Page 60 of Playing to Win

With a sigh, Colin returned the kiss without increasing its intensity. Beneath the blanket, he pressed his warm, bare feet against Andrew’s cold ones. The moment felt as fragile as those brandy glasses.

A rustle came from behind him as the breeze sucked the blinds against the window.

Andrew jerked away at the sound. “Oh,” he said. “It’s just the…” He shut his eyes and pulled away slightly. “Sorry I’m not in the mood for much at the moment.”

“It’s all right.” He touched Andrew’s cheek, running his thumb over the beauty mark in his left dimple. “I just want you to be okay.”

“I am. I will be.” He turned his head to kiss the inside of Colin’s wrist. “Once the window’s repaired tomorrow morning, we can continue where we left off. But with both of us naked.”

“Okay.”

“And then…” Andrew fidgeted with Colin’s T-shirt collar, keeping his gaze on it. “I’d like you to come over again. If you want.”

Colin’s lips curved with relief. “Okay.”

“Monday night?”

“Yeah, good.” Without thinking he asked, “Not the weekend?”

“Weekends are bad for me at the moment. It’s the summer social season, so often I’m away to London, although now it’s August, everyone’s coming to Scotland. Massive dinners and teas at various Highland estates, and of course the reeling parties—the balls,” he added. “It’s Scottish families’ chance to remind our southern friends that not only do we still exist, but we’re as mad and fabulous as ever.”

“So when we went to Edinburgh that weekend…”

“I got an earful from my family, yes. So I need to placate them.” He sighed. “If I can be Lord Andrew Friday through Sunday, then Monday I’m free to be just Andrew. With you.”

“I understand.” Colin did understand, perfectly, where his place was.

Andrew watched him closely. “The thing is, it’s my first social season since coming out. I need to appear normal, which means appearing often. I am sorry.”

Colin felt a tug of sympathy for Andrew’s constraints, though on the surface, the need to attend posh parties didn’t seem much of a burden. “My weekend’s already sorted, anyway. Saturday we’ve a friendly match against Shettleston. Then I’m popping over to see my mum in hospital.” He almost added that Saturday was his birthday, but decided it would only make things more awkward. Instead he kissed Andrew quickly and said, “Try and sleep the now.” Then he rolled over to face the window and hide his disappointment.

After their night in Edinburgh, Colin would’ve leapt at the chance to see Andrew every once in a while. But now, it was no longer enough to be a social side dish, a diversion to fill dull weeknight evenings. Colin needed bigger and bigger hits of this man. Which meant he had to quit him while he still could.

Behind him, Andrew shifted his head, settling into the pillow. Then he slipped his fingertips between Colin’s shoulder and the surface of the sofa. “This doesn’t count as cuddling,” he said. Then his voice softened. “I just like knowing, when I close my eyes, that you’re still here.”

Colin shut his own eyes in surrender. He was hooked, and he didn’t fucking care.

= = =

Plus ça change…Andrew thought as he whirled around the rustic ballroom, trying to recall the steps to The Bees of Maggieknockater (a reel he and his cousins used to call “The Balls of Maggie Thatcher”).

At London parties, Andrew was free to flirt and dance and hook up with other men of his station. People paired up as they chose—men with women, women with women, men with men. But here in the Highlands, among the tartan aristocracy, any combination but one man and one woman seemed utterly unthinkable.

Still, he rather loved the ancient traditions, how they connected him to the past. Knowing his ancestors had danced these same reels centuries ago made him feel simultaneously small and large, like he was part of something grand without being diminished.

The reel ended with a flourish of fiddles. Andrew joined in the applause and bowed to his partner and favorite cousin, Lady Karen. At the first strains of the Gay Gordons march, Andrew and Karen rolled their eyes at each other and headed for the bar.

“I always sit this one,” she said as she took his arm. “Too much touching.”

“I know! They should provide antibacterial gel stations. Like in hospitals?” At the edge of the bar, drams of whisky were arrayed for the taking. Andrew picked up two and handed one to his cousin. “Or better yet, we all go back to wearing gloves.”

“Gloves, are you mad? It’s a thousand degrees tonight.” Lady Karen fanned herself with the end of her tartan sash as they hurried to grab an empty table. “It’s rubbish we’re required to wear full-length ball dresses. I didn’t spend all that time in Majorca just to cover up this tan.”

“At least you can have your arms and neck bare.” Andrew tugged at his white bow tie, grimacing at the constriction. “And though it may seem like kilts provide good air circulation, my balls are absolutely baking.”

“Mmm, baked balls. Delish.”

“Aren’t they just?” He clinked his glass against Karen’s before collapsing into the red velvet chair beside her. They sipped in silence for a few breathless moments, nodding their heads to the bouncy tune and watching the couples parade by.

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