Playing With Fire (Glasgow Lads Book 3) (14 page)

Robert looked up to see Liam blanch, as if he was already regretting those words. Something dangerous was still sparking between them. It felt like they were playing a life-size game of Jenga, taking turns atop the tower as the other pulled out the blocks below.

“You know what I mean,” Liam added.

Robert kept his face smooth and calm. “I know. And I love you too, mate.” He nodded. “Staying friends, that’s what matters.”

“Good. It’s settled, then.” Liam got up and went to his kit bag. “I was thinking, you should meet some of the lads I know from the clubs and all. We could go tonight if you feel like dancing.” He pulled out a stack of clean clothes and gestured to Robert with it. “If your leg’s okay.”

“The leg’s fine.” Robert took the cue to finish dressing. He slid off the bed and headed back to the wardrobe. “I thought you said you’ve no money to go to clubs.”

“Aye, but then I realized with a face like yours, we’ll not be paying for drinks.” He stepped into a pair of briefs.

Robert used his open wardrobe door as a dressing screen, hoping it wasn’t obvious he was hiding from Liam. “I don’t follow.”

“Cos other guys will buy them for us. Cos you’re gorgeous. That’s how it works in straight clubs, right? The hot lasses never buy their own drinks?”

Though the idea of a club full of men chatting him up appealed to part of Robert—the part that had already made bad decisions today and therefore no longer got a vote—he hated the thought of seeing them put their hands on Liam.

“Not really in the mood for dancing,” he said, pulling on a comfy old long-sleeved Celtic T-shirt. “I’m pure knackered after the game. Let’s just order a curry and watch
Match of the Day
.”

“Suit yourself.” There came the jangle of a belt buckle and swish of denim as Liam slid into his jeans. Robert tried not to think about how they fit those thighs and that arse, snug in all the right places. “But my point stands, Rab. You need to get off with other guys, pronto. Then you’ll see I’m nothing special.”

Robert’s hand tightened on the wardrobe door, and for a moment he thought the fake wood would shatter in his grip.

It wasn’t enough for Liam to reject him? He had to foist Robert on other men, as though he were some awkward virginal cousin from the countryside?

Robert wanted to rage at Liam. But he’d been too honest about his feelings today as it was, and all for naught. So he kept a casual tone as he said, “Actually, I’ve already got off with other guys.”

Liam went still. Robert couldn’t see him behind the wardrobe door, but the complete cessation of sound told him he’d floored his friend.

“What did you say?” Liam asked.

“I said I’ve got off with other guys. Why, did you think me a complete noob?” Robert stepped into his tracksuit bottoms, then shut the door so they could see each other.

Liam was standing frozen, one arm halfway through his T-shirt sleeve. “What other—when? Who? Do I know them?”

“Maybe. I could show you their Grindr profiles so you can tell me if you’ve meaninglessly fucked them.”

“
Grindr
? Are you mad?”

Robert shrugged. “Plenty of people use it.”

“Plenty of desperate people with syphilis.” Liam finished pulling on his shirt. “You told me you’d never sucked cock before.”

“I hadn’t. You were the first.” Robert sat on the bed to put on his socks. “With these two yins it was just a wee wank.”

“Wanking each other or wanking yourselves together?”

“Both.” Robert shook his head. “The first was the second and the second was the first.”
Not that it’s any of your fucking business.
“And then there was IllusiveMan.”

“Illusa-what?”

“Last week I was chatting a lad who called himself IllusiveMan. After the
Mass Effect
character? Anyway, he came over and—”

“To your
flat
?” Liam was nearly shouting now. “I ask again, are you mad?”

“He was totally harmless. Besides, I can handle myself.”

“Och.” Liam turned away, rubbing the back of his neck, which had turned an even brighter red than his face.

Robert’s own anger had cooled to a steely satisfaction at the sight of Liam’s jealousy. “You’ve never used a dating app? What are you afraid of?”

Liam spun to face him. “I don’t need an app, mate. I live in a city with loads of gay bars and clubs—not to mention a pretty decent bathhouse.”

Robert snorted as he tugged up his sock. “You’re so old-school.”

“My point is, if I want an anonymous hand job, I can ask for it face-to-face. Like a real man.”

Robert flinched. “That was mature,” he said, to hide how much Liam’s words hurt. “You know, I think I’d rather do some work tonight and go to sleep early.”

Liam laughed. “Aye, right.” When Robert just looked at him, his eyes widened. “You’re giving me the boot? It’s Saturday. It’s Mates’ Night In.”

“So be a mate and let me do what I need to do.”

“Well, if—if you need to work, I could just hang out. I’ll be quiet. We could still get takeaway or…” Liam inched forward. “Is it because I said that thing about being a real man? You know it was just a bit of banter, right?”

“I know.”
Just a bit of banter
: The eternal Glaswegian defense for talking like a dickhead. “I’d still like you to leave.”

Liam let out a hard breath and shook his head. But he uttered not another word of protest as he finished dressing, and as he gathered his muddy, bloody, sweaty clothes from Robert’s floor and stuffed them into his kit bag.

At the door, Liam stopped and turned, then spoke in a strangely small voice. “We’re gonnae be okay, right?”

Robert nodded. “Of course.”

“Okay.” He zipped up his hoodie. “I’ll see you.”

“Yep.”
Fuck’s sake, please go.

“Bye.”

Robert crushed his lips together to keep from saying another word. When the door clicked shut, he picked up the duvet from the floor, intending to return it to the bed. Then he saw the streaks of mud upon it, painted by their football boots as they’d wrestled and kissed and thrust together.

He yanked off the duvet’s cover and shoved it deep into his laundry basket, wishing he could afford to simply burn it. Then he tossed the naked white duvet back onto the bed and lay down upon it, wondering if things would ever be the same again.

W
EDNESDAY
AFTERNOON
BEFORE
his weekly family visit, Liam first walked up Shettleston Road to the food co-op he belonged to. Then he took the bus back east to his ma’s flat, loaded down with as many bags as he could carry. Healthy food was nonexistent in his family’s immediate area, and Ma couldn’t be arsed to drag two little kids a mile up the road, so Liam bought their groceries to stop them living off junk food and cheap takeaway.

His limbs ached as he lugged the bags up to the third-floor flat he’d grown up in. Liam’s exhaustion was from more than last night’s extra shift at the pub. Saturday’s fight with Robert had left him in a sleep-stealing cycle of resentment and regret. One moment he thought he’d been
too
honest and harsh, and the next moment he wished he’d said more.

The whole Grindr thing was the worst part. Liam didn’t care that his best mate had been with other men before him. What really hurt was that he’d
told
other men before him. Liam had assumed he was Robert’s first confidante, as Robert had been his. Maybe their “mystical bond,” as John had called it, was purely one-sided.

When Liam entered the kitchen, dodging four-year-old Molly’s attempts to latch onto his legs, their mother was sitting at the table in her tattered gray-and-pink terry dressing gown.

“There’s my boy!” she said brightly, snatching up the case of Ice Breaker wintergreen mints from the cluttered table. “How are you?”

Liam sniffed the air as he set the bags on the worktop beside the sink. “Ma, tell me you’re not smoking while pregnant again.”

She froze with a mint halfway to her mouth, her brown eyes wide with alarm. “I’m cutting down, I swear. Not all of us can go cold turkey like you did. Some of us are human.”

“This’ll help.” He pulled a box of nicotine gum from one of the bags and tossed it onto the table in front of her.

“That stuff’s horrible,” she said. “I’d rather have the patches.”

“Patches make your morning sickness worse, remember?”

“Right. I forgot.” She came over and kissed his cheek. “Dunno what I’d do without you. You’re a saint, so you are.”

“Saint Liam. I like the sound of that.”

“There was a Saint Liam,” Ma said as she rummaged through the bags. “He was a racehorse—won the Breeders’ Cup about ten years ago, I think. Poor thing died tragically while standing to stud.”

Liam raised his voice over wee Molly’s rendition of “I Want A Hippopotamus for Christmas.” “Standing what?”

“Stud.” His mother examined the box of pasta he’d bought, then nodded approval. “He was mating with a mare when he slipped and fell off. Broke his leg, had to be put down then and there.”

“Fuck’s sake—literally.”

Ma gave him a clout on the ear. “Watch your language around the wean.”

“Ow! Sorry.”

“Anyway, imagine that mare he tumbled off. Poor girl must’ve been traumatized.”

“Don’t worry.” He carried a package of ready-to-cook carrots and turnips to the refrigerator. “This Liam’s in nae danger of impregnating anyone.”

“Thank God. I want to be at least forty before I’m a gran.”

“Aye, after you’ve stopped popping out your own weans.”

She raised her hand again. “I’ll pop
you
out.”

“I’m just saying, I’d hate for my kids to be older than their own uncles and aunties.” Not that Liam planned to have children. He’d already done enough babysitting to last a lifetime. His ma was only thirty-seven, which meant that he was closer in age to
her
than he was to Molly.

The little girl was now attached to Liam’s leg, chanting his name. He looked down into her bright blue eyes. “What is it, Molly-wolly?”

“See my new kitty? He’s green.”

“Is he now?” Liam crouched down and examined the stuffed cat, whose fur shared the emerald hue of Celtic Football Club. The cat wore a white shirt with the club’s shamrock logo. “Where’d you get him?”

“It’s a
her
and her name’s Princess Pepper Poodle and Archie gave her to me cos I was good.” She brought the cat’s arms forward and made it clap.

Liam wondered what Molly meant by “good.” The kitty had probably been a bribe to buy Archie a bit of privacy in which to impregnate their mother.

Out in the living room, the front door thumped open. Marianne’s voice rang out. “And that’s me with a job!”

Liam gave a shout of triumph, scooped Molly into his arms, and dashed out to hug their sister. “This is massive!” he said. “Two of us now in work.”

Marianne hugged him back hard. “It’s like a trend or something.”

“The salon job?” Ma asked, lingering in the kitchen doorway.

“That’s right.” Marianne took Molly from Liam and spun around, lifting her high in the air. “I’ll just be a shop assistant to start, but soon I’ll be in shampoo, maybe even before I finish school.”

Back in one of the bedrooms, Dylan began to cry.

“Och, now you’ve ruined his nap and it’s not even three o’clock.” Ma slumped toward the hallway. “Just when I’d got a moment’s peace.”

Marianne threw a foul look at her retreating form. “Don’t be happy for me or anything.”

“
I’m
happy for you,” Liam said. “Proud, too.”

“It won’t be much.” Marianne set Molly down and headed for the kitchen. “Minimum wage is only £3.79 until I’m eighteen.”

“And then it’s only £5.13 until you’re twenty-one. Believe me, I know.”

“But I get a ten-percent discount on styling products, so—ooh, you went to the co-op.” She started unpacking one of the canvas bags. “Anything good?”

“Nothing but kale. I know you’re a big fan.”

“What the fuck even is kale?”

“It’s grown in the devil’s own personal garden. Had it as a garnish once. And also that time Robert gave me a packet of kale crisps. I thought he was joking, but no, ‘I got ’em from the uni commissary and they’re pure amazing,’ he said.” He heard the bitterness in his voice as he spoke of his best mate. “It was like chewing fried lint.”

Marianne made a face at the pair of butternut squash in her hands. “We’re eating these things?”

“Aye, there’s a soup recipe.” He pulled out a crumpled sheet from the co-op. “I’ll make it, and you’ll not complain cos you didn’t pay for it.”

“Fine, fine.” She set them down with a thud. “So, where is our Robert? Is he coming this week?”

“Dunno.” A spark of hope lit inside Liam at the thought Robert might still show up to see the Carrolls. The two of them needed to make peace before their match Saturday.

“Did he say last night at training session whether he’s coming?”

“I didn’t go. Had to work cos of the Scotland-England friendly match at Hampden.”

“Och, the whole East End was chaos, like the Commonwealth Games all over again. Hey, don’t tell Robert about my job. I want to tell him in person. He’ll be so proud of his wee fake sister.”

Liam thought of a sure way to change the subject from his best mate. “I’ve got something for you.” He dug into his front jeans pocket and pulled out the spare key for his flat. “Promise I won’t regret this?”

Marianne gasped. “I thought you were kidding!” She snatched the key and clutched it in her upraised fist. “I promise promise
promise
you won’t regret it.” She bounced on her toes, the last bounce launching her into his arms. “Thank you.”

He patted her on the back. “Nae bother. You can repay me by cleaning my toilet.”

Marianne made a gagging sound and pushed away. “I’ll not even
use
that thing while I’m there. I bet it’s disgusting.”

“Mind, I’m gay, so I’m genetically programmed to keep a clean house. Clean-
ish
anyway.”

“Once I start work I can pay you a bit for letting me come over.”

“I won’t take your money.”