Playing to Win (3 page)

The air between them snapped with tension. Colin ran his teeth slowly over his bottom lip, looking as though he were contemplating a monumental decision. Then he jerked his head to beckon Andrew over.

Much as he wanted to obey, to dash over and run his own teeth over that lip, the aristocrat in him saved his dignity.
Oh no, little man, you do not summon me.

Andrew lifted his chin and turned away, approaching Fergus and John to thank them for the party.

“Cheers for the wine, Drew,” John said, still draped with Fergus in the fleece blanket. “We’ll save it for a special occasion.”

“It’s your first night at home together. What occasion could be more special?” Andrew looked up at Fergus. “
Carpe noctem.
”

“We will.” The tall, lean football captain gazed down at John. “Every night.”

As they resumed snogging—right in front of him, my God—Andrew felt a light tap on his elbow. He turned to see Colin standing beside him, closer than he needed to, given the thinning crowd.

“Do you still go to raves?” Colin asked in a low voice. “All the clubs are pure crammed out with Commonwealth Games tourists, so a few folk have put together a party over in—well, I cannae tell you where it is unless you’re coming.”

Andrew hesitated. It was risky, going to an illegal dance party without his bodyguard, Reggie. But he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from Colin again.

“If I say yes, will it make you smile?”

Colin blinked. “No.”

“What would it take to get a smile out of you?”

“Hm.” Colin scanned the ceiling, considering. “Ten quid. But a fiver’ll get you a smirk.”

“Let me see.” Andrew opened his wallet and withdrew the only sort of note he had. “Can you change a hundred?”

Colin broke into a beaming grin that lit up Andrew’s entire spine. He took the note and pocketed it. “No.” Then he turned away, back to his mates.

Andrew watched him, his nerves still glowing from the memory of that smile.

Worth every penny.

“D
OES
HE
FANCY
himself Clark Kent?” Danielle asked Colin as their group waited in John and Fergus’s car park for Andrew to put on his disguise. “Is he turning into Super Raver?”

“Lord Andrew’s too famous to go out as himself,” Katie said.

“Unless he’s got at least four bodyguards,” added her girlfriend, Siobhan. “I read it on Buzzfeed.”

“Why are we bringing him?” Liam asked Colin. “I thought you hated poncey toffs like Andrew.”

“I do.” Colin stared at the bright red Tesla. Through the roadster’s rolled-up tinted windows, he could barely make out Andrew changing clothes. “But there’s something about this one.”

“‘Something’?” Siobhan laughed. “You say it like it’s a mystery. He’s gorgeous and minted and dresses like a catwalk model.”

Danielle nodded. “He doesn’t have a
je ne sais quoi
. More like a
je sais exactement quoi
.”

Scowling at his girlfriend’s admiration, Robert said, “Colin, you just met him. I know he’s mates with John, but—”

“I didnae just meet him.” Colin crossed his arms, his gaze still fixed on the Tesla. “Remember that rave we went to last January in Tollcross? I met Andrew there. He looked completely different. He had glasses and facial hair and regular street clothes. Said his name was Adam Smith.”

Robert squinted at him. “Adam Smith? As in the father of capitalism? That didnae seem suspicious?”

“It seemed funny, but I thought, who would choose that as a fake name? Besides, ‘Adam’ and ‘Smith’ are pure common.”

“Did youse two hook up at that rave?” Siobhan asked. “Or after?”

“A wee snog, nothing more.” Colin was ashamed to admit how that night had ended. When Andrew had shown up at a Warriors’ training session a few weeks ago, Colin couldn’t even meet his eyes.

Here was the chance to turn the tables, make the powerful feel powerless. The moment Andrew had kissed him in the kitchen, Colin knew the trap was set.

“Be careful,” Liam said. “If you’re still mad about a guy you met six months ago, he’s one you need to stay away from. You’ll lose your mind.”

“Nah.” Colin licked his lips in anticipation. “I can handle this yin.”

The Tesla’s low, sleek door swung open. Colin felt his jaw and arms go slack.

Andrew had traded the fine linen trousers, dress shirt, and blazer for a pair of torn black skinny jeans and a tight, dark-gray T-shirt. His hair was now tamed straight, the gel muting the highlights, with a long fringe angling over his forehead. And perched upon his perfect nose were the same black-framed, rectangular glasses he’d worn in January.

He’d turned
into
Clark Kent, and the sight made Colin’s head swim.

“It’s a bird! It’s a plane!” Katie said. “No, it’s Super Hipster!” She examined Andrew’s T-shirt as he approached. Across the front, the words
I Pity the Fool
had been written in bleach with what looked like a finger. “Did you make that yourself?” she asked Andrew.

“Of course.”

Katie turned to Colin and whispered, “I like his style.”

Me too. Fuck.
It was easier to hate Andrew when he was all toffed up. Now he looked downright human, yet still heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

“All right, then.” Andrew stepped close to Colin, nearly touching him but not quite. “Shall we away?”

Colin pulled in a breath, intending to beg off from the rave, to claim he was feeling ill and had to go home. But as he did, he inhaled that scent again. Andrew’s smooth, warm cologne made Colin’s every nerve stand on end, while at the same time soothing him. It was a scent that whispered,
You’re safe with me.

He wondered if spiders gave off the same aroma to the moths caught in their webs. If not, the frantic flapping of wings would tear the strands apart. At some point, every moth surrenders.

But not Colin. He’d wait until the last moment, then break free.

= = =

“Let me get this straight,” Colin said as he led Andrew down a bewildering series of North Glasgow streets and alleyways. “Your dad’s got millions of pounds, right?”

“Right.” Andrew craned his neck to catch sight of a street sign or a familiar landmark. He’d be lost if left alone in this dodgy, desolate area right now. It was rather exciting.

“So why can’t he leave you some of that money? Why does it all go to your brother?”

“The money is part of the estate, which can’t be divided.”

“Why not?”

“Because it can’t,” Andrew said. “The law of primogeniture, which says it all goes to the eldest son—”

“I know what fucking primogeniture is.”

“—was established to keep estates whole and undivided. It’s based on an incontrovertible principle—namely, who was born first. Not the most intelligent offspring, which would be my sister, or the parents’ favorite, which would be me.”

“If you inherit nothing,” Colin said, “why are you driving a Tesla and wearing expensive cologne?”

Andrew smiled inside at the fact Colin had noticed his scent. He’d chosen it because he’d worn it that night in January, when Colin had seemed absolutely ravenous for him. “Every penny I spend is my father’s. Theoretically, if I displease him, I could end up destitute.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, but it is
right
. Anyway, life’s not fair, as the cliché goes.”

“That’s why we’ve got laws to make it more fair.” Colin quickened his pace as if to rid himself of Andrew. “Like calling fouls in football.”

“But sometimes blatant fouls aren’t called, even when it could change the course of the game. The teams who waste energy screaming at the refs usually end up losing. Obsessing over fairness turns us into weak, whingeing children when we should be taking responsibility for ourselves.”

Colin stopped and turned to him. “You are the worst person I’ve ever met.”

“I doubt that.” Andrew walked on, catching up to Katie and Siobhan. “Do you know where we are?”

“Not exactly.” Katie looked up and down the dismal street with its shuttered pawn shops, newsagents, and Chinese takeaways. “But I think we’re almost there. By the way, don’t you dare tweet about this to your million followers. You’ll get us busted.”

Andrew smiled. This was only his twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth rave. “May I tweet about it tomorrow? Pretty please?”

“Hell yeah! And you better mention me.”

They laughed together, then fell silent as they approached a young beggar sprawled against the side of a city rubbish bin. His head rested next to the words of an advert for home refinancing. Though his cup was set out next to a sign reading PLEASE HELP, he didn’t accost them or ask for money, only stared into the night with empty eyes.

Andrew couldn’t understand how someone could end up like that in the UK, which seemed to overflow with government-provided housing. Perhaps that bloke had run away from home, seeking adventure in the city.

Glasgow was an adventure, for certain. Its citizens’ brash humor and fearless banter had felt like a scalding shower when Andrew first moved here a year ago for university. But bit by bit, it was changing him. He saw himself growing less civil, less tolerant of formalities. The city was prying open his heart and soul, begging to peer inside.
Ye show me yours, I’ll show ye mine
, it seemed to say.

Thinking of Glaswegians, Andrew turned to look for Colin, the epitome of this city’s aggressive openness.

He was gone.

Andrew stopped and scanned his surroundings, worrying his would-be date had got himself mugged. Did the police even venture into these parts?

Then he spied Colin by the rubbish bins, bending over to talk to the homeless man.

Not just talking—giving him something.

Oh no, you’re not.
As Andrew neared them, he caught sight of the pink-hued Royal Bank of Scotland note Colin was extending.

“Is this thing real, mate?” asked the beggar.

“Aye, and there’s nae more where that come fae, so gonnae no get any ideas.” Colin saw Andrew and promptly stood up. Then he stalked forward, brushing past him. “You either. Not a word.”

Andrew increased his pace to catch up—not quite
hurrying
, as that would be undignified. “You did not just hand over my hundred pounds.”

“It was my hundred. Now it’s his hundred.”

“It was meant for you.”

“I don’t want your money, pal.”

“But you need it,” Andrew said.

“If I kept it, then that’s my fourth tattoo sorted. I’ll just have ‘rent boy’ inked across my forehead.”

Andrew grabbed his arm. “Is that how you think I see you? As a rent boy?”

Colin stopped and studied him, pale eyes glinting in the streetlight. “Maybe.” He looked down at Andrew’s hand. “Gonnae let go of me now?”

Andrew did, but slowly, letting his fingers drift over Colin’s skin as he released him. “You said ‘fourth tattoo.’” He pointed to Colin’s arms. “I see only two there. Where’s the third?”

Colin smiled, for free this time. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

= = =

Colin scanned the street for signs of police as he queued up with his mates outside the Possilpark warehouse. On the whole, North Glasgow seemed quiet, what with the Commonwealth Games excitement centered in the East End. Men and women from all corners of the current and former British Empire had come to Glasgow to compete in what Katie had dubbed “The Queen’s Olympics.” The athletes and their drunken fans would keep Police Scotland well occupied tonight. Colin said a silent thank-you in particular to the scores of unruly Australians already nicked for drunken disorderly.

“What do you use in your hair?”

Colin jumped at the sound of Andrew’s voice close to his ear. “Sorry?”

“To make it all spiky in the back. Which styling product?”

Embarrassed to admit he used cheap crap from the supermarket, Colin said, “I don’t remember the brand. Why?”

“I want my hair to do that.” Andrew ruffled the back of his own head. “When it was very short, I could spike it like mad, but now it lies flat no matter what. Our hair’s about the same length, but yours goes out in all directions. It’s cool.”

Colin felt his entire head warm under Andrew’s gaze. “That’s how it grows, out instead of down. The hair follicles, I mean.”

“What, like cowlicks? Let me see.” Andrew moved to stand behind him. Then he ran his hand up through Colin’s hair, nails gliding along his scalp. Chills shot down Colin’s spine, awakening his cock again. “Ah, yes.” Andrew’s fingers drifted over Colin’s nape, tracing the patterns. “Here as well. It swirls all over the place. Makes you look as though you just hopped out of bed.”

“Aye…” Colin cleared his throat, dislodging the great lump of longing. “I cannae cut it too short, or it looks like someone’s taken a hatchet to me.”

Andrew chuckled. “Now who would want to do that?” After a quick squeeze, he let go and stepped away. Colin swayed a bit—he’d been unconsciously leaning into Andrew’s caresses, like a dog against its master’s hand.

Another group of ravers passed by, shuffling toward the back of the queue. They greeted Colin with smiles, back-pats, and hand-grasps, inquiring after his injured knee. He gave vague answers, hoping they wouldn’t mention the reason they were asking. He wanted Andrew to be…surprised.

“That’s the fourth bunch who’s recognized you,” Andrew said. “You’re dead popular.”

“Colin has loads of fans.” Danielle beamed at him. “He’s universally adored.”

“Not universally,” Robert said. “He’s got a few haters as well.”

Andrew’s lips tightened. “We’ve all got those.”

“Aye, but sooner or later, this bam’s gonnae kill someone.” Robert shook his finger at Colin. “Most likely his own eejit self.”

“Oh look, the door’s open.” Glad for the diversion, Colin pointed to the head of the queue, which was finally beginning to move. A muted cheer of relief rose from the crowd.

Andrew stepped in front of him as they approached the door. “Let me pay your cover.”

“What if they cannae change a hundred?”

“It’s okay, I found this in my trouser pocket.” With a wink, he displayed a tightly folded English twenty-pound note.