Playing With Fire (Glasgow Lads Book 3) (21 page)

As Liam considered his answer, thoroughly stumped, Andrew called out, “Dinner’s ready!”

The three of them sat down and shared a meal of grilled salmon with some sort of sautéed greens Liam couldn’t identify but found delicious.

As he helped Andrew with the dishes after dinner, Liam said, “That was the best meal I’ve had since maybe ever.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Andrew said as he scrubbed the frying pan. “Colin needs visits from his mates to keep his spirits up.”

“I know, and I’d do it even if you didn’t feed me.” As he dried the first of the two wine glasses, Liam looked over his shoulder at Colin, who’d already dozed off on the couch. “He’ll be back on the pitch soon, right?”

“Yes, even if it kills him.” Andrew frowned at a stubborn bit of grease on the pan. “Because it’s what he wants most in the world. He’s still the same Colin MacDuff who never lets something as silly as fear stand in the way of desire. After what happened, you’d think he’d learn, but—” Andrew’s voice twisted to a stop.

Liam noticed only now, in the bright light above the kitchen sink, how shadowed Andrew’s eyes were, how deep the circles beneath them. “Are you okay?”

“Of course.” Andrew drew his sleeve over his forehead, then sniffled. “I was just thinking how some people weren’t born to be careful.”

Liam set down the dry wine glass and picked up the other. “That’s part of what makes Colin a good forward.”

“True.” Andrew gave a little laugh. “Can you imagine him a central defender like you and Robert? He’d go mad in a day. What’s your first rule of center-backs? ‘Don’t fuck up’?”

“Aye.” Liam fell silent as he carefully dried the glass, thinking of his and Robert’s rule and how they’d broken it. They’d taken a chance, each going for what he wanted, ignoring the fact that they wanted different things.

Or did they? Liam couldn’t tell anymore what he truly wanted. It was like trying to read a distant road sign through a snowstorm. All he knew was that he needed to end this miserable separation.

He needed the storm to stop.

R
OBERT
LAY
ON
his bed Tuesday night, torturing himself again.

In his hands was the Warriors calendar Katie had sold him to replace the one he’d given to Ben. Robert had promised himself he’d hang it on his wall showing the page for December of this year, the one with the picture of the entire team. But here it was, still turned to next April.

This was an innocent picture compared to some they’d taken that day in September. In one series of shots, the photographer had Robert and Liam draped over each other like strands of spaghetti. Robert wondered how much it would cost to buy the entire set of images from their shoot.

“You are so pathetic,” he told his photo self.

The electric heating pad on his right knee clicked off, having been set for twenty minutes. He’d taken a knock in Saturday’s match, enough to tell Charlotte—and himself—he needed to miss tonight’s practice session to be sure he was fit for the cup match at the weekend. But deep down he knew that any other week, this bit of pain wouldn’t have kept him away from training.

He felt a complete coward for wanting to avoid Liam. Apart from a few texts, they’d not spoken in the nine days since the massage, aka Worst Idea Ever. Seeing Marianne that night had reminded Robert that if things ended poorly with Liam, he’d lose more than a best friend—he’d lose his entire surrogate family.

Robert set the calendar aside and picked up his phone. Liam was at practice now, but maybe they could talk later, make another attempt at normalcy before they had to play together again. The last thing Robert wanted was to leave a voice mail ten times as awkward as their text conversations. (“Mate, it’s me. Rab. Obviously. So…okay. Bye.”)

Instead he fired up his Grindr app. To his relief, IllusiveMan—Ben—was currently online. Robert tapped the chat icon.

Ben answered immediately.
Hiya, secret pal!

Flustrated: How’s it going?

IllusiveMan: You’re the one who chatted me, so I should probably ask you that question.

Flustrated: Life is shit.

Ben followed his reply,
So you thought of my lovely self. I’m flattered
, with a wink emoji.

Robert sat up and rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes. He needed out of this flat, pronto.
I thought you could make it less shit.

IllusiveMan: With a hookup?

Robert answered honestly.
No, just hang out. I need a friendly face.

IllusiveMan: Good! I can never get it up for someone once I know their real name. Is that weird?

Robert hesitated, then told the truth again.
Yes.

IllusiveMan: You’re honest. I like that. And you’re also right. I like that a bit less.

Flustrated: So…coffee again?

IllusiveMan: If your life is shit, mere coffee won’t help. Just one question. 1: Have you got a Stetson?

= = =

“I can’t believe you’ve never been here before,” Ben said.

Tilting back the brim of his cowboy hat, Robert looked up at the orange-and-blue neon sign that read
Glasgow’s Grand Ole Opry
, one of many monuments to the city’s obsession with American culture. “Country-Western music’s not really my scene.”

“That’s what I thought too. I mean, look at me.” Ben gestured to his own face, all glasses and sharp cheekbones under his wide brown-and-white microsuede Stetson. “Emo hipster douchebag, aye? But I came here last year to help my mum with an event, and I just fell in love. With the music, the people, the whole shebang.” He sidled closer to Robert. “The best part? No students.”

“I noticed that.” Peering at the other patrons in the queue, and at the clump of smokers huddled against the wind near the outside wall, Robert saw that he and Ben were the youngest in the crowd by about a decade.

“That’s a great hat, by the way,” Ben said.

“I bought it for a Dead Celebrity party. It was the day after Halloween—you know, the Day of the Dead? Anyway, I dressed as the Marlboro Man.”

“That’s dark.”

“I quit smoking a few months ago,” Robert said. “Carrying a cigarette in my mouth all night without lighting it was incredibly liberating.”

“There’s that word again,
liberating
.” Ben smirked at him. “So, your yummy ginger mate, Liam Carroll of April fame, was he there?”

Robert nodded, lips twitching at the memory. “He was Mork from Ork. Robin Williams.”

“Interesting.” They’d reached the front of the queue, where Ben turned to the attendant and handed him a ten-pound note for their cover. “My treat,” he told Robert. “You can buy the first round.”

Inside, the place looked like a community hall, with tables and snugs lining the perimeter and a large, scuffed-wood dance floor in the center, currently half-filled with couples swaying to a twangy ballad. On the far end a small stage featured a painted backdrop of an American West desert landscape.

They headed straight for the bar—or
Saloon
, according to the pink neon sign above it. Robert bought them each a beer and a whisky, and as they made their way to one of the red vinyl tables surrounding the dance floor, the music changed to an upbeat tune. He started nodding along, feeling his mood lift for the first time in weeks.

They settled into either side of the snug, the seats of which were pocked with burn marks from the bygone era of indoor smoking. “What sort of event did your mum do here?” Robert asked, figuring he should make small talk before burdening Ben with his own problems.

“She’s a wedding planner. Started in catering, then branched out once she found herself telling everyone else what to do—where the flowers should go, how to hang the bunting and all. Everyone’s an incompetent fool without her guidance, or so it would seem.”

“And you work for her?”

“Aye, since I was a wean.” Ben sat sideways in the snug, leaning against the wall and stretching his legs out on the bench in front of him. “It was fun until recently, when Mum got asked to do a few same-sex weddings. She claimed she’s all booked up.”

“But she’s not?”

“Nope.” Ben sipped his pint. “So even though I’m studying geography at uni, I’m keen to start my own wedding-planning business on the side. Just to spite her—and because it’s the right thing to do, of course,” he added quickly.

“She turned away these weddings even though she’s got a gay son?” When Ben avoided his gaze, choosing to clean his glasses instead, Robert said, “She doesn’t know.”

Ben held his glasses up to the dance floor’s mirror ball, then put them back on. “Does your mum know about you?”

“She died before
I
knew about me.”

Ben’s eyes went soft. “I’m sorry. And your dad?”

“Also gone.” Robert swallowed the lump in his throat and changed the subject. “Two of my mates are marrying on Hogmanay—the Warriors captain and his boyfriend. The captain’s in the calendar I gave you.”

“I saw the engagement announcement in the
Sunday Herald
.” Ben propped his chin on his hand, eyes sparkling. “Has our Mr. January got a wedding planner?”

“Aye, but they might need more help in throwing it together so fast.”

“It can be done if you know the right people, which I do. So give your mates my number and help me strike a blow for equality or some nonsense like that. Also, you owe me.”

“For what?”

“For the advice I’m about to give.” Ben flapped a hand toward himself. “Go on, tell me why life is shit. It’s Liam, isn’t it?”

Robert tossed back his whisky in one gulp before picking up his beer. “We hooked up.”

“Well done!” Ben reached across the table to punch Robert in the arm but missed, nearly clouting him in the chin. “Sorry. I’m pure crap at manly gestures. So, how was it?”

Robert told him how things had developed, then fallen apart. “And there’s also the fact he doesn’t believe in bisexuality.”

“Ooft. That’s like not believing in global warming, or gravity.” Ben sipped his whisky and wiggled his cowboy-boot-clad feet in time to the music. “But you should know, we gays don’t trust bisexuals. We barely trust each other.”

“How are bi men less trustworthy? It’s a stereotype we’re all hyper-horny beasts looking to fuck every hole we can find.”

“It’s not just that.” Ben straightened his bootlace tie over his long-sleeved gray-green Route 66 T-shirt. “We worry that when things get difficult, you’ll use your magical escape hatch and run back to the safety of the straight world.”

Robert sighed. “That’s pretty much what happened to Liam. He fell in love with a guy whose girlfriend had just left him to move to London. He and Liam were together for months, but they kept it secret because they worked together and the man wasn’t out to his family. His father owns the pub where Liam tends bar.”

Ben winced. “That’s all kinds of dangerous.”

Robert nodded, remembering how he’d warned his mate he could lose his job. But Liam had been willing to risk everything for Tom Hannigan. “We’d both known this man for years—he was about ten years older than us.”

“Classic.”

“I know, but…I think Liam did mean something to him. I think the guy was just torn. He was afraid of his parents and still in love with his ex-girlfriend.”

“So, what happened?”

“She took him back,” Robert said. “He moved to London last December to marry her.”

Ben clucked his tongue. “Poor Liam. And how are you different? Are you sure you’ll never leave? You’re in your last year at uni. You’ve no idea where you’ll be in six months.”

“I wouldn’t leave Liam for a woman or for another man. If I moved for a job, he could come with me.” Robert wished he’d thought of that solution three weeks ago after they’d first hooked up. Maybe it would’ve made Liam less reluctant to be his boyfriend.

“Just like that?” Ben asked. “Drop everything and follow you? Quit his job, leave his—has he got family?”

“He’s the oldest of six, with another on the way.”

Ben laughed. “Well, I’m sure they’ll understand why he’d risk everything—including his income, which probably helps pay their bills—in order to be with his brand-new mate-turned-lover, someone who, for all they know, could be lusting after every human who walks by.”

“I’m not like that.” Robert set down his pint glass harder than he’d meant to. “I’ll prove it. Imagine you were in love with a man who didn’t love you back.”

Ben preened a bit. “Who wouldn’t love me?”

Robert ignored the deflection. “Would the fact you could be with other gay men make you feel better?”

“I don’t follow.”

“My point is, it’s not about gender. It’s about individuals. I want to be with Liam.” His chest ached just uttering the words. “It doesn’t matter that my pool of potential lovers is wider than most people’s. I still want him, that one person.”

The music changed then, and Ben sat up straight. “Ah! You know what you need to clear your head?”

Robert gave a wary glance at the dance floor, where the new song had provoked ninety percent of the club’s patrons to assemble themselves in rows. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.” Ben zipped out of his seat and seized Robert’s wrists in a surprisingly strong grip. “Line dancing cures everything.” He tugged Robert out of the snug and onto his feet. “Maybe not cancer, but definitely self-pity. C’mon, we’ll stand at the back so you can follow.”

Ben was right. Robert had no time to feel sorry for himself while he was trying to learn all these steps. He couldn’t even dwell on the memories the experience was dredging up, of the ceilidhs his parents used to take him to when he was a wean. How sometimes Liam would come along and the two of them would slam dance in the corner while the grown-ups did their set dancing.

“Not bad, mate!” Ben shouted above the music. “Can I get a ‘Yee-haw!’?”

“Yee-haw!” Robert bellowed at the top of his voice, making everyone around him grin. Of course he screwed up the next step, but he simply caught up and kept going.