He chuckled. “Sorry, sorry. I meant a postadolescent wanker.”
“Wow.” I eyed Forde a wee bit speculatively because I could swear there was more than a hint of real bite to his teasing. “You didn’t like Greig, huh?”
“Nah, not really.” He turned to Cammie. “You were too good for him.”
“Not too old?” She raised an eyebrow.
“He’s too young. There’s a difference.”
“Well, he knew his way around the female body better than many men your age.” Cammie pointed at Forde.
Forde’s gaze turned low-lidded as he stared intensely at Cammie. “That child has nothing on me. Trust me.”
A far too long moment passed between the friends as their gazes held. Then Cammie gave him a tight, mocking smile. “Well, you’ve certainly had more practice.” She patted his arm. “Remember to get tested regularly.”
At the flash of ire in Forde’s dark eyes, I scrambled to change the subject. “Oh, hey, we’re next in line.”
Forde glanced between us, shot Cammie an indecipherable look, and jerked his chin. “I better get back. Enjoy the day, ladies.”
“Bye.” Cammie waved her fingers at him even as she turned her head away.
Forde stared at her profile for a second longer before he stalked off.
“Is he gone?” Cammie murmured.
“Aye.”
She scowled. “He’s been a pissy wee fucker lately.”
London snorted as we exchanged a knowing look.
We bought sandwiches and water from the deli stall and were deciding where to go next when a crowd of children drew London’s attention. “What’s that?”
Cammie’s expression lit up. “Murray is doing storytime. Come on.”
“Storytime?” I queried as we followed her through the crowds.
“When Kelly was wee, she got bored at the games, so Murray did what he always did and sat her down to tell her a story. Soon he had a crowd of kids around him, completely enthralled. Since then, the council has asked him to do storytime at every games.”
Well, that was adorable.
“Don’t get too close.” London grabbed onto Cammie’s arm. “We might put him off. It’s for the kids.”
“I am a big kid,” Cammie reminded her. “And there are other adults here.”
I laughed around a bite of sandwich as we situated ourselves just behind another group of adults.
Sure enough, Murray sat on a wooden chair on a small platform where the solo dancers had performed earlier.
“Who is the little girl?” London asked quietly.
Cammie followed her gaze. “Oh, that’s Kelly, Murray’s daughter.”
The wee blond girl gave her father a bottle of water. He took it with a tender smile, and she darted off the platform to stand with a group of kids her age. Younger children had gathered before Murray, sitting cross-legged at his feet, ready for his story.
“Has anyone heard of the tale of the king who sought a drink from a certain well?” Murray asked the kids, leaning forward as he did.
“I’ve heard of the queen,” a deep male voice called from in front of us. “Get it right, lad.”
