Chapter 32

“Very observant of you.”

“You never bloody wear it!”

“Don’t usually feel like it.”

“Why the hell are you wearing it now?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Stephen said, “but it’s already thirty degrees out there. I’m not wearing sodding trousers, that’s for sure.”

In fact, he was literally wearing the kilt, a white T-shirt, and a waistcoat. Okay, he had the traditional hockey socks on, too, and some very nice shoes, but it still left several miles of bare skinon show.

And—well. Kilt.

“Are you being traditional about that?”

Stephen rolled his eyes, turning back to the tea. “I’m Scottish and I’m in a kilt and you’re asking if I’m being traditional?”

“I meant, what do I find if I put my hand up there?”

“You know exactly what’s up there. You’ve been up there often enough.”

Mike snorted, and backed Stephen into the counter, bunching up handfuls of the rough material in his fists.

“Last chance.”

Stephen grinned, right in his face, and said, “For what?”