throat as flashes of our multiple late-night trysts play on repeat in my mind. God, she was beautiful. And wild and outspoken. And her Scottish pride was the sexiest fucking thing I’d ever seen in my life. The best part was, she wanted nothing serious. We were both out for a good time, so it was the perfect situation.
That is until everything changed.
And I still can’t forget her final words to me.
“You’re not some knight in shining armour. You’re just a whore meister with a guilty conscience.” I’ve carried the weight of them with me ever since. I think it played a large part in why I eventually quit having casual sex. That and the fact that every single mate of mine was getting married and having babies. When the infamous Tanner Harris became more settled than me, it was time to take a hard look in the mirror at myself.
However, I have not had the Harris luck. I have been stuck in these endless cycles of monogamous dating that never seem to work out. But no matter how many women I’ve tried to connect with, no one seems to fit. No one seems to match that idea I have in my head for a partner who could be my every day, always. I am determined to succeed at this the same way I did with my career.
However, when the past reappears, that means something, right? Tilly Logan isn’t just the cliché “one that got away”. She’s the one who literally ran away. When she moved from London back to Scotland, she left me with a million unanswered questions.
Maybe if I got some answers, I could move on with my life and stop being a two-month chump. And maybe if she’s back in London, things will be different for her now, too? Things are certainly different for me. More than I ever imagined possible.
“Jesus Christ, is there a reason our entire living room is covered in pet shite?” My brother’s Scottish accent is thick with his displeasure as he loosens the black tie around his neck.
Freya and I look up from our work to stare at my big brother, standing in front of their ancient fireplace. His large frame looks like he’s about to burst out of the black suit that he wears to work every day now. Quite different than his football kit he wore only a year ago.
I close my laptop and glance down at our mess of pet clothing spread out on nearly every square inch of their sitting room. “There is a method to our madness, Mac,” I state defensively.
Freya adjusts her position on the sofa where she’s lying with her feet propped up on a pillow. “Don’t make a fuss. Tilly and I are doing important work here. We’ll be done in a tick.”
“You’re not supposed to be working,” Mac growls and pulls his tie off over his head, messing up his red hair that’s a few shades darker than mine. He tosses it onto the nearest armchair currently covered in plus-sized cat pajamas. That tie is lost forever now.
“I’m on modified bed rest, not full bed rest!” Freya tuts, her Cornish accent getting thicker with her own displeasure at her husband butting in where she clearly doesn’t want him. “It’s as if you have amnesia and forgot what the doctor said!”
I have to bite my lip to hide my amusement. Mac told me Freya starts to sound like Hagrid when she gets upset, so I’m just waiting for her to drop a hard Harry Potter at the end of her sentences. She rubs her five-month pregnant belly protectively and narrows her eyes up at her husband.
My brother crosses his arms, clearly in no way deterred. “If it were up to me, you’d put a pause on this entire business until that wee bairn is out safe and sound.”
“Mac! That’s what I’m here for!” I exclaim, once again coming to the defence of my poor sister-in-law. Good God, being married to my brother has to be awful for her.
“The doctor said I could still work as long as I kept my feet up. Where are my feet right now?” Freya wiggles her toes.
“I think you missed the part of her instructions that said bed rest. Not sofa rest.”
“I think you missed the part of her instructions that said modified. I think a sofa falls safely under that category.”
“I think we best call the doctor and get clearer instructions.” Mac digs into his pocket and retrieves