“You really aren’t much of a journalist, are you?” I say. I know I don’t sound like I’m joking, but I am. Still, Kayla’s mouth turns down at that and I realize she’s far more sensitive about this whole thing than I thought.
“No,” she says after a beat. “I’m just trying.”
I don’t like hearing that melancholy in her voice. It’s such a change from the coy, flirtatious girl from earlier. “You’re doing a great job,” I reassure her.
“Do you mind?”
I shake my head. “Ask away.” I pause. “I promise I’ll be a gentleman this time.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I like it when people say what’s on their mind,” she says. “I’m not so different.”
“No, you definitely aren’t.”
She looks at me, eyes soft, and I can’t help but stare back at her. You could get lost in those eyes. They’re so dark, like wandering in the woods at night.
I clear my throat, realizing I’m scrutinizing her, and she sits up straighter, a faint blush coming to her cheeks. “Okay,” she says. “Well, the one thing I want to know is…why is this such a passion project for you?”
“Bram’s initiative?”
“Yeah,” she says, tapping her pencil against her lips. “What made you hop on a plane from Scotland and come to help him out? Are the two of you really close?”
I watch her for a moment, but her expression is hopeful, innocent. She doesn’t realize she’s almost getting too personal again. “We’re not that close, but I take family very seriously. Truth be told, I misunderstood Bram. From his social media, from what my parents would say about him, I just assumed he was a playboy who wouldn’t grow up. And while that was true, I also didn’t think he was the type to be charitable. But what he’s doing proves the guy is really invested in making a difference. He wants to do more with his life. He wants to be seen as more. And that’s something I can relate to.”
“This is almost turning into a bromance,” she says under her breath.
“Also,” I add carefully, “I believe in his vision. The underrepresented are the underdogs. They are the ones fighting a fight that no one can imagine. He’s giving a home to those people, the ones who have been cast aside. The strays. The wounded, the ruined, and the lost. Society can’t begin to understand their problems, and it rarely provides a solution either. Though Bram’s complex is small, it’s a start. Big things start somewhere. Great things can come from this.”
She’s scribbling furiously as she writes it all down. I eye her phone. “Would it not be easier to record this on your phone?”
She smiles but doesn’t look up. “It feels more authentic this way.” She reads it over, her lips moving, then raises her brow, impressed. “So do you think you’ll go back to Scotland wanting to do something similar? Follow in his footsteps?”
My lips twitch into a small smile. “I might.”
Her brows furrow. She’s assessing me, trying to read what I mean. I know better than to turn her away from the subject matter. This is really about Bram, not me.
We talk a bit more about the next steps needed in the development, my rugby career, and some things about Scotland. To her credit, she manages to keep the questions at a shallow level, even though after a while I want to flip the tables on her and start asking her questions. Not to even the score—just because I’m getting curious. I hate to admit it, but I want to know more about her—this crazy, flirtatious, ballsy, ambitious, yet sensitive girl. From the things I’ve heard from Bram compared to the things I’ve seen, I’m starting to think she’s a bit misunderstood too.
But I don’t ask her. Because that’s not why I’m here and that’s not why she’s here, no matter how I catch her glancing at me from time to time. Funny how it annoys me when Justine casts a sly glance, but when Kayla does it…it’s flattering.
That’s just my ego talking though. Sometimes it can be as big as the moon. Other days it’s not much more than a seed.
When we’re all done, I get up from my chair and say, “That went well. I hope you got everything you need.”
She stares at me for a moment, then says, “Oh,” and gets to her feet and starts shoving her stuff in her purse. “Yes, thank you. That should be it. I think I already have the angle and everything.”
“Good,” I say, feeling strangely awkward. “If you need anything else, just ask.” I don’t think I’ve ever talked this much in a long time, and even though saying goodbye should be simple, somehow it’s not coming across that way.
I watch as she slides her shoes on her feet. I suppress a grin from the sight of her in my baggy workout clothes and leopard print heels.
She looks up and catches my eye, flashing me a playful smile. “Maybe I’ll start a new fashion trend.”
“You can pull it off,” I admit, folding my arms across my chest.
Her eyes rest briefly on my forearms, then she looks away, slinging her purse over her shoulder and heading for the door.
“Oh, wait,” I tell her. I go into the kitchen and pull out a plastic bag, then take her wet jeans, shirt, and a tiny pair of pink underwear that were drying near the sink and shove them inside. I walk over to her and hand her the bag. “Don’t forget your clothes.”
She tugs at the t-shirt she’s wearing. “And what about your clothes? Will I see you before you leave?”
I shrug. “Maybe. If you don’t, keep them.”
She frowns for a moment, then raises her chin. “I’m sure I’ll get them to Bram soon. Well…thanks again for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Thanks for being a good sport.”
“Ha,” she says, opening the door. “I have a feeling I’ll be cursing you tomorrow when I can’t feel my calves.”
She wiggles her fingers at me and leaves. I stand there for a moment, watching her sashay off, her perky little arse eclipsed by my shorts.
I go back into my flat and close the door. I lean back against it, close my eyes, and exhale. I can still see her walking away in my mind.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kayla
I’m such an idiot.
Seriously. I really thought that if I conveniently forgot my wet clothes behind at his place, it would give me an excuse to go back and get them. But fuck, this dude is not like the others. It’s like flirting with a block of ice. And yeah, I could see it slowly melting over time—I mean, I’m still convinced he had an erection when he was pinning me to the ground—but Lachlan doesn’t have much time here. Which means I don’t have a lot of time to try.
“What about your vow?” Nicola asks as Ava noisily sips on her smoothie. It’s Saturday afternoon and the three of us are in a coffee shop, celebrating the fact that I’d finished my article and handed it in to Neil yesterday, who is going to fix it up and hand it in to Joe. I’d spent three days writing it and rewriting it until finally I was happy with it. Neil was happy with it. And Nicola just read the whole thing, looking damn impressed.
Naturally though, the conversation shifted to Lachlan. Well, me bitching about Lachlan, this beast of a man who seems forever off-limits.
“My vow?” I repeat, confused as to what that has to do with anything.
I look over at Ava who is coloring in her book, her tongue sticking out in concentration. I put my hands over her ears and say, “Fuck my vow.”
When I release Ava, she looks at me then her mom, and says, “Auntie Kayla said a bad word again.”
Nicola smiles at her adoringly then gives me a mock stink-eye. After having the two of them live with me for so long, Ava knows the drill very well.
“I knew you wouldn’t last very long with your…drought,” Nicola says, rather smugly I might add.
“Hey, I’m still going,” I tell her. “But for Lachlan, I would make the exception. In fact, if by some grace of god I was able to get in his pants, I swear I’d never touch another man again.”
She looks startled at that. “Jeez. Be careful what you wish for, Kayla.”
I wave my hand at her dismissively before sucking down my iced coffee. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t happen. He is completely immune to my charms. I mean, I was running around in the mud, soaking wet in a white t-shirt. I was writhing beneath him. It was practically like having sex. And yet…nothing. Later on at his place, he was about to take a shower, and I made a joke about joining him. You should have seen his face.”