The plan is deceptively simple.I will ride a motorcycle across the river to land on the opposite side.I might have rejiggered the stunt a wee bit to enhance the thrills.Aye, some people might think I'm taking a foolish risk for a whisky commercial, but this is what I do and who I am.The cliffs here are massive and unforgiving, but I can handle it.I've done far more daring things and survived unscathed.
I'm saving my most death-defying move until the end.
The director for this project, Andy Chapman, is an American with a man bun.Those are two words I will never speak aloud.Still, the laddie seems quite competent.
"Positions!"he yells.
I had invited my family to attend this event, but Mam always worries about my stunts, and so she and Da stayed home.My brother Tam wears his poshest rugby shirt, and Neil has donned his favorite Talking Heads T-shirt that features David Byrne.
Fiona Sterling, Thane's distillery manager, is livestreaming the event on every known social platform.Her husband Domhnall stands nearby, ready to assist her in whatever way he can.
Then I spot Gretchen, who's ringing her hands.I wink and grin at her, giving the thumbs-up sign.I approach my starting position, thirty feet from the cliff's edge, and settle onto the bike's seat, revving the engine mostly for effect.I'm ready to go.
Andy shouts my countdown."Ten, nine, eight---"
Chapter Seventeen
Gretchen
Holy shit, he's going to do this crazy stunt.My heart pounds hard enough to make my pulse thunder in my ears.I can't breathe.Can't move a muscle.Can't tear my focus away from the man on the motorcycle who's probably about to get killed.Please, please, please don't fall off the bike, you crazy incredible man.
"---seven, six, five---"
The countdown continues, even as I grow slightly faint.
And suddenly, it begins.
Kirk revs the engine one more time, then barrels across the dirt and grass until he's left the ground behind and is soaring across empty space, high above our heads.It's no joke.The front tire launches from the edge and the rest of Kirk, bike and all, arcs right into the gaping emptiness above the river.The crew and the assorted bystanders collectively shut up, the only sound now the roar of the engine.Kirk Balfour and his bike have become a silhouette against the sky, as if he's decided the law of gravity is more of a polite suggestion than an actual rule.
For half a second, time stands still.The world seems like a painting now---a man, a bike, airborne over the churning waters of the River Ashray, as the cliffs drop off beneath him.I can't move or even exhale, and I'm pretty sure he's going to die.
Then, as if in slow motion, the back tire hits the far bank.The whole motorcycle shudders, and Kirk nearly slips off the bike.But somehow, he keeps his balance, careening away from the landing crater and straight up the far slope.
I swear the crowd exhales as one, while I nearly faint.Somewhere at the edge of my vision, I notice Thane Buchanan is laughing so hard he almost drops his phone.The lunatic on the bike pulls a sharp, show-off wheelie at the very top, then lets the bike idle down.Both his legs are swinging wide as he slows to a stop.And then---because this is Kirk Balfour, and he's even cockier in person than in the viral videos---he sets the kickstand, then stands up on the seat to spreads his arms like he's about to take flight.
And he bows in my direction.
My knees buckle.I drop into a crouch with my hands braced on the ground.Only now do I realize I didn't breathe from "five" until now.
I push up and onto my feet, shoving my way past the camera crew.Kirk almost falles off the bike, but he somehow keeps his balance.
And then I'm running, around a pile of lights and two very startled Scottish cameramen, to the battered ground where Kirk has just come to a stop.My shoes squish in the sodden dirt.My hair has mostly fallen out of the bun I'd jammed it into this morning.The wild man I adore rushes over to me, drags me into a hot clinch, and kisses me like the world is about to end.I can't breathe, and I don't give a damn.Don't care how I look either, or how crazy I must seem.I needed to see and feel him, alive and in one piece, with my own eyes.
Finally, we peel our lips away from each other.
Kirk turns to the side, sliding one arm around me.He uses the other to wave at the adoring crowd.
Damn, I need him to do filthy things to me.Like, right now.Here on the grass.
The man who gave me palpitations a minute ago smiles down at me in the sweetest way and whispers to me, "What should we do now?Celebrate with everyone else?Or..."
I fist his shirt in my hands and hiss, "Hot sex now.That's an order.Red-hot, naughty as hell, mind-blowing sex that'll make me scream.Got it?"
"Aye, lass.Your meaning is as obvious as a supermoon on a clear night."
"Good."Whatever that means, I don't give a hoot."Now let's get moving."
He strides along the muddy cliff, holding my hand, and skirts the edge where we both could fall into the churning waters.But Kirk doesn't trip, not even a teeny bit, not even when the terrain grows quite steep.We've just reached the bottom of the cliff where there's a sandy bank and the water burbles more than it rushes.
