fair (organization for which had already commenced despite it being at the end of next month). “Me? You’re looking at me? What?”
My friend chuckled, shooting Taran a conspiratorial look.
Taran still wore the shell-shocked expression of someone who’d recently lost a loved one. I knew it well. Two weeks ago, I’d found her walking along the harbor by herself, and I’d joined her. I’d told her about my parents and that I was here for her.
The truth was, I hadn’t needed to say anything else.
She’d gravitated toward me ever since because I think I was the human equivalent of noise-reduction headphones.
My empathy cut off the overstimulation of everyone else trying too hard to be there for her.
They didn’t mean it. They were simply being kind. But their kindness was suffocating her.
There was no pressure from me to talk.
No awkward weirdness.
I chatted with Taran like normal, knowing that if she wanted to talk about her mom, she knew she could.
Cammie had followed my lead.
Thus, our biweekly coffee dates in Pages & Perks.
Pushing through Taran’s grief now was an amused smile.
It soothed me to see it.
“What are you talking about?” I grinned, naively unaware.
Cammie leaned in. She’d dyed her blond hair violet last week, and the light purple strands fell across her shoulders as she moved close enough to whisper, “Sex with McRae.”
I gave a small bark of surprised laughter. “What?”
Taran covered a husky laugh with her hand. “She’s incorrigible. Sorry. I told her not to ask.”
The laugh had brought Cammie’s head swinging around, her eyes wide on Taran.
Not wanting our friend to feel strange about the show of emotion, I cleared my throat. “Okay, what do you want to know?”
“For real?” Scooting her chair closer to mine, Cammie looked like an eager teenager, leaning in to hear the school tea at the back of the classroom. “Spill.”
“This stays between us,” I warned.
“Well, of course. We’ve lived here longer than you, you know.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, and there’s enough gossip flying around about me and Ramsay.”
“Look, all I want to know is … is he as good at it as he looks?”
Taran groan-laughed. “You’re such a nosy cow.”
Cammie, unsurprisingly, didn’t flinch at the comment. Instead, she seemed delighted by Taran’s amusement. “You’ve known that about me our entire lives.” She turned to me again. “So …?”
How good Ramsay was never failed to make my skin flush hot. God, my body literally readied itself for him at a mere thought. “He’s … the best sex I’ve ever had.”
“Woo!” Cammie squealed, raising a palm up high.
Customers turned to look at us, but I laughed and gave her a high-five.
“Get it, girl.” She lowered her voice. “One of us should.”
“Things aren’t going well with the postman from Oban?” Taran queried as if she already knew the answer.
“When you practically have to draw a roadmap to your clit, then no, things are not going well.”
“Cameron McQuarrie, wash your mouth out!” an older woman called angrily from the line at the coffee counter.
Unfazed, Cammie gaped in mock innocence. “Why? Can you smell my coffee breath from there, Mrs. Wallace?”
I covered a laugh as Mrs. Wallace sniffed and turned away.
“Maybe if her husband knew where her clit was, she wouldn’t be such a grumpy witch,” Cammie muttered.
Taran leaned forward, lips twitching. “Maybe you could lower your tone when you’re talking about clits and cocks in my store.”
“No one mentioned cock.” Our purple-haired friend turned back to me. “But speaking of … Ramsay’s?”
She really was incorrigible. “I’m not describing it.”
“At least describe what it can do.”
I laughed so hard at her petulant tone, I had to wipe tears from the corners of my eyes.
“I think if she does, you’re going to feel very jealous,” Taran mused perceptively.
Cammie raised an eyebrow. “Just because he’s the best sex she’s ever had doesn’t mean he’s amazing. It could mean our Tierney’s had a poor showing in the past.”
At her questioning tone, I shrugged. “It’s both. Four boyfriends. The one who was at least decent at sex also turned out to be a narcissistic douche canoe.”
“Hugh?”
“Hugh.” I contemplated my past lovers. “My first real boyfriend was in high school—Blake. He was privileged but sweet. Too sweet, maybe. The sex wasn’t good, but he was kind, and I think that’s important for a first boyfriend.
I broke up with him when we graduated. He went off to Harvard while I stayed in New York, studied hospitality management, and interned with the Silver Group.
That’s where I met boyfriend number two.
Eddie was a young marketing intern. He was funny, sharp, nice but not too nice.
Sex was okay. But he couldn’t get over the differences in our background and he always felt not good enough and nothing I said could change it, so we broke up.
Third boyfriend, Mikael, a couple of years older than me.
Son of my parents’ friends. Another so-called privileged brat, except he had all this guilt about it.
We dated for eighteen months and probably saw each other six out of those.
He traveled all over, volunteering with a water aid charity.
I admired him more than I was attracted to him.
But he was a good guy. Last I heard, he’d fallen in love with a young woman he met in Rwanda, and he married her, much to his parents’ displeasure.
” I grinned, thinking about Mikael and how he always did what his heart told him to do.
“He was my favorite of all my boyfriends. And I still didn’t love him. ”
“Or have good sex, apparently. Until now.” Cammie grinned and turned to Taran without thought. “What about you?”
I stiffened.
It was common knowledge now that Taran’s fiancé had broken their engagement. He couldn’t handle her grief. I felt such a kinship with her, knowing now that Hugh couldn’t handle mine.
“I’ve the libido of a starfish,” Taran replied flatly. “So, I don’t care.”
“In the future, you’ll care again,” I whispered.
“Surely there are celebrities you’d jump if you had the chance.” Cammie tried to lighten the mood.
Taran gave her a half-hearted smirk. “If Brodan Adair weren’t married, I’m sure he could unstarfish my libido.”
Cammie chuckled. “He’s getting on a bit, is he not?”
“Uh, no. That man will still be sexy as hell at seventy,” Taran argued.
“Nah, give me some North Hunter over Brodan Adair any day.”
“He’s actually very nice,” I offered.
Cammie gaped. “You’ve met North Hunter?”
“Yeah. He was at a gala in New York about five years ago. He had his wife with him. She’s stunning. And funny. I liked them.”
Cammie made a face at Taran. “She’s casually name-dropping. Sometimes I forget you used to socialize with the one percenters. I suddenly feel very uninteresting and unglamorous.”
I chuckled, shaking my head at her teasing. “You could never be uninteresting or unglamorous.”
“Aww, thanks.” Cammie fluttered her eyelashes comically.
She eyed Taran again. “What about non-celebrities? You have to admit, our wee island has a disproportionate number of hotties. There’s nothing wrong if you contemplated potential future partners.
” Cammie’s expression softened with something I’d call hope.
Realizing where her thoughts had gone, I tensed.
Taran’s expression shut down, a hardness creeping into her eyes.
“What about Murray Shaw?” I blurted out, diverting any thoughts from Quinn.
She blinked, the hardness softening. “Murray? Isn’t he married?”
“How can you have been back this long and not know he’s divorced?” Cammie asked quietly.
She shrugged. “I haven’t been paying much attention.” She frowned. “Murray and I were never close. So … he’s divorced?”
To my surprise, Cammie’s features tightened. “Aye … he and his wife split and she took their daughter Kelly to the mainland.”
Taran winced. “I didn’t know.”
“It was fairly recent and a fairly ugly divorce.” Cammie frowned. “It was so ugly, anyone caught gossiping about it was swiftly shut down. Kelly visits for a few weeks during the summer and the odd weekend here and there.”
“That sounds shit for Murray.” Taran scowled.
“Aye, just the way Jill wants it to be. She and Murray finalized their divorce last year and Jill has turned into the ex-wife from hell. Such a cliché. It gives ex-wives a bad name when some of them are so decent they deserve a medal.” She bit her lip, probably because she was thinking of Quinn’s ex-wife whom I knew Cammie liked and respected.
Awkward silence fell over the table, and I could see Taran disappearing inside herself.
Desperate to keep her with us, I blurted out in a hushed whisper, “Ramsay ties me to his bed.”
Their heads whipped toward me in unison.