Page 1 of Playing to Win

CHAPTERONE

COLINMACDUFFNEVERsaid no to a challenge. That’s why he was currently standing on his head, sucking down a two-liter bottle of Irn Bru through a jumbo pink curly straw.

There were other motivations, of course.

Truth, for instance—busting the myth that one could get hammered by guzzling “Scotland’s other national drink” whilst upside down.

Or curiosity—how would it feel to consume such a massive amount of sugar, caffeine, and orange food coloring at once?

Or even simple economics—hey, free Irn Bru!

But mostly he did it because his mates dared him. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

“Halfway there.” John Burns, one of the party’s hosts, was crouched next to him, timing the stunt. “Liam, move the bottle closer,” he told Colin’s football teammate, a central defender whose ginger hair nearly matched the drink itself.

Colin ripped his eyes from Liam, knowing his friend would try to make him laugh, and stared straight ahead into the forest of partygoers’ feet. He tried to focus on the stereo’s blaring music and the TV’s bleeping MarioKart, and ignore how fast his brain was spinning from the rush of blood and sugar and caffeine.

“You can do it! Wooooooo!” cried the Warriors’ left back, Katie Heath. She started singing the theme song fromRocky, then broke off mid-crescendo. “Oh my God, it’s Lord Andrew!”

Colin choked. Bubbly liquid surged into his sinuses, searing the inside of his head.

“Drew!” John leaped up and moved toward the front door.

Spitting out the straw, Colin tumbled over, barely getting his feet beneath him in time to avoid slamming his injured knee against the hardwood floor.

“All right, mate?” Liam thumped Colin on the back, which made his head throb harder. Colin nodded as coughs ripped his throat and panic splintered his mind.

Behind him, he heard a crowd gathering around the newcomer. Colin had lost his audience—tothat fucking guy, of all people.

“Did it work? Are you drunk?” Katie peered at Colin. “You were supposed to give us the signal so we could help you down. You gotta watch your knee.”

“Of course I’m not drunk, it’s Irn Bru!” Colin said. “And my knee’s fine.”

“It’ll get a lot less fine if you’re not careful.”

He wiped his eyes and tried to grin at her. “When am I ever careful?”

“Now would be an awesome time to start,” Katie said as she and Liam helped Colin to his feet. It had been nearly a month since the American lass’s sliding tackle during practice session had torn Colin’s medial collateral ligament, and she’d yet to forgive herself. Seeing the constant regret in her eyes was sometimes more painful than the injury. “Hey, come meet Lord Andrew,” she said. “He’s smokin’ hot, and I say that as a totally impartial lesbian.”

“Not now.” Colin tapped his chest with his fist. “I feel an Irn Bru belch coming on, and I’d hate to rift in the face of an aristocrat.” Actually, he would love to rift in the face of an aristocrat—just not this particular one.

“Okay, but soon!” Katie darted toward the door, her long dark ponytail swinging behind her.

“Gonnae try again?” Liam asked, holding up the half-empty two-liter bottle.

“Naw, I need to—”Crawl into a hole and hide. Better yet, crawl into a time machine, travel back six months to the end of January, and run far away from Lord Andrew Sunderland.“—get a real drink.”

Colin sidestepped through the party, keeping his back to the clump of admirers surrounding the magnetic son of the Marquess of Kirkross, and slipped unseen into the empty kitchen.

He pulled a beer from the fridge and drank nearly half the bottle before pausing to examine the label. Another posh craft brew he’d never heard of. At home it was whatever brand was discounted at Farmfoods, and always in cans.

Colin took a slower sip. This dark ale was pure quality, tasting nothing like piss. He set the bottle on the polished black-marble worktop beside the fridge, then scowled as he realized he’d dribbled a few drops down his front. At least this old Bauhaus T-shirt was dark and grungy enough no one would notice the stain.

Even luckier was the fact that thrift-shop clothing was all the rage just now, which meant Colin’s wardrobe didn’t trumpet the fact he couldn’t afford designer-wear like—

“Drew!” John’s voice rang out. “Gonnae fetch us two lagers while you’re in there.”

No no no.Colin spun on his heel, tweaking his injured left knee, and hurried to the sink, putting his back to the kitchen door. Perhaps by doing the washing up he could make himself invisible. People like Lord Andrew always ignored the “help.”

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