Chapter 20
twenty
JONAH
Flightless Bird, American Mouth - Iron we moved to the next movement, her body close to mine, and as hard as the dance was and I had to work to remember all the steps, at least she was alongside me the entire time.
“That was fucking brutal,” I gasped. “I need a pint.”
“You did alright.” Kit laughed as she pulled me off the dance floor.
“Only alright?” She led me towards the tiny bar. It was little more than a square hole in the wall, revealing a tiny box room where a woman sat serving a small selection of drinks. “I felt like I was going to spin myself into an early grave.”
“Don’t worry, you and that slutty little kilt of yours really held up,” she said, leaning against the wall.
“Slutty kilt?” I repeated. There was a flush of pink bright across her cheeks from the dancing, a slight sheen of sweat across her forehead highlighting only the joy that was clear across her features. She was beautiful – so fucking beautiful – that sometimes it hurt just to look at her.
“I’m not sure you’re supposed to be showing any thigh, Jonah.” At her words, my hands went to my kilt, making sure it hadn’t ridden up since the dance. Instead, she pointed to the bottom corner. “I think your kilt pin is missing.”
I peered down, noticing that, in fact, the pin that Archie had given me was missing. “It must’ve fallen off during the dancing.”
“It’s good to know you’ve gone true Scotsman.” She winked.
My mouth fell open, hands going to the edge of the wool material as if to hold it shut. Archie had insisted that briefs were not to be worn underneath.
Tradition, he’d sworn.
Tradition, my bare ass.
“Exactly how much did you see?”
“Don’t worry, you didn’t expose yourself to the entire village.” Kit smirked. “I saw enough to get the gist.”
I sighed before quickly ordering us some well-needed drinks, my body still aching from colliding with so many people.
“I’m glad the dancing is over anyway,” I said. “Now I can relax and enjoy the new year.”
“Oh, that was only the first one,” Kit said. “Wait till we get to ‘Strip the Willow’.”
“Only the first?” I panicked. “How much more is a man supposed to spin without throwing up his last pint?”
She looked up at me, those blue eyes sparkling, making it impossible to say no to her. How was I supposed to? When she looked like the only woman in the world who could keep me on my toes, spin me around, and then give me a slice of heaven with every touch?
“Oh, so much more spinning.” She paid the bartender, grabbing her wine glass to head back to the table. “I promise, it’s going to be so much fun.”
Somehow, I knew she was right. There was not a shred of doubt in my heart that I’d follow her to the ends of the earth. Even if it meant spinning there in a tartan skirt.
I’d do it all to call her mine again.