Playing With Fire (Glasgow Lads Book 3) (26 page)

“Well…” Robert slid his hands into his trouser pockets, looking modest. “I’ve only just started, so I do whatever I’m told.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Behind Liam an older woman murmured, “I’ve got a few tasks he could do.”

Her friend gave a drunken giggle. “He can reconcile my spreadsheets,” she said.

“Aye, he looks like he knows how to spread sheets.”

Liam gritted his teeth and tried to focus on Robert, who was flipping through the binder with purpose. He gave one of the pages a triumphant tap, then turned to speak to the karaoke operator. The relieved-looking CEO hurried offstage to join the audience front and center.

The song began, and Liam instantly recognized the soft acoustic guitar riff. It was joined by a long, slow violin, whose bow seemed to draw across his thickening throat.

Robert started singing Ed Sheeran’s “Give Me Love”—low at first, testing out different volumes, finding the proper voice as if sifting through a wardrobe for a favorite shirt.

Then he reached the bridge and his voice cracked, fading on the final line. But as he launched into the chorus, he found full strength, hitting the notes perfectly. The crowd responded with smiles and applause.

Liam tried to remember the last time he’d heard Robert sing. It had been well over a year since his best mate had taken the open-mic stage at Hannigan’s to captivate customers with “The Foggy Dew” or “The Rocky Road to Dublin.”

Come to think of it, Robert had stopped singing when Liam started seeing Tom Hannigan.

During the second verse, an older gent beside Liam nudged him and asked, “Who is that lad?”

“It’s Robert McKenzie, of course.”

“But who does he work with?”

Liam recalled a name he’d seen on an unclaimed name badge in the foyer. “With George Carmichael at the Airdrie office.”

The man nodded, then adjusted his tie, which read
Kiss Me Under the Mistletoe
with a down-arrow beneath a picture of said plant. Liam wondered if he could get away with wearing something so cheeky/tasteless at Hannigan’s.

Then the chap asked Liam, “With which part of Bane do you work, if I may ask?”

“None of them. I’m Robert’s plus-one.” At the man’s blank look, he added, “I’m his boyfriend.” A shiver of fear and delight ran through him at this declaration. “Also, I’m pretty sure this song is for me, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a listen.”

He turned back to the stage, heart pounding, just as Robert began the second chorus, sweeping his gaze over the crowd, making eye contact as if he’d been born with an adoring audience.

Yet it was Liam’s eyes he found the next time he asked for love. Liam felt paralyzed, his feet nailed to the floor. He’d no doubt he could grant such a request. But at what cost?

At the end of the second chorus, the music faded, spotlighting Robert’s voice for one line. He crouched lower, folding into himself, bending his head in anticipation of the change in tone.

Then came the low, thrumming interlude, the karaoke machine providing the baritone backing vocals, one hypnotic line repeated over and over. Instead of joining in, Robert held out his hand to the audience, palm up, encouraging them to sing along.

And they did, Liam included, until the air around him vibrated with a hundred voices. He wondered if Robert would attempt Sheeran’s angsty caterwaul that culminated with pleas of “Love me!” It had given Liam chills the first time he’d heard it on the radio. His own voice always broke when he sang along at home, because it required total lung commitment, something he couldn’t offer in a flat with such thin walls.

Here and now, Robert was about to try it—Liam could tell by the way he clutched his hair and the mic, eyes squeezed shut, by the way he scrunched up his face and pulled in a giant breath.

That breath came out in a long, rising moan that ended in a shriek of “Love me!” Robert repeated the shout, swaying back and forth, fist opening and closing on thin air.

The audience kept singing the repeated background line—at least those who’d not stopped to cheer and clap even louder. But Liam’s own throat had stopped working, even as his lips kept moving. Robert’s karaoke performance of an old Ed Sheeran song—here at some random corporation’s cheesy holiday party—was the purest, most terrifying display of passion Liam had ever seen.

Robert finished with a hushed “Give me love” before the crowd erupted with shouts and whistles. He offered a half bow and a shaky wave, then looked for someone to hand the mic to.

“Thank you, Mr. McKenzie!” the CEO shouted into his own mic as he hopped onto the makeshift stage. “Who’s next?” Seeing the lack of volunteers, he told Robert, “No one wants to follow that, so how about another?”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly.” Robert was trying to put the microphone back on its stand, but the clip was loose, so it kept slipping.

“I think that’s a sign,” the CEO said, then turned to the crowd. “How about another from this young John Mayer type?”

Robert blanched at the comparison, still fumbling with the mic. “Okay, but only if I can sing a duet with my best mate.” He turned and beckoned Liam toward the stage.

When Liam hesitated, one of the women behind him gave him a push and said, “Fire in, lad.” He stumbled forward, still holding both drinks.

“How about something seasonal?” The CEO flipped to a tab in the binder. “We’ve a whole section of Christmas carols here.”

“Ooh, I know.” Liam set their drinks on the stage floor, then pointed to the song he was thinking of.

Robert’s eyes lit up. “Do you remember all the words?”

“No need.” The CEO pointed to the monitor in front of them. “The lyrics’ll be on the screen.”

“Ah, thanks.” Liam suppressed a grin as he took the mic from the helpful chap.

Jazzy trumpets blared a pair of triplet notes, followed by a plucky electric guitar. Liam bobbed his head through the intro, meeting Robert’s eyes just before they started to sing.

Bell jingle rock jingle rock rock bell

Bell rock jingle rock bell rock bell

Rock bell jingle rock bell bell bell

Rock bell rock bell jingle jingle jingle

Robert had discovered this goofy version of “Jingle Bell Rock” online when they were fifteen. He and Liam had learned it word for word, just for fun, with the side benefit of annoying the crap out of Marianne. Every Christmas morning since, they serenaded her until she pelted their heads with hard sweets and threatened to strangle them with garland.

But Liam’s wee brothers loved it. When Callum was five, he’d pissed his pants laughing, though he wouldn’t admit it now.

Jingle rock bell rock jingle bell rock

Bell rock bell bell rock bell jingle

Jingle rock bell rock bell jingle jingle

Jingle bell rock rock bell!

As they began their intentionally awkward dance routine, Liam avoided looking at the real lyrics on the monitor. It was hard enough trying to sing the “right wrong” words in perfect sync with Robert. One slip-up would send the whole song off the rails.

“And now the chorus!” Robert shouted.

Bell roooock jingle bell roooock jingle

Jingle jingle rock rock bell

Bell bellll rock jingle roooock bell

Bell rock bell rock jingle bell rock rock

Liam bobbed and swayed, executing the jazz-hand flourishes and shoulder shimmies like they were second nature (which they were, after six years).

By the third verse, the crowd’s amusement was turning to disbelief. Mistletoe-Tie Man—the one who’d asked Liam where Robert worked—was now speaking on his phone, hopefully not with George Carmichael from the Airdrie office.

“Everybody!” Liam lifted a hand to the crowd. “C’mon, you know the words!”

But most smiles had turned to frowns. Now only the drunkest of guests seemed to appreciate their performance. The two women Liam had stood near earlier were holding each other up, cackling.

He looked at Robert mid-verse, wondering if they should abort the mission. As their eyes met, Robert’s face suddenly pinched like he needed to sneeze. He flubbed one word, then another, and finally began to laugh, so hard he bent double.

Liam soldiered on, as earnest as a Broadway ingenue, his voice soaring operatic and his hip-shakes approaching burlesque.

Rooock bell, roooock bell

Jingle jingle jingle rock bell

The audience began to smile again, especially at Robert, who was slowly recovering from his bout of hysterics, wiping tears from his eyes. He gave Liam a nod, then rejoined him without a stumble.

Arms around each other, they bellowed the finale at the top of their voices, getting it right by getting it the same way wrong, together.

Bell-rock jingle-rock

Bell-rock jingle-rock

Bell-rock jingle-rock bellllll!

The cheers were deafening, louder for their joke duet than it had been for Robert’s sincere solo. But Mistletoe-Tie Man was now in conference with the CEO, whose amusement and gratitude seemed to have evaporated.

“Happy Christmas, everyone,” Liam said into the mic, then picked up their drinks and handed Robert his. “Get this down you now, cos we need away.”

“Right.” Robert lifted his glass to the crowd, smiling, while Liam took both mics, switched them off, then dropped them on the stage.

Ten seconds later, they were sprinting side by side out of the room.

“Och, these shoes!” Robert shouted. “Should’ve brought our football boots.”

“How could we know we’d need to escape a fun-hating financier?”

As they entered the lobby, a commanding voice behind them yelled, “You there!”

“This way.” Robert darted past the lifts and entered the stairwell. Liam followed, and they dashed upward, taking two stairs at a time, until they heard the door open below them. Then they exited at the third floor and ran down the long, plush-carpeted hallway in search of the lifts.

“Here!” Robert dodged into the foyer and slapped his hand against the Up button. “Why are we running? Have we broken a law?”

“Not legal laws—society’s laws.” Sweating from their brief sprint, Liam took off his blazer and tugged his tie loose. “No neds allowed at posh middle-class gatherings, even neds like you who can pass for normal folk.”

“I assure you,” Robert said as the lift doors opened, “I’ve no intention of ever being normal.”

When the lift began to rise, Liam leaned back against the mirrored wall to catch his breath. “That Ed Sheeran song, mate—seriously the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Robert blushed, standing against the opposite wall and loosening his tie. “Even though I’d all my clothes on?”

“Even though.”

Robert removed his suit jacket and draped it over his arm. “Can I ask a stupid question? Why’s our room got two beds? Is that for appearances?”

“Oh, lad, there’ll be nae hiding the evidence. You know why we need two beds?” Liam crossed the lift, dropping his blazer halfway. Then he planted his palms on the wall above Robert’s shoulders and leaned in to nuzzle his earlobe. “Cos when I’m done with you, the first bed won’t be fit for sleeping.”

I
T
WAS
A
long journey from the lift to their room, as Robert couldn’t keep his mouth or hands off Liam for more than a few steps. He needed to taste that tongue, feel the angles of that body, all so wretchedly absent from his life of late.

By the time he dragged Liam inside their room, Robert’s shirt was already half-unbuttoned, and his trousers were painfully tight. Their jackets and ties met the floor, followed in an instant by shirts. Then Liam grabbed Robert and pressed him to the wall, bringing them skin to skin. Robert ran his hands over the smooth, taut muscles of Liam’s back, knowing he should savor each new inch of bare flesh but needing so much more.

With trembling fingers, Robert unzipped Liam’s trousers, receiving the same in return. They withdrew each other’s cocks and began to stroke them together, muffling their groans with another hard kiss. Robert’s entire body was combusting at the feel of Liam’s warm, thick shaft against his own.

“Mmmph—I’ve got an idea.” Liam tugged the waistband of Robert’s boxer shorts. “Have you got an extra pair of these?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Great.” Liam turned away and opened Robert’s overnight bag. “Aye, this’ll work.” He held up the spare pair of boxers, a lighter blue flannel than the ones Robert had on. “Gie’s the ones you’re wearing, too.”

For a moment Robert just stood against the wall, paralyzed by confusion and pent-up desire. But then he staggered over to the bed, where he removed his shoes, then the rest, getting completely naked while Liam retrieved a toiletry kit from his own bag.

Liam snatched Robert’s boxers and took them into the bathroom with the toiletry kit. “Two minutes.” He shut the door behind him.

Robert listened carefully over the blood pounding in his ears.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

He went to the bathroom door and rattled the handle, which was locked. “Are you cutting your toenails in there?”

Snip.
“Nope.”

“It sounds like you’re cutting your toenails.”

“I assure you…”
Snip. Snip.
“…that is not what I am doing.”

Robert rested his forehead against the door, trying to catch his breath, feeling an outsider yet again. Was this some secret gay mystery he’d never found on the internet? This world was so bewildering sometimes.

Finally the lock disengaged, then Liam spoke in a solemn voice. “You may enter.”

Robert opened the door cautiously. Because of the bathroom’s layout, he saw Liam’s reflection in the long, low, horizontal mirror before he saw Liam himself. Which only made the sight more confusing.

“What are you—”

“I made us kilts.” Liam shimmied his hips, causing the boxer shorts to sway like a skirt. “You fancy?”

Robert stared at Liam’s “kilt,” the hem of which was shorter than any parochial schoolgirl’s skirt, partly because his erection was propping up the front of it like a flagpole beneath a tarp.