Page 49 of Playing to Win

“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.

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