Page 130 of Playing to Win

“Thought she was gonnae pass out,” Colin said to his father, “when he told her he knew all the One Direction lads.”

“You’ve earned a few hundred ‘Cool Points’ today.” Dad cracked a pair of eggs for the omelets he was making for tea. “And all you had to do was bring home a lord.”

“Soon to beex-lord.” Colin counted out bread slices to toast, examining each for mold. He wondered how Andrew would handle plain white bread in place of his fancy flaxseed sprouted-grain stuff. “He’s given up everything for me, and I’ve done fuck all in return. What have I even got to sacrifice? Nothing.”

“But you would if you could—and he knows it, no doubt.” Dad looked over his shoulder into the living room. “Will his family take his flat?”

“It’s in his name, so I guess he’ll keep it as long as he pays the mortgage. It must be huge on a posh place like that.”

“He can get a student grant for living costs, like you did.”

Colin scoffed. “I’m sure he’ll love begging for government aid. But aye, I’ll show him how to apply.”

“Oh my God, your castle!” Emma shrieked.

Colin moved behind the sofa as Andrew displayed a photo of Dunleven and pointed to a row of second-floor windows. “This was my room here.”

“Did you have a nanny?” Gran asked.

“My sister and brother did, but I was raised by Mum and Dad.”

“That explains a lot,” Colin said, meaning it as a compliment.

Andrew gave him a wavering smile, then returned his attention to the gallery on his phone. “And this is Gretchen.” He tapped a photo of a white pony.

“Aww, so cute!” Emma laid her head against Andrew’s shoulder, showing him more affection than she’d shown her brothers in years. “Do you miss her?”

“Very much,” Andrew said softly. Colin stroked his boyfriend’s hair, wishing he could storm into Dunleven and horse-nap Gretchen.

“It’s pure rubbish they’ve disowned you,” Emma said. “Did you tweet about it yet?”

“No, and he willnae,” Colin said. “If he makes it public, his family’s a lot less likely to change their minds.”

“You should at least edit your Twitter bio,” Emma told Andrew.

“You’re a social-media consultant now?” Colin asked his sister as he squeezed Andrew’s shoulder. “Mate, we’ve got a few minutes before tea. I want to show you something in my room.” Emma made a catcalling noise. “Not that.”

“Well, if it’s not that,” Andrew said, “I’ll just stay here, then.”

Emma cackled, and even Gran gave a blushing giggle.

Colin went down the hall to his room, and Andrew soon followed.

“Oh my God, it’s Tom.” Andrew examined Colin’s Tom Daley wall calendar, which this month showed the English diver fully clothed but hot as ever. “I assume you’ve seen December?” He flipped to the last page, a black and white shot of Daley in nothing but a pair of briefs, right arm angled over his head, displaying the Olympic rings tattoo on his biceps.

“Katie gave me that after I hurt my knee.”

“You mean aftershehurt your knee. Ooh, a bunk bed.” Andrew swung down onto Colin’s mattress with his usual grace. “Why have you got one of these when you don’t share a room?”

“It came with the flat. Most of the furniture did.”

“Oh. Well, it reminds me of boarding school.” Andrew ran his fingertips over the top bunk’s springs above his head. “I always claimed the bottom bunk without asking. I was such a prick.”

Colin considered making a “power bottom” joke, but he’d brought Andrew here to speak reason to him. “Leave your Twitter account alone—no tweets, no changing bios—until things are settled with your family.”

“I’m not afraid of them anymore. I’m my own man now, completely.”

“Thenbea man. Be an adult. Gonnae no provoke them further.”

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