Playing to Win (16 page)

“Dad, what is this?” He shook the letter. “Why didn’t you go to the interview?”

His father looked up from the bed, where he was sitting atop the covers with his laptop. “Emma was ill and needed the doctor. I phoned the Jobcentre to reschedule. They said since it was a last-minute cancellation, a benefits manager would contact me. They never did, and frankly, I forgot.”

“Dad!”

“I’m sorry, all right?” He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his nose. “It wasnae an interview for an actual job, just the usual bureaucratic pish.”

“All the same, you gotta jump through their hoops. I could’ve taken Emma to the doctor, or Gran could’ve.”

“You were in exams, and Gran was ill at the time too. Besides, I’m the only one who knows everything about Emma’s asthma, all her medications and symptoms. I’m her dad, I should be there.”

Colin frowned at the letter. “Don’t they give exceptions for things like this?”

“Aye, but only to single parents.” He passed a hand through his thick, prematurely gray hair. “Until your mum is permanently institutionalized—which I pray to God never happens—she still technically lives here.”

“Christ, what a fucking mess.” Colin sank onto the edge of the sagging mattress, squeaking the springs beneath it. “How are we supposed to live four weeks without your JSA? My student grant for year two doesnae kick in for another month.” He lowered his voice. “We’re barely getting by as it is.”

“I know.” Dad tapped his glasses against the laptop’s lid. “I’m seeing what we can sell on eBay. Old video games and all.”

“Good idea.” Queasy with worry, Colin drew his finger through a mud stain on his leg, smearing it into a star-shaped pattern. “I’m sorry I couldnae find work this summer.”

“Hey. We discussed this. If you worked a shit job for a few quid a week you’d no longer be a dependent and I’d lose the money to support you. It’s not worth it.”

“I hate that,” Colin said with a snarl.

“I hate it more.” Dad’s voice rose. “Don’t you think I’d rather have us both working? But unless it’s a decent job, the numbers don’t add up. We earn more on benefits, and while that might not appeal to our manly pride, what matters most is making sure your gran and your wee sister have enough to eat.” He put his glasses back on and opened the laptop. “Right?”

Colin hesitated. “Right.”

“Just keep up your studies and when you get your degree, it’ll change your life. Maybe change all our lives.”

“Yeah. Sure.” But what if it didn’t? What if in three years, the economy was still pure crap, thanks to government austerity measures? What if a bachelor’s degree was nothing but a waste of time?

Still, he had to keep a brave face for Dad. “I’ve been doing extra reading for my business course this summer. All those hours on the exercise bike gave me loads of time.” He tapped his knee. “Talking of which, it’s official—I’m to play Saturday in the friendly match against Shettleston.”

“On your birthday? Well done! But you’ll be careful, aye?”

“Me? Careful?”

“Right. Never mind.”

Colin stood slowly, thrilled when his knee didn’t pop. “I’ll just have a quick shower, then we’ll work out next month’s budget, okay?”

“Thanks, lad. I could use your magic with numbers.” As Colin opened the bedroom door, his father added, “Did you see what else came in the post? Some posh-looking invite from someone in Kirkross.”

Colin froze. “Oh.” He eased open the bedroom door, trying to look indifferent. Then he tore off down the hall to the kitchen table, football boots thundering on the thin carpet.
 

He’d never expected to hear from Andrew again. A dozen times over the last week, he’d picked up the phone thinking to text an apology or explanation. But the thought of getting no response had stopped him cold.

Colin shoved aside the other mail until he found a white-linen envelope with his name and address engraved—fucking
engraved
—in black on the front. “Whoa.”

“What’s that?” Emma asked, her attention drawn from the telly, where
River City
’s end credits were rolling.

He turned his back. “None of your business.”

She vaulted out of her chair to land next to him. “Is it a love letter?”

“No.”

“I bet it is. I bet it’s a letter of
loooooooooooove
.” She grabbed for it, and when he held it out of reach, she bounced around him chanting “Colin’s got a boyfriend! Colin’s got a boyfriend!” She started forming letters with her arms and legs. “B-O-Y—”

“Shut it,” he said, “or I’ll hide your inhaler again.”

She stopped. “What do you mean, again? When did you hide my inhaler?”

“He’s having you on, Emma,” their gran said. “And just for joking about it, he should let you see the letter.”

Colin scowled, but in this flat, their grandmother was the arbiter of justice. “All right, Gran, but it’ll be your fault if there’s filthy photos inside.”

“Ugh.” Emma made a face but opened the envelope anyway, sliding a long, blue-lacquered fingernail to break the seal. “Ooh, it’s complex.” She withdrew a small envelope and a piece of tissue paper, then the invitation itself. Her lips moved as she read it silently.

Then she began to laugh.

“I
S
THIS
A
joke?”

Andrew needed a deep, steadying breath at the sound of Colin’s voice on the phone. “Firstly, hello. Secondly, how are you?” Tucking the phone against his bare shoulder, he finished tying his yoga pants and toed open the door to one of his bedroom’s walk-in wardrobes. “Thirdly, is what a joke?”

“Yeah, hi. I’m fine. This invite your family sent. Have you seen what it says?”

“I’ve received my
invitation
,” Andrew said, “but I’ve not opened it, as I already know the details.”

“Read it.”

“Now? I’m putting away the dry cleaning.” From his bed Andrew picked up the shirt he’d worn to Dunleven Castle last week, checking to see the
salsa romesco
stain had been removed.

“You haven’t got people for that?”

“No one enters my home save a handful of trusted friends. I clean the rooms myself.”

Colin chuckled. “Such sacrifice. You deserve a medal.”

“Only a small one, as I do have a laundry service.” Ah, how he’d missed their banter.

“Right. So, phone me back when you’ve got that invitation read.”

“I’ll do it now,” Andrew said with a melodramatic sigh as he floated out into the reception room, where the invitation waited on the dining table. Colin’s call had made him vastly more giddy than he could have predicted.

“I wanted to say—” Colin cleared his throat. “See, I’m sorry I fucked off home that morning in Edinburgh. It was a shit thing to do.”

Andrew smiled as he opened the envelope. “I forgive you.”

“Thanks.” Colin let out a deep breath that made Andrew’s toes curl, remembering how it had felt against his ear. “I guess I was a wee bit overwhelmed by it all. The hotel, the plague doctor, the games we played—”

“Mm-hm.” Andrew pulled out the invitation, frowning at its gilded edges (a tad gauche, really) and began to read.

“—but I was a total coward, so I hope—”

Andrew burst out laughing.

“Are you laughing at me?” Colin asked in a wounded voice.

“No, no. I’m sorry. I was listening to you, but the wording on this invitation, my God. ‘Lord and Lady Kirkross request the pleasure of your company at a reeling party on Saturday, 27
th
of September, to celebrate Scotland’s wise decision to remain part of the Union.’ Incredibly cheeky of Mum.”

“That’s one word for it. I cannae wait to see her face when we win independence.”

Andrew spun around, pumping his fist.
Got you.
“So you’ll attend the party, then.”

Colin hesitated. “I didnae say that.”

“It’s the only occasion you’re likely to see her face.” He reminded himself not to spook Colin. “No need to decide this instant. Take some time and think about it.”

“Okay.”

“Though you should know, John and Fergus are attending, so it’ll be a chance to impress your captain.” Andrew spun the invitation on the table’s smooth glass top. “If that sort of thing is important to you.”

Colin sighed. “It says ‘evening dress.’ That means white tie, right?”

“Yes, a reeling party is basically a ball. But I’ll see to your formalwear, of course.” Andrew licked his lips at the thought of Colin in a tuxedo kilt. “It’s my invitation, it’s only fair.”

“Why do you want me at this party? You trying to prove something to your family?”

Andrew admired Colin’s wary astuteness. “It’s got nothing to do with them and everything to do with you.”

“Gonnae no try to clean me up and pass me off as a toff. Like some kinda
Pygmalion
thing.”

“Please, I’m no Henry Higgins.” Andrew strolled back to his bedroom. “I like you the way you are.”

Colin was silent for a few moments. “It still feels like a trick.”

Andrew should have been exasperated. Instead, he felt sad at Colin’s inability to trust. “Look, I abandoned you, then you abandoned me. Can we call it a draw and begin again?”

“How?”

“Well, for starters…” He sank onto the cool, white-cotton duvet atop his queen-size bed. “Where are you and what are you wearing?”

“I—erm, I’m in my bedroom, still in my kit from practice.”

“I like the sound of that.” Andrew stretched out on his back, imagining Colin’s football shirt, stained with grass and mud. “Are you all sweaty?”

“Not anymore, I’m—oh. I mean, aye. Lots of sweat,” he finished in a whisper. “I should take off this shirt.”

“Don’t you dare remove a thing. I like picturing you in full kit. Boots and all.” He slid a hand over his bare chest, thumb toying with his right nipple. “I bet those studs could tear a hole in this bedroom rug.”

Colin groaned. “I cannae do this just now. Everyone’s awake, and the walls here are thin.”

“The walls here are thick.” Andrew’s tongue eased out the last word, slow and heavy. “Would you care to test them?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m inviting you over.” He reached down to palm the awakening bulge within his yoga trousers. “Now.”

“You’ll give me your secret home address?”

“No, I’ll have you collected in a car with tinted windows, where you’ll be tied up wearing a blindfold and noise-reduction headphones.” Andrew gave himself a leisurely stroke, waiting for Colin to laugh, which he didn’t. “Yes, of course I’ll give you my address. But only if you agree to come.”

Colin made a pained noise. “Not tonight. I promised my dad I’d—I’d help him with something.”

Andrew dropped his hand to his side. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll make dinner.”

“You cook?”

“I’m an aristocrat, not an infant. Bring a bottle of white. Nineteen thirty?”

“I doubt I can afford a wine that old.”

Andrew laughed. “No, silly. The time, nineteen thirty. Half seven in the evening?”

“Oh! God, I’m an eejit. Yeah. Right. What should I wear?”

“Whatever’s easiest to remove. Goodnight.”

He hung up before Colin could ask further questions. The lad’s nerves were contagious. Andrew felt his stomach flutter at the thought of Colin in his flat. In his bed.

But he’d learned long ago, when something frightens you, the worst thing to do is flee. Better to grab hold of it with both hands.

= = =

Andrew’s street wasn’t as posh as Colin had imagined it would be. The postal code, G1, was one of the wealthiest in Glasgow, but during the short walk from the High Street train station, Colin had seen no boutiques, no spas, no fancy ladies walking even fancier dogs. It wasn’t until he reached Andrew’s building, situated across from a sprawling construction site owned by University of Strathclyde, that he noticed one luxurious detail—a private underground garage.

Of course. Andrew would be insane to leave his Tesla roadster parked on the street.

After being buzzed in, Colin went up a flight of stairs and found Andrew’s door. As he knocked, he did a last-minute check of his outfit—a wine-colored, long-sleeve button-down shirt; a diagonally striped tie of the same color, plus black; and a pair of dark-gray trousers. Not exactly fashionable summer wear, but they were the best he had.

The door was opened by a man he’d never seen. Not Lord Andrew, second son of the Marquess of Kirkross. Not Adam Smith, world sexiest’s hipster.

Just…Andrew.

“Welcome!” His eyes and mouth popped wide when he saw Colin, as if his arrival were a happy surprise. He took the bottle of Chardonnay offered. “Lovely choice. Thank you.” Andrew gave him a kiss on the cheek, so close to the corner of his lips it made Colin’s mouth water. Then he spun away. “Come in, come in. You look wonderful.”

Colin followed him down the hall, his mind already hazy from Andrew’s cologne. “Sorry I’m way overdressed,” he said, eyeing Andrew’s soft white cotton shirt, pale-khaki cropped trousers, and tan slip-on boat shoes.

“The faux pas is all mine. I was viciously vague.” He beamed at Colin as he stopped at a white wooden door covered in square glass panes. “By making an effort, you honor me as a host, and for that I thank you.” He cast an approving gaze down, then up Colin’s body. “A lot.”

Colin couldn’t help smiling back.

Andrew ushered him into a large, bright reception room, with the kitchen to the right and the living area to the left. Windows covered nearly all of one of the far walls and half of the other. The living-room ceiling slanted up high, but the kitchen ceiling was flat and unusually low. Colin quickly realized why—a spiral wooden staircase led up out of the kitchen to a second level.

A flat with an upstairs and a downstairs. Fancy.

“We’ll let this chill for dinner and just have cocktails with the first course.” Andrew set the wine on the gray kitchen worktop, then started filling an ice bucket from the refrigerator’s dispenser. “Mojitos all right?” he shouted over the din of the falling cubes.

Colin nodded, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, hoping it looked a casual move.

While Andrew blethered about his meal-planning “decision tree,” Colin sipped his mojito and tried to examine his surroundings without appearing paranoid or impressed. The floors were gleaming hardwood and the appliances stainless steel, but the oval table was plain glass and the living room furniture a simple black wood and leather. Other than the enormous aquarium against the dining-area wall, the decor was minimalist—a single Italian-café art print over the television and a clear-crystal chime-looking thing dangling beside the column holding up the staircase.