CHAPTER EIGHT ~ ABBY ~ FOURTEEN YEARS AGO #3
“It’s fine, I grabbed a towel to dry off, and I can wash up a bit in the kitchen sink,” he says. “If you leave your clothes by the bathroom door, I’ll scoop them up in a few minutes and throw everything in the wash. I’ve left you some towels and a dressing gown for when you’re finished.”
“You thought of everything,” I say. He always does.
A small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “You can cross something else off your Scotland list now.”
“What, falling ass over teakettle down an extinct volcano?”
He shakes his head and chuckles, long and low. “I meant hiking Arthur’s Seat. And it’s ‘arse over tit’ here, by the way.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. Graeme’s smile turns into a full-blown grin as I continue to giggle. The fondness painted openly across his features makes my cheeks heat.
“You had a picnic on your list too, didn’t you?” he asks.
“That’s right, I forgot.” I started making a list of things I wanted to do and see in Scotland the same night Graeme told me about the trip.
Besides Arthur’s Seat and the picnic, we’ve visited both Edinburgh Castle and the Palace of Holyroodhouse, wandered through Greyfriars Kirkyard, seen a bagpiper in full regalia, gone on a road trip to the Highlands, and tried haggis and Cullen skink.
“If the weather cooperates, we could have more picnics,” Graeme says. “You loved Princes Street Gardens and The Meadows, so we could go back to both. We don’t even have to pack something, we could stop at a chippy.”
Forgetting about my sore hip, I lean against the counter and let out a little gasp. Graeme is looking right at me, so I can’t pretend I’m not in pain.
He waves me over. “Come on, let’s see it.”
I stand in front of him and inch the right side of my leggings down. Graeme grips the bottom of my shirt and seeks my gaze, silently asking for permission before lifting it to get a better look. I hiss when his fingers accidentally brush the inflamed area.
“Och, sweetheart,” he says, barely audible. “That’s going to leave a nasty bruise. Hopefully the bath will stave off the worst of the aches and pains.”
His arm loops around my back, gently gripping my other hip to pull me closer.
His brows are pulled together as he inspects the mottled skin.
After almost three years of knowing Graeme, I thought I was familiar with all of his expressions, but I’ve never seen this particular one, and I can’t quite name it.
He leans in and his warm breath ghosts over my skin a second before his lips touch it.
The gesture, paired with the way his eyes slip closed, is so tender it makes me want to cry.
I make a small noise in the back of my throat. Graeme’s eyes fly open, and his hands drop from where they were loosely holding me in place. He stands abruptly, the lengths of our bodies brushing.
“I’m sorry, Abby, I shouldn’t have—”
“No,” I say quickly, cutting him off. The word comes out so forcefully it serves to finally jar his gaze back to mine. I feel a bit shaky, and the uncertainty in his eyes doesn’t help. “It’s fine. You took me by surprise, that’s all. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone to kiss my boo-boos.”
The ridiculousness of my statement has the desired effect, making Graeme chuckle. He runs a hand through his hair, avoiding my gaze once more as he grips the back of his neck. “Happy to help. I’ll leave you to it. Don’t forget to put your clothes by the door, and I’ll grab them in a few minutes.”
Alone in the bathroom a minute later, I strip out of my filthy clothes.
The bathroom is at the beginning of the hall that leads to the rest of the rooms, but I still inch the door open and peek out before I leave my clothes outside.
I know Graeme meant for me to put them inside the door, but after what just happened, I imagine he’d feel awkward coming in, even though the tub isn’t visible from the doorway.
A prolonged moan of pleasure escapes me as I slip into the hot, fragrant water.
I close my eyes, and Graeme’s face flashes through my mind.
The almost reverent way he kissed me, his lips feather light on my skin, and his eyes falling shut.
The gentle yet firm way he held me in place.
In that moment, I felt precious to him. It was comforting and soothing, and yet...
something about it turned me on. That wasn’t a friend kissing another friend, at least not in any way I’ve ever experienced.
Heat that has nothing to do with the bathwater floods through my body. I squirm, pressing my legs together to ease the sudden ache between them. One minute I’ve got a death grip on the side of the tub, and the next my fingers are slipping between my legs, seeking to soothe the throbbing there.
The bathroom door clicks shut, and I jerk upright, wrenching my hand away. I must not have shut the door all the way when I set my clothes outside, and Graeme likely noticed when he came to get them.
I dunk my head under the water and groan, eliciting a stream of bubbles.
What is wrong with me? Graeme is my friend.
Other than Drew, he’s the best friend I’ve ever had.
Would I be lying if I said there hadn’t been moments when I felt more for him and thought he might feel something too?
Yes. Absolutely. But I’ve convinced myself I was confusing lust and love, and that whatever I thought I was feeling was actually physical attraction and nothing more.
Graeme is a big, strong man with a sexy voice and an even sexier accent.
He’s got a hot body and beautiful eyes that are matched by an equally beautiful smile.
You’d have to be dead not to notice how gorgeous he is.
At least that’s what I’ve told myself in the dark, quiet privacy of my bedroom, late at night when my hand has been buried between my thighs, and thoughts of Graeme have driven me over the edge.
My feelings for Graeme are all muddled, causing my body, brain, and hormones to send each other mixed messages.
Ultimately, none of it matters. In another few days, we’ll be living completely separate lives, and it’ll be...
better. Easier. The panic that rises in my chest tells me that’s not true, though.
Being away from Graeme won’t be easier, it’ll be hell.
I’ve grown used to him being just a few streets away, and now he’ll be on a different continent, a whole ocean away, in a different time zone.
I thought seeing him here where he’d be living would make it easier, but all it’s really done is make me long to be here with him.
I could tell myself it’s Scotland I’m falling in love with. While that’s partially true, it’s clear this country isn’t the only thing I’m falling for. But can I really call it ‘falling’ when part of me suspects I’ve been in love with Graeme since the moment we met?
Shit. I am so screwed.