Playing With Fire (Glasgow Lads Book 3) (9 page)

“Two months, maybe?”

“And I’ve fancied you for less than twelve hours—not counting those daft eight weeks when we were thirteen.” He handed Robert the plate of burned pancakes. “Gie’s time to get used to this, all right? Can’t we just have a laugh for now and work out what it all means later?”

Robert pressed his lips together, then nodded quickly. “Okay.”

“Good.” Liam added more butter to the pan, then handed Robert the bottle of maple syrup. “Gonnae save some of that, aye? I want to lick it off your balls.”

Robert’s plate slipped from his fingers, landing in the dirt. They looked at the pile of blackened pancakes, then back at the tent, then at the bottle of syrup in Robert’s hand.

Liam was rather proud of himself for remembering to turn off the cooker before diving into the tent to feast on his best mate’s body. It would’ve been a shame to burn down the world outside, in case it ever mattered again.

O
N
ANY
OTHER
day, returning to his home district would have filled Robert with mixed emotions—longing, bitterness, and a wee bit of dread. Though some parts of Glasgow’s East End had been “regenerated” (i.e., gentrified) by the recent Commonwealth Games, the economic boost had yet to be felt in Shettleston. Here, life was still a struggle.

But Wednesday night as he walked down the streets he’d once roamed with Liam, Robert felt only anticipation. He was in such a good mood, he barely grumbled when two Police Scotland officers stopped and searched him for no apparent reason. Though he knew he didn’t technically have to consent, he held out his arms and let them proceed.

“This never happens to me in the West End,” he said as the policemen patted him down, searching for weapons or drugs—he assumed, since they never explained and didn’t have to. “I’m the same person here as there.”

“No, you’re not,” said the older one, whose wrinkled face bore a dusting of white stubble that reminded Robert of an early frost. “Everyone’s different.”

Robert smiled to himself, despite the demeaning circumstances. He did feel different this week. He wondered with a giddy thrill if people could tell by looking at him,
That lad there just gave his first blowjob, and it wasn’t half bad
.

Even at training session last night, he’d felt like a changed man. He and Liam were in harmony again, their center-back pairing so much more than the sum of its parts. But it wasn’t like before, when they were just mates. It was deeper now.

Continuing on toward Liam’s family’s flat, Robert popped into the Shettleston community center to say “hiya” to some of his old pals and see about picking up some volunteer shifts over the Christmas holiday. He and Liam credited this place with keeping them out of gangs and clear of most drugs (save nicotine, of course), so they both tried to give back whenever they could.

Just before six, Robert was let into the Carroll home by—well, he wasn’t sure which of Liam’s siblings opened the door, because the four youngest swarmed him in an instant.

“Pizza!” they shouted, all but two-year-old Dylan, who simply jumped and clapped, then toppled over. When Dylan started wailing, four-year-old Molly began to kick him, until nine-year-old Callum picked her up and dangled her by her feet, until twelve-year-old Aidan gave him a clout on the ear. Callum dropped Molly, who started kicking him in the shins, despite Dylan’s efforts to bite her leg.

Robert knew it was futile to interfere, and that any attempt to do so would jeopardize the stack of pizza boxes in his hands. So he merely waded through the churning sea of weans until he reached the kitchen.

The floor here was littered with cleaning supplies, aerosol cans of bug killer, and roughly two dozen plastic grocery sacks—the contents of the cupboard beneath the sink, Robert assumed, since that cupboard was now occupied by his best mate’s head and shoulders.

The rest of Liam’s body stretched across the linoleum, knees bent, feet tapping to the dance music blaring from the radio beside the toaster. He sang along to David Guetta’s “Dangerous,” making
NEER-nee-NEER-nee-NEER-nee-NEER-nee
keyboard noises and substituting made-up lyrics for the ones he didn’t know.

Then he caterwauled the chorus. “Oh-oh-OH-OH-OH! Da-day-da-dangerous!”

Robert paused at the threshold, relishing the clamor. The Carrolls’ chaotic flat, so unlike his own childhood home—Big Bob had been a quiet drunk—had always been his refuge. He set the pizzas on the table, carefully pushing aside a stack of crayon drawings and trying not to look at the open packet of cigarettes sitting atop them.

Liam stopped singing. “Do I smell what I think I smell?”

Robert crouched beside the sink. “What do you think you smell?”

Liam pointed his pipe wrench at him. “Dinner provided by my favorite person in the world.”

Robert’s innards glowed with pleasure, and he tried not to beam too goofily. Though he’d brought dinner to the Carrolls a hundred times, tonight it felt like an act of courtship. “Shouldn’t your landlord be seeing to repairs?”

“When do landlords see to anything but rent collection?” Liam used the wrench to twist the joint until it stopped. “There. Want to turn on the tap for me and test it?”

“Want to move your face first in case it leaks?”

“That’s the coward’s way.”

“If you say so.” Robert stood and cranked the tap up to full blast. There was a hissing sound below.

“Fuck!” Liam’s body jerked. Then came a thump that was probably a skull hitting a pipe. “Ow. Shut it off!”

Robert bent over. “Sorry? Cannae hear you.”

“Ya bellend!” Liam flipped him off, but he laughed even as his face and shirt got soaked.

Robert turned off the water, then gave Liam the small towel hanging from the refrigerator handle. “The wet T-shirt look suits you.”

“You fancy it?” Liam licked his lips and made a show of rubbing his own nipples, which were poking hard beneath the white cotton stretched across his broad chest.

Robert’s face heated. “Stop that. I cannae be walking about your ma’s flat with a hard-on. Marianne’ll get the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea about what?” came a female voice at the kitchen door. “Oh my God, I did smell pizza!”

“Hiya, doll.” Robert stood to greet Liam’s seventeen-year-old sister and only full sibling. “No onions on it this time.”

“Ah, you’re a star.” Marianne hugged him, as always plastering her body against Robert’s and holding on longer than he would’ve preferred. “Marry me?”

“Sorry, I’m spoken for.”

“You’re always spoken for.” Marianne shoved him away. “At least you brought pizza, which is more than this yin did.” She kicked Liam’s foot.

“I’m fixing your fucking sink,” her brother said.

“Are you, though?”

“I’m trying. If you’d gie’s a minute.”

“Okay.” She took Robert’s hand. “C’mon, I’ve got something to show you in the bedroom.”

“Gonnae leave it,” Liam said with more irritation than usual. “Give the man some peace.”

“I was just messing.” Marianne sank into a wobbly kitchen chair. “I’m swearing off lads anyway. Might join a convent.”

“Good,” Liam said. “Rab, hand me that other thingy there.”

“Don’t you want to know why I hate men now?” Marianne asked her brother as Robert attempted to read his mind and gave him a set of pliers.

“Not unless the reason requires me to pummel your latest neddy boyfriend,” Liam said.

“I don’t go with neds!” She kicked Liam’s foot again. “And anyway, it’s nothing to do with me. It’s cos Ma’s pregnant again.”

There came another thump as Liam dropped the pliers. He ducked out from under the sink and gaped up at her. “Please say you’re joking.”

“I wish.” Marianne fidgeted with the ends of her long bleach-blond hair.

Fucking hell.
Robert’s mind boggled at the thought of seven children.

“Who’s the father?” Liam asked. “Not Riley again.”

“Nah, he’s long away, thank God. This guy’s name is Archie. They’re out tonight
celebrating
.” She shrugged. “He’s all right.”

Robert knew “all right” was code for “he doesn’t hit her,” which made Archie quite the catch in these parts.

“Is she keeping it?” Liam asked.

Marianne rolled her eyes. “Of course. We’re Catholic. It’s a precious life inside of her, blah blah blah.”

“What about the precious lives
outside
of her?” Liam gestured toward the living room. “Those four monsters and you?”

“We just got a bit less precious. Och, I don’t even know where we’ll put this one. I’m already sleeping on the couch.” She rubbed her face hard. “Feels like I’ll never escape now. I’ll always be Ma’s free nanny.”

“No, you won’t,” Robert said, though he knew Marianne was probably right.

“Listen.” Liam poked his sister’s knee with the pliers. “What if I give you a key to my flat? You can let yourself in when I’m at work if you need time to yourself.”

Her mouth popped open. “Seriously? That’d be amazing.”

“But no throwing parties. Or sleeping in my bed. Or leaving your makeup all over the bathroom. Or popping by without phoning first. Or—you know what? Forget it. It’s a shit idea.”

Marianne slapped Liam’s leg with the tea towel, then turned to Robert. “You’re lucky to be an only child.”

“I dunno,” Robert replied. “When I was a wean I wanted to take you and Aidan home with me.” Not that he would’ve been doing them any favors.

“I wish you had,” she said.

“Me too,” Liam grumbled.

“Ooh, you’re funny.” Marianne went to the cupboard and pulled out a stack of plates. “Let’s eat the pizza while it’s hot.”

The family gathered in the living room to watch
Frozen
again—Molly’s birthday was most recent, which meant she got to choose the entertainment. They paused the film at seven o’clock so Marianne and Liam could put Dylan to bed. During the interval, while Molly sang “Reindeer(s) Are Better Than People” at the top of her voice, Aidan and Callum gave Robert feedback on his latest mobile game. The lads had reached the final level after thirty-six hours of play but had yet to crack it.

When Liam and Marianne returned, she’d changed into a pair of thin flannel pajamas that made it clear she was no longer wearing a bra. To Robert’s dismay, she sank onto the couch close beside him, shoving Callum out of the way.

Robert avoided looking at her, a skill he’d perfected ever since Marianne turned twelve and Liam had made it clear he’d gouge out Robert’s eyes if they lingered on his sister for more than a second. But Robert couldn’t help hearing her soft sighs as she edged nearer.

Liam sat on his other side, doubling the awkwardness. Robert didn’t know how to look at his best mate anymore, especially around the family. It seemed impossible the others hadn’t noticed the electricity sparking between them.

The film resumed, and within ten minutes Marianne had slumped against Robert, feigning fatigue. When Olaf the snowman told Anna that Kristoff was in love with her, Marianne let her head come to rest on Robert’s shoulder.

“So sweet,” she whispered. “Don’t you—ow!”

Robert turned to see Liam’s palm spread over Marianne’s face, pushing her away.

“Leave him alone, ya cow,” Liam said.

“Fuck off!” she whispered, shifting away. “Why do you care?”

“I care cos he’s mine now.” Liam put his hand on Robert’s shoulder and pulled him close. “All mine,” he added in a deep, mock-threatening tone.

“Whatever,” she scoffed. “Gonnae just marry him, why don’t you?”

“Maybe I will.” He wrapped his other arm around Robert. “Gie’s a wee snog, lad. See if you’re worthy of me.”

“Aye, all right.” Robert put a hand on Liam’s face. “Keep still, I don’t want to miss.”

Liam froze when he realized Robert was calling his bluff. “Whoa, just kidding.” He pulled away and shrank against the corner of the couch, far enough to put a gap between them.

Marianne laughed. “I may be a cow, brother, but you’re a cow
ard
.”

Liam didn’t answer, didn’t move, apart from a muscle quivering at the corner of his jaw. Robert wanted to shift his foot far enough so their knees would touch again. But the space between them—which held a chill not entirely attributable to the drafty flat—was too big to cross without being noticed by the others.

And what of it? Liam’s family members weren’t scandalized by
his
sexuality. His mother might be thrilled to bits that Liam had found someone she trusted (
“All gay men are bastards,”
she’d told Robert once,
“just like the straight ones—except you, of course”
). Even Marianne would support them—her flirtation with Robert seemed more habit than sincere desire, and usually she treated him as another big brother.

So the only Carroll standing in the way was Liam. Robert knew he had to be patient, that it would take time for his friend to adjust to this new reality.

Hell,
Robert
needed time to figure out what he wanted, both now and going forward. He needed an algorithm, something that would mash all the variables together—his uncertain future, their work together on the pitch, Liam’s past heartbreak with Tom Hannigan—and tell him what to do.

Suddenly Liam made a noise of dismay. “Just remembered, Ma said the shower head was running slow. Better see to that now.” As he stood, he tapped Robert’s knee. “Want to gie’s a hand?”

“Sure.” Robert got up and followed him down the hall, his groin aching with every step.

They entered the bathroom, where Liam set his tools on the floor, then shut and locked the door. “Two questions: How fast can you come and how quiet can you be?”

Robert caught his breath, then blurted the obvious answer. “Very.”

“Good.” Liam pushed him against the wall and started undoing Robert’s jeans. “I couldn’t stand it anymore, sitting next to you, watching this get all big and hard.” He slipped his hand inside and took hold of Robert’s cock.

Robert nearly bit his own tongue off at the sensations rocketing through him. “Was it that obvious?”

“Not to the casual observer. But I’m the opposite to casual.” He gave a long, hard stroke. “I wanted to see it. And then I wanted to touch it.” He did it again, his hand twisting near Robert’s head.