Playing With Fire (Glasgow Lads Book 3) (38 page)

“Glad we’re all together tonight,” Robert said as he shook Fergus’s hand. “Well, almost all of us.”

“Don’t worry, mate,” Fergus said. “Things will be sorted in time.” From his captain’s sympathetic tone, Robert knew that Liam had told him everything.

“You know what’s amazing?” Duncan peered at the bottle of Buckfast he was holding. “I’ve lived in Glasgow my entire life, and I have literally never seen one of these up close.”

“What’s it taste like?” Brodie asked.

“It tastes like despair,” Robert told them with a scowl.

A soft thud came from the speakers as Colin switched on the microphone. “All right, lads. Want to clear the dance floor, everybody but the grooms?” When the partygoers had moved to the edge of the floor, Colin continued, switching to a cheesy TV-show-host voice. “Now it’s time for a very special Woodstoun Warriors presentation. Tonight, making his Merchant City debut, traveling all the way from Glasgow’s East End…”

Robert gasped. Maybe Liam
had
come. But what was he—

“Please welcome…” Colin lifted his hand, signaling Marcelo and Alisdair to each grab one side of the spotlit red curtain. “The Ginger Enforcer!”

The wingers yanked apart the curtains to reveal—
yes!
—Liam himself. He was dressed as a football referee, complete with black shirt, shorts, and boots. A silver whistle hung around his neck, and on his head—

“Are those devil horns?” Brodie asked.

“Aye,” Duncan replied. “Appropriate for a ref.”

Liam remained frozen throughout the opening strains of David Guetta’s “Dangerous,” the spotlight accentuating the red in his hair and the fair skin of his face. Then he began a series of slow, mesmerizing poses, flexing his arms like a body builder, turning to one side, then the other, and finally to the center, biceps bulging.

As the singer crooned the first lingering
“You…”
Liam’s eyes locked onto Fergus. Then the verse began, and Liam unleashed himself. Mouthing the lyrics, he strode forward in time to the music, adding a spin halfway.

When Liam circled him like a panther, Fergus raised his hands in protest. “No, mate. You promised you’d leave me out of this.”

In response, Liam shoved Fergus down into the chair Colin had thoughtfully provided. Then he began to dance.

“Holy shit,” Duncan said. “Our Liam’s going to strip.”

Brodie let out a whoop and started clapping, as did the rest of the party.

Robert just stood paralyzed, watching Liam’s hips pump and thrust toward Fergus’s face. He waited for the jealousy to creep up his throat at Liam’s attentions to another man, but all he felt was awe.

And lust. Bags and bags of lust.

Liam leaned over Fergus, jutting his arse toward the rest of them. At the song’s bridge, he reached into his back pocket, all slow and sensual, then pulled out…

A yellow card.

Everyone laughed, including Robert. It felt like his lungs were working at full capacity for the first time in a week.

Liam tucked the yellow card into the front of Fergus’s trousers, continuing his hip and shoulder rolls. Then he turned and started twerking like mad in their captain’s direction.

“My brain cannot handle what I am seeing right now,” Brodie said.

Liam locked eyes with Robert, just in time to mouth “Ohh-oh-oh-OH-oh…Da-day-da-dangerous!” with the most wicked grin ever.

Robert returned his smile.
I am so staggeringly in love right now.

As the chorus ended, Fergus pushed Liam away with a laugh. The center-back-turned-stripper pivoted to face the other groom.

John strutted forward. “Bring it, baby!”

Liam took off his referee’s whistle and draped it around John’s neck, using it as a collar as they danced.

Duncan nudged Robert. “Check out Fergus—he’s loving this.”

Robert nodded but couldn’t tear his eyes from Liam, who had just pushed away from John to cross his arms in front of himself, tucking his thumbs beneath his shirt. Tugging the hem up and down, he teased the party, showing another inch of skin with each beat of the music.

Finally he whipped off the shirt, dislodging his devil horns, then presented John with a yellow card. Robert’s ears hurt from the volume of cheers and hoots and claps.

Liam crouched before John, then writhed his way up the body of the delighted groom. As he reached John’s chest, he wrapped his lips around the referee’s whistle.

“Wow,” Duncan said. “That’s…yeah.” Brodie merely whimpered in agreement.

At the end of the chorus, Liam spit out the whistle and leaned over to speak in John’s ear. John nodded eagerly, then turned Liam in Robert’s direction, sending him off with an encouraging slap on the arse.

Liam paused for an instant, then stalked straight toward Robert.

“Aw, no fair!” Duncan shouted as many of the cheers turn to boos and whistles. “McKenzie can’t even appreciate it.”

Liam ignored them as he dropped to the floor in a plank position in front of Robert. His hips thrust up and down, round and round, as the singer begged to do this dangerous thing again. Then in a somewhat ungainly move, he flipped over into a reverse plank and repeated the hip thrusts, neck bent back so he could hold Robert’s gaze.

Robert knew he should stare at Liam’s bare chest and legs, gather their thick, flexing muscles into his memory, but those eyes were like twin amber magnets to his own.

A hand grasped Robert’s shoulder. “Have a seat,” Andrew murmured in his ear.

He glanced down to see a chair behind him. He sank into it gratefully, knees weak with desire, as his best mate crawled over.

Liam spread Robert’s legs, then slithered up between them until he was poised above him, hands planted on Robert’s shoulders. In the brief, breathy pause before the chorus, Liam whispered, “I’m sorry I sent you away.” He climbed into Robert’s lap, still gyrating.

“I’m sorry too.”

“Aye, I bet you’re sorry now.” He ground against Robert as the others’ hoots and catcalls crescendoed. “I’ve got something for you.”

Robert tried to think, his brain fogged with desire, his focus consumed by the abs rippling in front of him. “Is it a yellow card?”

“Nah, too predictable.” Liam put his hands to his own hips, where the black referee shorts were fastened with a column of snaps on either side. Then with a flourish, he ripped off the breakaway shorts to reveal a zippered leather pouch thong.

Protruding from the pouch was a red card.

Amid the deafening cheers, Liam’s sly smile vanished. He leaned forward, his lips an inch from Robert’s, his sweat- and oil-coated skin smelling like home—the only home Robert would ever need.

“If it’s what you want,” Liam said over the music but low enough that only Robert could hear, “if it’s what makes you happy, then I will marry you. I will follow you to the ends of the fucking planet.” He took Robert’s face in his hands. “Okay?”

Then, as if nothing had happened, as if he’d not just uttered the most monumental words Robert had ever heard, Liam went back into performance mode. He lifted his arms and began to grind again, lip-synching the final chorus.

“Stop.” Robert grabbed Liam’s waist and held him still. “We don’t need to marry. I’ve found a way to stay here and still do something great. Greater than anything I could ever do in Dundee or Silicon Valley.” He tightened his grip. “I can stay here in Glasgow. With you.”

Liam gaped at him, unblinking. Then he beamed brighter than any California sun. “Okay!”

He crushed Robert’s mouth in a hard, joyful kiss. Robert pulled Liam tight against him, hearing gasps, laughter, and applause beneath the crescendoing song.

As the tune faded, so did the sounds of their teammates, replaced by a stunned silence when Liam and Robert failed to separate.

Duncan spoke first. “Erm…guys?”

They ended the kiss, stealing a few last brushes of lips and tongue. Without taking his eyes from Robert, Liam said, “Yes, Harris? What is it?”

“Nothing.” Duncan cleared his throat. “I’m just…confused.”

Liam’s smile was for no one but Robert. “I’m not confused,” he whispered.

Robert took the red card from Liam’s thong and tucked it into his own shirt pocket. “Me neither.”

“I know.” Liam smirked. “But then again, you never were.”

= = =

Liam was one giant goose bump, and not just because someone had stolen his shorts and shirt, leaving him wearing nothing but a leather pouch thong and a pair of football boots. His skin was alive and pointy because he was slow-dancing with Robert, who was gazing at Liam like they were the only two people at the stag party—or in the world, for that matter.

“Your routine was amazing,” Robert said.

Liam felt his face flush with pride. “Glad you fancied it. See, the concept was this: As I danced with each groom, I started as a stern, dominant top, but then after I booked him with the yellow card, I transformed into a contrite, submissive bottom.”

“I noticed. You clearly put a lot of thought into the narrative.”

“Well, flip-flopping a ref is every footballer’s fantasy.” He reveled in Robert’s laughter, then adjusted the devil horns he’d set amongst his boyfriend’s soft brown curls. “So spill—what’s this idea you’ve got to keep you here yet not destroy your future?”

Robert took a deep breath. “Okay. You know the Glasgow Effect project I’ve been doing with Dani? I want to use that data to make a massive life-simulation game. Kinda like
The Sims
, but more realistic, because it’ll take place in this city. Players would create their own virtual Glaswegians and live their lives—working, dating, getting married.” He nodded to the grooms, who were dancing nearby, arms around each other, John’s cheek pressed to Fergus’s collarbone.

“What about playing football?” Liam asked.

“Of course. Or going to the pub. Or joining a gang. The game would let you do just about anything found in real life.”

“So what’s the point?”

“The point is, every choice you make affects your character’s results. The happier and healthier you are, the better your score.”

Liam was struggling to imagine it, perhaps because he’d never been much of a gamer. “So this’d be on an Xbox or whatever?”

“No, it’ll be a mobile app so anyone with a phone can play it, not just people who can afford PCs or gaming consoles.” Robert’s eyes gleamed in the light of the mirror ball. “Here’s the best part, see—the game’s not just
about
Glaswegians. It’s
for
them.
By
them, even.”

Liam scrunched up his face, feeling dense. “How?”

“It’ll be crowd-sourced—which means players can give feedback to improve the game.” Robert took a hand off Liam’s waist and waved it at the lounge’s red-and-gold walls. “Like if there’s a factor out there that we’re missing, something that should win or lose points for a character. Maybe we can measure it, or maybe not. Either way, it’d still be brilliant to know.”

“Know what?”

“What matters to people,” Robert said. “What makes their lives better or worse.”

Liam thought of his family. “You mean things like having to walk a mile to buy fresh food?”

“Exactly!” Robert squeezed him tight as the music shifted back to a faster beat. “See? This could really make a difference.”

Liam didn’t see. “But how would you—”

“Gonnae get yourself here now, lass!” John shouted over the music into his phone as he approached Liam and Robert. “Of course you’re welcome—you’re the maid-of-honor and everyone loves you. Also, Liam’s gonnae give us stripping lessons.” He held the phone up to Liam’s face. “Tell Katie you’re teaching us to strip.”

Liam spoke into the device. “I’ll do it, doll, but only if you come and watch. No pressure or anything.”

Katie groaned. “I don’t think I can handle you guys going the full monty.”

He repeated her words to the lads. Robert took the phone.

“Katie, it’s Robert. There’s nothing here you can’t handle.” He paused. “Right, but it’s a gay stag party. If at least two-thirds of us aren’t cocks-out by the end of the night, then by law, John and Fergus cannot marry.” He paused again. “Okay, see you soon.”

“You’re a master of persuasion, Mr. McKenzie.” John took back his phone and turned to Liam. “Fergus told me you and he choreographed that entire routine by watching YouTube videos.”

“We did. He also bought my referee costume. Talking of which”—Liam reached out and grabbed the whistle still hanging from John’s neck—“gonnae give my clothes back now? I’m freezing.”

“I suppose, since it’s the only way you can take them off again.” John extracted himself from Liam’s clutches. “Dominic the bartender has them, but you’ll need the secret password.”

“Which is?”

“‘Rangers117’—you know, for our world-record number of trophies.” He strutted away wearing a saucy grin.

Liam sighed. “Cheeky wee bastard.”

He and Robert headed for the bar, narrowly dodging a dancing Colin, whose frenetic energy seemed fully restored at last after his long recovery. The senior bartender, Dominic, returned Liam’s costume with a butler’s polite indifference.

“Still no sign of my street clothes,” Liam said to Robert, “so I’ll have to put this back on.”

“I’ll help you. Then we’ll find the rest of your stuff so you won’t freeze on the way to my flat tonight.”

“Okay.” Liam wrapped himself in his breakaway referee shorts, already relishing the thought of spending the night at Robert’s. “You said this game of yours could make a difference. But how would anything change in real life?”

“Because this is a whole new way of looking at things.” Robert pulled the edges of the shorts together so Liam could do the snaps. “Right now we’ve got mountains of data, but still no one knows exactly why Glasgow is so fucked up, why our people die so young.” Robert’s voice caught, and Liam knew he must have been thinking of his own parents. “It’s always been an unsolvable problem. But maybe by working with the players, we could learn what really matters.”

Liam winced at the tightness of the shorts as he snapped the other side together. “If nothing else, it sounds more fun than filling in one of those community-health surveys.”

“Right, and that’s the other part of the equation. This game is a two-way street.”