Page 69 of Playing to Win

“So what do you guys wear under your kilts?” asked a blond lad who was cute but a bit ruddy and thick-looking for Andrew’s tastes. “Are you like Braveheart?”

Andrew sipped his pint to hide his frown.I swear to God, I will take the first man who doesn’t ask that question or mention that film.

“Whatdoyouthinkwewear?” Colin asked, running all his words together and dropping the “t” from “think,” as usual.

The blond (Steve, perhaps?) stared at Colin for a moment, then turned to Andrew. “What’d he say?”

“He asked what you think we wear,” Andrew replied, already scanning the club for their next candidate. Last time he was here, the men he’d met had been much more worldly. Perhaps the kilts attracted the clueless ones.

“That’s what I thought.” Steve(?) smiled nervously. “He talks super fast. Anyway, I hear you guys go commando. I mean, if you’re a true Irishman and shit.”

Colin exploded. “We’re no’ fuckin’ Irish, mate! We’re Scottish.”

“You said you were from Glasgow.”

“Aye.”

“Isn’t that in Ireland?”

Colin’s face twisted. “Get tae fuck, ya wee bellend.”

Steve(?) turned to Andrew. “What’d he say?”

“That’ll do. Goodnight.” Andrew patted the mouth-breathing muppet on the shoulder as he and Colin moved on.

“Why can’t they understand me?” Colin asked, eyes flashing with annoyance.

“It’s very loud in here.”

“They understand you, and I’m much shoutier.”

“Yes, but they’ve heard people like me in James Bond films.” Needing a stronger drink, Andrew pushed past another pair of gawkers, avoiding eye contact. “They’ve only heard people like you inTrainspotting.”

“Trainspottingwas set in Edinburgh. I sound nothing like those yins.” Colin pulled him to a stop. “Here’s the deal—the first guy who can understand me, that’s the one we pick. That way you willnae have to translate all night.”

“Whatever you fancy, darling.”

Colin’s grimace held the hint of a smile. “Gonnae no call me ‘darling,’ ya fandan. That’s the least sexy word in the world.”

“Ah, but it turns me on how scunnered you get when you hear it.”

“‘Scunnered’? You’re speaking Scots now?”

“Aye, it must be the kilts…” Andrew ran a hand down over Colin’s bum, then pinched it. “…darling.”

“Shut up.” Colin yanked him into a hard kiss that made Andrew moan. As their tongues writhed together and the music pounded against his skin, Andrew felt his knees turn to liquid. Colin was everything he wanted tonight.

When they parted, Colin stared deep into his eyes, and for a moment Andrew thought—hoped—he would suggest returning to their hotel room, just the two of them.

Instead Colin said, “Time for more drinks.”

Head swimming with desire, Andrew simply nodded.

They turned for the bar and stopped short. The most beautifully ordinary-looking American lad stood there, watching the two of them. His short light-brown hair held a fashionable but not overly trendy cut, and his shirt and trousers saidI’m tryingbut notI’m trying too hard.

Most importantly, his semi-shy glance was bouncing between Colin’s and Andrew’s faces—not their kilts.

Colin found Andrew’s hand and squeezed.

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