Page 58 of Playing to Win

“But I was with you when it happened,” Colin said. “You can tell them that.”

“You could’ve shared my address with your comrades in the Yes campaign.”

Colin couldn’t believe his ears. “Mycomrades?”

Andrew winced. “I’m sorry, that was a poor choice of words. And I don’t believe you had anything to do with this. But given the threats I’ve had online from independence supporters, I know Reggie will suspect you simply because of your politics.”

Andrew’s phone rang.

“If I don’t answer right away with the password,” Andrew said, his eyes pleading, “the police will come even quicker. Now can. You. Help. Me?”

Colin looked at the window. It was only one pane, of a standard size. He’d never replaced one before—living on the fifteenth floor meant no one but Superman could chuck a rock through his window—but surely the folk at the hardware shop could instruct him, and there were always YouTube videos.

But why would Andrew want to hide his own death threat to protect Colin? It made no sense. And by covering it up, Colin could end up in more trouble than ever.

Andrew picked up his phone.

“Aye, I’ll do it,” Colin said, knowing he’d regret the impulse.

“Thank you,” Andrew whispered, then answered the call with one word. “Gretchen.” After a brief pause, he said, “Yes, it’s my own blasted fault. My mate and I were playingHaloon the Xbox, and he—well, long story, but anyway I threw my controller at his head. He ducked and it hit the window.”

Colin turned away from Andrew’s smoothly lying face and peered out onto the street, though he didn’t expect the stone thrower to still be there. All he saw was his own face reflected back at him.

Was it fear for Colin’s freedom that made Andrew want to cover up this crime? Or did he want to hide the fact he was with Colin to begin with?

No.Andrew had invited him to his family’s reeling party, so he wasn’t ashamed of him. Right?

Andrew’s not the enemy, he told himself as he lowered the blinds, shrouding them from the eyes of the city.But someone out there is.

= = =

“Your brother wants you dead?”

“Not physiologically.” Andrew leaned back against the arm of the sofa, facing Colin. “Just metaphorically.”

Colin touched his pen to the yellow legal pad in his lap, wondering if he should add this entry to their list of rock-throwing suspects.

Andrew had collected loads of enemies in his twenty years of life. So far the roll included ditched lovers, jealous boyfriends and girlfriends of his conquests, his former bodyguard, and even a few pro football managers who would have kittens if the media found out Andrew had slept with one of their star players.

(Not Cristiano Ronaldo, though Andrew claimed to be the one who convinced the Ballon D’or-winning forward to frost his hair.)

“Shouldn’t it be the other way round?” Colin asked him. “Shouldn’t you want to bump off your brother so you can inherit the estate?”

“George’s sons are next in line, so even if I wanted Dad’s title—which I don’t—I’ll never have it.” Andrew sipped his glass of cognac, which shook almost imperceptibly. “Don’t put George on the list. I was kidding. Though he does hate me.”

“Because you’re gay?”

“Because our parents love me best,” Andrew said without a spot of irony.

“Parents always prefer the youngest. My sister Emma can do no wrong, the wee shit.” He smirked to show he was (mostly) joking, but under the circumstances, it was hard to laugh at anything. “So back to the rock. You said Reggie might think I had a friend do it, that he’d suspect me because of the abuse you get from Yessers online. If he’s right—not about me, but that someone’s after you because of your tweets—then why not just stop? Why put your safety at risk for the sake of venting your opinions?”

Andrew sniffed. “I can’t believe you of all people would ask that. John’s told me how the Warriors’ opponents and their fans call you all names, that sometimes they even threaten you. Why don’t you quit football?”

“Football and Twitter are not the same. Football, it’s what I am.”

“And Twitter is whatIam, as pathetic as that sounds. I told you, I can’t live in fear.” Andrew shot a glance at the window and hunched his shoulders. “Anyway, I need to get used to abuse if I’m to run for office one day.”

So Andrew had ambitions beyond being King of Selfies. “You were serious, then, when you told me about wanting to be the first gay Prime Minister?”

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