Page 35 of Playing to Win

“Hey.” Andrew nudged Colin’s leg with his toes. “Could we possibly leave politics out of the bedroom?”

Colin picked up his glass and tapped it against Andrew’s. “Peace. For now.” He took a sip, then shook his head. “All this time I thought your disguises and aliases were to save you from embarrassment, so no one’d know you were slumming with your working-class pals. But it’s actually because you’re in danger, isn’t it?”

“Why are you so surprised people hate me? After all,youhate me.”

Colin gave that sexy smirk that ignited Andrew’s skin. “Hm. True.” He gulped the rest of his wine and turned to set the glass on his bedside table.

“Ah, your third tattoo!” Andrew shifted to read the black script running parallel to Colin’s spine. “What is it?”

“Just a song lyric.” Colin faced him again, hiding the ink. “Got it a month ago, after I hurt my knee. Since I wasn’t playing football for a while, I knew the tattoo would have time to heal.”

“Which song?”

“It’s…” Colin shifted his legs beneath the sheet and chewed his lower lip. “It’s ‘Holiday’ by Green Day. An anti-war song.”

“Oh, fromAmerican Idiot. The musical was brilliant. You’ve seen it, I assume.”

“No, never. But my uncle gave me the original CD ten years ago September, when it first came out.” He paused. “Directly before he went to Iraq.”

Andrew wanted to reach out, but Colin looked on the edge of bolting like a wild colt. “Was that the last you saw of him?”

“Aye. He didnae last long in Fallujah. Suicide bombers. It was two days after that dickhead George Bush got reelected. Talking of American idiots.”

“I’m so sorry. It must be hard.”

Colin looked surprised. “It is. You know, most people say, ‘It must havebeenhard,’ like it’s over. But it’ll never really be over, will it?”

“The wars or your grief?”

“Both, I guess.” Colin ran the edge of the sheet between his thumb and forefingers, as if testing the fabric for some mysterious quality. “Uncle James brought me here to Edinburgh one day that last summer he was alive. We went to the castle.”

Andrew longed to run his fingers through that dark, wavy hair, to stroke the pain away. “May I see your tattoo?”

Colin hesitated, but then rolled to lie on his stomach, hugging a pillow to his chest.

Andrew angled his head to readI beg to dream and differ from the hollow lies.“Is this in your handwriting?” Colin nodded. “May I touch it?”

Colin nodded again, tightening his arms around the pillow. His breath hitched when Andrew laid a finger on the smooth skin to trace the sentence. The tattoo undulated with the curve of his muscles, making the verse look three-dimensional and alive. Andrew remembered the “Holiday” scene from the musical, how wild and frantic and full of rage it was. The very embodiment of Colin MacDuff.

His heart lurched as he realized a terrible truth—losing his uncle could be at the root of Colin’s longing for an independent Scotland. What better way to get revenge on the Westminster politicians who joined the war that killed someone he loved? Did he think tearing his own country apart would heal this wound?

“It’s beautiful.” Andrew leaned over and kissed the wordbeg. “And I don’t mean just visually.”

Colin sighed at the touch of lips, and sighed again as they moved up to his shoulder. “That feels good.” As Andrew stroked his lower back through the sheet, Colin murmured, “These covers are the softest things I’ve ever felt. When I die I want to be wrapped in them.”

“The very softest thing?” Andrew’s hand descended over the curve of Colin’s arse, cupping one of his firm cheeks. “Are you sure?”

Colin rolled onto his back and examined him. “There might be one thing softer.” He sat up slowly, then touched his finger to Andrew’s bottom lip. “Aye, I think that’s it.” He replaced his finger with his mouth, in a tender kiss that made Andrew tremble inside, a tremble that grew to a quake as he realized this was their first kiss since they’d entered this room tonight.

Craving more, he parted his lips, but Colin kept nibbling and tugging on the bottom one, like it was a feast in itself. Then he moved his mouth to Andrew’s ear. “Are you still taking orders?” he whispered.

Yes yes yes, I’ll do anything you ask, anything.“Depends what they are.”

“So you’re taking requests, then.” He slid his bare thigh up over Andrew’s.

“Yes.”

“Then I request that you fuck me.” His warm breath grazed Andrew’s earlobe. “Please.”

---