Playing With Fire (Glasgow Lads Book 3) (23 page)

“Most men go for the Highlands or Islands malts, the ones so peaty you can practically walk atop them. They think choking down a strong-flavored dram makes them macho.” Liam gave a one-shouldered shrug. “But I can tell you’ve no need to bolster your masculinity with what’s in your glass.”

The man blushed as he took a sip, then closed his eyes in bliss. “This is deadly. You’re good at what you do.”

“My pleasure. Most of my customers come in knowing what they want, and what they want is usually a pint of something boring.”

“Well, I appreciate you widening my horizons.” The man held out his hand. “I’m Peter, by the way.”

Liam introduced himself, then said with a sly smile, “Gie’s a shout when you want more.”

As he turned away to set the bottle back on its shelf, his smile instantly faded. A month ago Liam would’ve relished the chance to hook up with someone like Peter—a fit stranger who’d disappear the next day with no expectations—but now his flirtation was pure business. His sole goal was to see that this man returned to Dublin with tales of the friendly-and-semi-cute ginger barman at Hannigan’s pub.

A five-star Yelp review wouldn’t go amiss, either.

Liam’s manager appeared at his shoulder. “They’re on the next-to-last question in the first round,” he said, “so be ready for the rush.”

“Cannae wait.” He looked over at Peter, who was checking his phone. As Liam drifted past, he spied the distinctive orange-yellow menu bar of Grindr.

“Is he nearby yet?” Liam asked. “Or does he not turn on his location?”

Peter slapped his phone screen-side down on the bar. When he saw Liam, he relaxed and picked it up again. “Um…he’s close now, I think. Sorry I panicked there. I can never quite tell, when I travel, where it’s safe to be out.”

“I wouldn’t walk down the Gallowgate holding another lad’s hand. But sitting at my bar, you’re safe as houses.”

“You’re out here at work, then?”

Liam nodded. “I don’t advertise it, but I don’t hide it, either. I keep things professional.”
Except those five months when I was fellating the owner’s son.
“How about you?”

“Same. Dublin’s pretty liberal as a whole, but some of our clients are a bit conservative. I used to bring a female friend to company parties to make myself seem straight. But now I go alone, so I suppose that’s an improvement.”

“You’ve not got a boyfriend, then?”

Peter hesitated. “I do, but things aren’t serious enough to parade him around as such.”

“Or to not link up with other men whilst traveling.”

“Or that,” Peter said with an embarrassed smile. Then he checked his phone again. “Ah, he’s nearly here.” He started to turn toward the door, then stopped. “Perhaps I’ll pop in to see yourself next time I’m in Glasgow? Perhaps nearer to closing time?”

Liam met his eyes. A guaranteed return customer was worth a lot in this competitive business. And maybe by the time Peter returned, Liam would be long over Robert. “Perhaps,” he said with a smile.

The door opened, and Liam’s smile vanished again.

Robert secured the door shut behind him with a fraction of the effort it had taken Peter. Then he turned for the bar and stopped short.

First he looked at Liam, then at Peter, then back at Liam. Then back at Peter again. Then at Liam again. Finally he stepped forward, so stiffly Liam wondered if he’d been injured in Saturday’s match.

“Mate.” Robert cleared his throat. “I thought you were off Wednesdays.”

So he’s not here to see me.
“Remember that shift I swapped for Scarlett? This is it.” He gestured to Peter. “I think you two know each other?”

Peter sat up straight. “Oh! Are you—” He held up his phone.

“That’s me.” Robert stammered out his real name. “Guess I should put my face on my profile,” he added, making Liam wonder which body part
was
on his profile.

Peter introduced himself, then flicked a wary glance between him and Liam. “And you two…”

The moment hung in the air like a foul smell before Liam blurted, “Best mates since forever. Which doesn’t mean Robert’s brilliant review of Hannigan’s is biased.” He tilted his shoulder. “Well, it is, but it’s also true.”

Peter gave a tight laugh, then turned to Robert. “Buy you a drink?”

Robert blanched and threw Liam a panicky look—for guidance, maybe? Or maybe he hoped Liam would ease the awkwardness by suggesting they hurry along to dinner.

Not gonnae make life easy for you, mate.
“Pint of Tennent’s?” Liam offered.

His friend nodded, then slowly sat on the barstool, with the demeanor of a man mounting the gallows. He probably wasn’t making a good first impression on Peter. But over-the-top gorgeous lads like him could get away with initial awkwardness.

Och, especially in that black turtleneck.
Liam looked away as Robert removed his jacket. Even before he’d come to lust after his best mate, Liam had always admired how that particular shirt caressed Robert’s pecs and shoulders, how the inky color made his dark eyes look even bluer by contrast. The thought of Peter’s hands gliding over that soft material—then
under
it—made Liam want to smash every bottle he could reach.

“Okay!” the quiz lady shouted. “Pass your sheets forward and we’ll see who’s ahead after round one.”

“Here it comes,” Liam’s manager said as he swept by. “Look lively.”

Liam finished pouring Robert’s pint and set it before him, trying not to notice how meticulously his friend had shaved tonight.

“Let me settle up before the rush,” Peter said, pushing a tenner across the bar. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks.” Liam didn’t mention that the whisky alone cost ten pounds. He wanted to get these two on their way so he wouldn’t see them flirt and perhaps even touch—brutal proof that Liam’s change of heart had come too late.

The stampede ensued as three dozen patrons attempted to procure drinks in the span of five minutes. Liam was so busy he barely glimpsed Robert as he escorted Peter through the pub, showing him the signed memorabilia and framed clippings of historic Celtic victories. And he’d no time at all to think of how their mouths would taste together, the lager and fine malt whisky mingling on their tongues.

He only knew he’d never drink Tennent’s or Auchentoshan again.

= = =

“Sorry that wasn’t a typical Celtic pub experience,” Robert said as he led Peter down the Gallowgate toward a nearby Italian restaurant—and more importantly, away from Liam. “I forgot Wednesday is Quiz Night now.”

“It was grand just being there, seeing all the Celtic stuff they’ve collected. Felt like a pilgrimage.” Peter gave Robert a gleeful grin. “Do you go to many matches at Parkhead?”

“I went a few times as a wean—as a kid, I mean—but these days it’s too expensive.” Robert looked back up the long street, where lights from pubs reflected in the dark puddles the rainstorm had left, puddles that shimmied in the driving wind. He was relieved they could discuss football, a topic that would semi-distract himself after seeing Liam. “Talking of stadiums, would you fancy a visit to Hampden?” He nudged Peter with his elbow. “Site of Ireland’s 1-0 loss to Scotland last month?”

His companion smirked. “At least we drew with Germany, which was more than you tossers could do.”

As they rhapsodized over John O’Shea’s epic stoppage-time equalizer in Munich, Robert thought he heard his name called from a distance. But he didn’t turn, didn’t dare hope. It was hard to hear, anyway, what with the wind screaming against cars and buildings like it held a grudge against all solid objects.

“It’s through here.” Robert turned to lead Peter into a side alley, where the Italian restaurant’s entrance stood about fifty feet away, glowing a warm, inviting amber.

“Rabbie!” The voice was closer now, and clearer. “Stop!”

Robert’s brain told his feet to keep moving, but they rebelled, and so did his legs, twisting him to face his best mate, who was charging toward them, dodging annoyed pedestrians.

Peter stepped up beside Robert. “Maybe you left your phone or your wallet at the pub?”

Robert knew he hadn’t, but he felt his pockets anyway. “I’ve got them.”

“Gonnae no do this!” Liam shouted as he neared them, leaping over puddles, then splashing through one that was too wide to jump across. “Please!”

“Has he gone loopers?” Peter whispered.

“He’s gone something.” Robert moved to stand between Liam and the alley. “What do you want?”

“Stop you making a mistake.” Liam grabbed the edge of the building to halt his momentum, his face crimson in the street light. “Stop you getting hurt.”

“What are you talking about?” Robert half turned to Peter. “I’m so sorry, he—”

“Listen to me!” Liam grabbed Robert’s arm.

“Leave it out, lad.” Peter stepped forward, going chest to chest with Liam. “Abuse isn’t sexy.”

“Abuse?” Liam’s face grew even redder. “I’m his best mate. What are
you
to him? Some stranger he met on an app. A stranger who chatted me up in the pub, a stranger with a boyfriend back home.”

Robert knew those revelations should bother him, but he was too angry at his mate to turn on Peter. “Liam, I don’t care about that.” He tried to insinuate himself between them. “Besides, it’s none of your fucking—”

He broke off. Here under the bright streetlight, it was obvious the two men had the same hair color, same eyes, same determined snarl to their lips. Peter was leaner and an inch or two shorter, but otherwise he looked like Liam fast-forwarded ten years.

The Irishman was the first to notice Robert comparing them. He stepped back, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “I see what’s happening here.”

“What?” Liam looked as if he wanted to toss Peter into the busy street. “What the fuck could you possibly know about him?”

“More than you do, obviously.” Peter turned to Robert. “I’ll get a table inside while you have a word with your
mate
. If you decide to join me, grand. If not, have a good life.” He threw a glance back at Liam. “Despite all odds.” Then he strode down the alley, ducking into the front of the Italian place. Liam took a few swaggering steps after him, his torso stiff and his head forward like a belligerent bulldog.

Something untamable boiled up from deep within Robert. For once, he let it out.

“What is your
problem
?” He shoved his friend in the back, so hard Liam had to put out his hands to keep from hitting the brick wall. “You’re the one telling me to get off with other guys. Now I’ve finally met someone, and you ruin it?”

“I’ve ruined nothing,” Liam said with a sneer. “He obviously still wants to buy you dinner before he sucks you off.”

“So what? How do you care?”

“It’s not safe to meet up with men you find online. Not for someone like you.”

Robert felt his rage quadruple. “Like me?!”

“You’ve no experience with this stuff. You’re worse than a virgin, because you think you know what you’re doing, but you don’t.” Liam’s finger stabbed the air in the direction of the restaurant. “You don’t know how dangerous men can be.”

“I can handle myself,” Robert growled. “You know that.”

“Aye, you can win a street fight when you see your enemies coming. When it’s some random ned wanting a square go, or a Rangers fan calling you a Fenian bastard.” Liam swiped a hand across his mouth, as though the phrase tasted bad. “But these Grindr guys could look totally harmless and still be a threat—especially the older ones like Peter. Or what if you’re out with him and get attacked by someone else for being gay? You’re not prepared, cos you cannae imagine yourself a victim.”

“I’m not a victim and I’m not gay!”

“Stop saying that!” Liam covered his ears. “There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

“I know there’s not.” Robert finally stepped back, trying to lower his voice. “Believe me, I wish I
was
gay.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Liam’s fists clenched at his sides. “You know what you are, pal? Lucky. You’ve got options. You can walk down any street in the world holding hands with someone you fancy. You can kiss the person you love in public without people chasing you through an alley like this one, looking to batter seven shades out of you.” He advanced on Robert. “And one day, when you get your fancy job and all your straight coworkers talk about their wives and girlfriends, you can talk about yours.” He poked Robert in the chest as bitterness curdled his voice. “You can be one of them.”

“No!” Robert’s breath shook as he tried to make Liam understand. “I’m not one of anything. I don’t belong with the straights, and you’ve made it clear I don’t belong with the gays. As for options, I don’t want them. I just want you.”

There. He’d said it.

As his last four words echoed in his head, Robert felt like he’d stepped off a cliff in the dark of night, with no idea how far he would fall or what awaited him at the bottom.

Liam stared at him, his red-gold lashes flickering in disbelief. “Rab, you don’t—”

“I do. I want to be with you so badly. But I don’t know how. I don’t know if you want me that way too, or if you still think we were just having a laugh.” He dropped his gaze to the pavement, where the tarmac dipped and water streamed between them. “I fucking miss you and there’s nothing I can do about it except stay away. I’m sorry.” His throat clogged with tears. “You say it’s dangerous for me to use a dating app, but you’re the one who’s dangerous, because you’re the only one who can—” He clutched the front of his own shirt with both hands, unable to say the words
break my heart
. “I know because you’ve already done it.”

Liam went utterly still for a moment, his face paling in the sputtering street light.

Then his hands flew up, latching onto Robert’s shoulders. “Don’t say that. Just—don’t.”

Robert froze, waiting for Liam to shake him, yell at him, call him an eejit.

Instead Liam kissed him, so hard their teeth clashed. Then Liam was backing him against the wall, pressing the full length of his body against Robert’s.

Robert moaned and pushed back twice as hard, wishing he could escape his own skin and crawl inside Liam’s. He didn’t care if anyone saw. He didn’t even care if Liam was kissing him just to shut him up.