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  A Harris Brother Scottish Wedding

  AMY DAWS

  Copyright © 2018 Amy Daws

  All rights reserved.

  Published by: Amy Daws, LLC

  ISBN 13: 978-1-944565-20-6

  ISBN 10: 1-944565-20-5

  Editing: Stephanie Rose

  Formatting: Amy Daws

  Cover Design: Amy Daws

  Cover Photography: Dan Thorson

  Cover Model: Adam Spahn

  This book is licensed for personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author. The only exception is by quoting short excerpts in a review. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please go to www.amydawsauthor.com to find where you can purchase a copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  This book was originally entitled Cock and Balls and was first featured in the Cocktales Anthology.

  CHAPTER 1

  Cocky Teammates

  Camden

  “Specs!” I shout as I jog across the grass toward my fiancée. She’s in the middle of the Tower Park pitch surrounded by a sea of balls and has her hands all over my brother Booker.

  Normally, my woman’s hands on another bloke would send me into a jealous rage. But Specs—aka Dr. Indie Porter—is the assistant team doctor for Bethnal Green F.C., so I kind of have to deal with it.

  Bethnal is the football club—or soccer team, as Americans call it—my dad, Vaughn Harris, manages in London. It’s where my younger brother, Booker, and my twin brother, Tanner, play. Last year, I was right beside them until I signed on with Arsenal. Our older brother, Gareth, plays defence for Manchester United. We’re a family of footballers through and through. And even though our sister, Vi, doesn’t play, she’s the loudest fan you’ll hear in the stands at any of our matches.

  Needless to say, we all eat, sleep, and breathe football.

  That’s why I thought my life was over when I tore my ACL last year. I was caked in mud from a rainy match when they wheeled me into The Royal London Hospital on a stretcher. With my football career at risk, I was feeling the lowest I’d ever felt.

  Then a stunning, curly-haired redhead with cheetah-print glasses and a sexy smart mouth waltzed into the exam room, claiming to be a doctor. I thought she was way too young and gorgeous to be a doctor, but it turned out she was my surgeon and a brilliant one at that.

  She is way too good for me, which is exactly why I put a ring on her finger several months ago.

  “Oi! Get your hands off my brother, you slapper!” I crow as I kick a few stray balls out of the way and reach Indie, who’s hunched over as she stretches out Booker’s hamstring. I rear back my hand and slap my fiancée’s arse with a satisfying crack.

  “Ouch, Camden!” Indie squeals. Her hands immediately drop Booker’s leg and fly back to rub her rear end. She turns wide, angry eyes at me that are framed by a pair of red glasses today. “What on earth are you doing? This is my place of work! You can’t come in here and do that!”

  I roll my eyes at her overreaction. I grew up on this pitch. This is where I learned the game of football. There’s absolutely nothing I could do here that would shock anyone.

  I wrap my arm around Indie and pull her to my side. “Relax, Specs. When your dad manages the team, no one blinks an eye at you.” I release my hold on her to bend over and pick up one of the many footballs spread out all around us. Moving away, I begin bouncing it on my knees and head nod to Booker, who’s still lying on the grass. “Hey, Book.”

  “Cam,” Booker replies, pulling his knee to his chest to stretch himself like he was perfectly capable of doing all along. The cheeky wanker.

  I glance over at my beautiful fiancée, who is currently shooting daggers at me. Her brown eyes are stunning as ever, but they do not look soothed by my words. “I’m serious, Cam. You can’t come around the pitch to see me whenever you feel like it.”

  I stop bouncing the ball and clutch it to my hip. “Why not?”

  “Because it’s unprofessional.”

  “Stuff that! You’ve broken the rules for me before,” I reply with a wink. Memories of Indie playing hot doctor and me being the naughty patient will be the highlight of my life when my balls are old and saggy. Forbidden romances always do taste the sweetest.

  “Well, no more,” she retorts firmly. “I don’t need anyone else talking crap about me because I’m engaged to the manager’s son.” She closes her eyes and grimaces like she didn’t mean to say the last part.

  I drop the ball and turn to my brother. “Who is talking crap?”

  Booker rises up to a sitting position and props his arms on his knees. “Tanner and I put them straight. Don’t worry about it, Cam.”

  “Tell me,” I nearly growl and kick the football high, toward the goal that’s over half a football field away. It bounces off the top bar and misses.

  Out of nowhere, Tanner leaps up onto my tensed back. His beard tickles the side of my face as he bellows, “Hey, broseph! What are you doing here? Did the Gunners fire you already?”

  He tries to pull me in a headlock, but I shove him off and kick another football in frustration. “No…I’m already done for the day. What’s this shit I’m hearing about the team trash-talking Indie?”

  “Camden!” Indie exclaims, attempting to grab my arm and pull me toward her. “Just leave it. I’ve got it handled.”

  Tanner’s eyes narrow as he crosses his arms and stares back at me. It’s hard to take him seriously with his man bun and Dumbledore beard. However, he’s lost all humour on his face, so I know this isn’t a laughing matter.

  “I’ve had words with them,” he states with a grim tone that’s very unlike him.

  “Words with who?” I ask through clenched teeth. I rear back to kick another football. This one makes it in the net easily. “What are they saying?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Booker shake his head at Tanner.

  My blood pressure spikes. “What are you guys not telling me? I want to hear it all.”

  Tanner exhales heavily. “We have to tell him, Book.”

  Booker winces and yanks off his goalie gloves before hopping up to his feet. “I overheard some of the guys saying that you only put a ring on Indie’s finger as a publicity stunt for your new team.”

  “What?” I roar, my hands raking through my hair. I clench the locks tightly in my fists because I’d rather be punching their faces. A lot of the guys used to be my teammates. Who the fuck would say that?

  “Guys, stop!” Indie exclaims, trying to stand between the three of us to halt our conversation, but we’ve essentially boxed her out. This is a brother moment that can’t be interrupted. If Gareth were here, he’d be initiating a Harris Shakedown.

  Tanner looks straight at me and replies, “They were saying you don’t have any intention of marrying her. They were even saying the ring is a fake.”

  “My fists of fury are going to fucking fly!” My face heats with rage as I spin on my heel and boot four balls in a row. Three of the four hit the goal. The last one buzzes way over the top bar because I scooped under it too much.

  My eyes dart all over the pitch to where the rest of the players are making their way toward the changing room on the opposite side. I begin walking. “Time for me to have words with some of my former teammates.”

  “We handled it, broseph,” Tanner barks, grabbing hold of my arms and yanking me backward
. “Trust me. Booker and I both got fined for handling it.”

  Indie rushes up in front of me and pushes my chest. “Camden, you’re only going to make it worse!”

  Her voice breaks on the end with barely contained emotion. It’s then that my rage is tempered. Snuffed out. Crushed by the woman I’m in love with. I look down into Indie’s glossy eyes and it fucking guts me.

  “Indie, they are saying I don’t want to marry you because we haven’t set a date,” I grind out through clenched teeth though I hardly need to spell it out for her. She’s the smartest person I know. “There are two ways we can fix this. Either you set the date already, or I punch their fucking lights out.”

  Indie’s face crumples in worry as she nervously gnaws on her lower lip. Her anxiety kills me because she has all the power here. I wanted to get married right away, but she was the one dragging her bloody feet.

  My jaw is tight when I plead with her one more time. “Specs, just set a bloody date already.”

  She turns away from me and begins hurriedly picking up stray footballs. Months. It’s been months that my brilliant fiancée has avoided this conversation with me and I’m tired of it.

  With a heavy sigh, I turn back to Booker and Tanner. “Tell me what your fines were so I can pay you back. You guys don’t have to fight my battles for me.”

  “Fuck off,” Tanner growls while tightening his hair-band. “We’re Harris Brothers and Indie is our friend. This is as much our fight as it is yours.”

  Booker nods in agreement and they both cross their arms over their chests, clearly setting their decision in stone. After a moment of staring at them, I finally nod a silent thanks and they give me a hearty pat on the back before making their way off the pitch.

  Indie is still completely focused on placing the stray balls into the sack, clearly trying to avoid talking to me.

  I stride over and bend to grab a ball. “Is this a typical job for the team doctor?”

  “No,” she snaps quickly, then adjusts her glasses as they slip down her nose.

  “Specs.” I state her nickname softly and walk toward her as she bends to pick up another ball. “Specs,” I repeat as she fumbles to drop the ball inside with only one hand.

  The bag falls to the ground, several footballs spilling out around our feet. I reach up and grasp her cheeks in my hands to force her to look at me. Her eyes swerve nervously all around as she checks for people who may be watching us.

  “Camden, please,” she croaks, her voice thick with emotion as she tries to pull out of my embrace.

  “No,” I reply, moving my hands from her face and wrapping them around her waist to hug her to me.

  Indie has never been huge on affection, but she’s changed with me. When we’re together at our house in Notting Hill, she’s completely open. Right now, she’s reminding me of the closed off surgeon who was raised by cold, unfeeling parents who left her alone in boarding schools for most of her life.

  “Indie, I love you. Fucking marry me so we can put this stupid gossip to bed.”

  Her eyes fly wide. “I’m not going to marry you because a couple of guys don’t know how to keep their mouths shut in the changing room!” she snaps.

  “Then marry me because I asked you to. Marry me because I want to take the next step with you!”

  “And who will attend this wedding?” she asks, stepping out of my arms and swiping under her glasses as errant tears fall from her eyes. “Your entire family and my one and only friend, Belle? Not to mention the fact that Belle is married to Tanner, so she’s technically your family!”

  “So what! Who cares who we invite? Everyone loves you.”

  “My parents don’t even send me birthday cards anymore. You think they’re going to attend their only daughter’s wedding? Highly doubtful.”

  My heart plummets when the truth comes out at last. Indie has been pushing off on setting a wedding date because of her horrid parents.

  “We don’t need your parents there,” I reply through clenched teeth. “Truth be told, I don’t even want them there.”

  “Who will walk me down the aisle?” she sobs, and the pain on her face cuts right through me. In a flash, I kick all the balls out of my way and pull her into my arms.

  She presses her face into my chest as her body trembles against me. I haven’t seen her get emotional about her parents in a long time. I’m such a prat for not realising this is what has been bothering her.

  “Any of my brothers would love to walk you down the aisle. You can take your pick.” I run my hand down the back of her neck and she sags into me a bit. “I know my dad would be honoured, Specs. Hell, I’ll walk you down the aisle myself if you’ll let me.”

  “I’m sorry, Camden,” she mumbles against my shirt before looking up at me, her brown eyes full of pain and embarrassment. “This is so stupid. I shouldn’t care about this, but I do. I don’t want to be the bride everyone feels sorry for because there’s only one friend on her side of the church.”

  “So let’s get married alone!” I reply, my voice rising in pitch.

  She scoffs and shoves me in the chest. “Be serious. Your family would murder you.”

  “I don’t give a toss!” I tilt her chin up so she looks me in the eyes and sees how serious I am. “I care about you and me. My family will get over it. Most of them at least. Tanner will probably weep for a few weeks, but he’ll be fine.”

  Indie smiles at the image and shakes her head from side-to-side. “We can’t possibly elope, can we?” she asks, her voice sounding mildly hopeful.

  “We can do whatever we want!” I exclaim, tossing my hands out wide. “Let’s do it this weekend. We’re both off, which basically never happens in the world of football. It’s a sign, Specs. It’s meant to be.”

  Indie bites her lip and adjusts her glasses, clearly thinking through all the details like the sexy nerdling she is. “Are you completely sure you’re okay with it just being us? I don’t want you to do this because of what the players are saying, and I don’t want you to have regrets.”

  “I’m one hundred percent sure I want to marry you this weekend…Just us,” I add, stepping in and hugging her to me again. I press my forehead to hers and whisper, “Let’s go make those cocky bastards shut their arrogant mouths.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Cocky Bagpiper

  Indie

  “The piper’s ready for ye!” the wedding planner states in a thick Scottish accent as I stare at myself in the mirror of the hotel lobby in Gretna Green, Scotland.

  I’m wearing a simple pleated, strapless wedding dress. The ivory colour compliments my fair skin, and the skirt is just full enough to make it feel like a wedding dress. The sweetheart neckline gives it a sexier feel while the row of buttons up the back adds a touch of elegance. No accessories and definitely no glasses. I can’t wait for Camden to see me.

  We only had three days to prepare everything, and doing it all without his family finding out was incredibly difficult. Those five Harris siblings are balls-deep in each other’s lives. His sister called three times when we were on the train yesterday. Even my best friend, Belle, nearly figured things out when she caught me shopping in our old neighbourhood in East London a couple days ago. It’s been a whirlwind!

  But Cam has always loved a challenge.

  Now we’re here, at the Gardens Hotel in Gretna Green—a village in southern Scotland, over the border of England. It’s famous for runaway weddings, dating back to the 1800s. Young lovers would cross the border to defy their families and get married in secret, which is perfect for what Cam and I are doing.

  The Harris family is going to flip when they find out what we’ve done, but I couldn’t be happier right now. From the exciting train ride, to arriving at the station, to a limo escort, everything has clicked into place. The wedding planner took care of all the details, including separate hotel rooms for the night before. It was important to me to have some traditional aspects in our elopement. I didn’t want to lose all the elements of a n
ormal wedding just because it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.

  At our romantic dinner the night before, I swear you couldn’t wipe the smiles off our faces because we knew what we were about to do. Not even rain on my wedding day will bring me down.

  I move through the lobby to the rear exit that leads to a stunning garden filled with perfectly manicured hedges and a giant Japanese red maple tree. Drops of rain glisten on the petals of purple heather blooms that head toward a small pond where Camden awaits.

  “Whenever yer ready,” the wedding planner says, handing me an open umbrella. “Good luck.”

  She moves back as I tuck myself underneath and step out into the light mist. An elderly man strides up from behind her, wearing a traditional Scottish kilt and carrying enormous bagpipes in his arms.

  He smiles a crooked-tooth smile and says in his thick accent, “They say rain on yer wedding day means good luck for fertility.” He shoots me a lewd wink and I can’t help but laugh.

  “That’s good to know.”

  “Are ye ready, lass?” he asks, putting the reed of his instrument in his mouth.

  I clutch my bouquet of pink roses and give him a quick nod. “Completely ready.”

  And just like that, I’m walking through a beautiful—albeit wet—Scottish garden with a traditional Scottish bagpiper leading me down the aisle.

  When I carefully cross over a stunning, red-railing arched bridge, I finally see my future husband standing tall and proud under the rustic pagoda.

  Camden is, of course, kitted out in a kilt himself. It was a bit of a shock when he said he wanted to wear one. But when the wedding planner showed him the tartan for the Harris name and he nearly wept with joy, I couldn’t say no.

  God, he actually looks sexy. The knee-high socks are exactly like the ones he wears on the football pitch, and the suit jacket is tailored to his build perfectly. What can I say? I like my man in a skirt!

  My focus on him is diverted when the bagpiper in front of me trips over a stone. He belts out a cringe-worthy, nasally note as he tumbles to the ground, landing hard on his elbow. Without pause, I rush over to him and drop my umbrella on the ground.