Page 16 of Playing to Win

“Not your fault. I still consider your debt repaid.” He felt bad now for taking advantage of her pledge to do anything—“anything, I swear”—to make up for injuring his knee last month.

“Where are you guys?”

“Possibly being arrested.”

“What?!? Oh my God. Do you need, like, bail money or something?”

“Hang on.” Colin watched as Andrew’s bodyguard returned Constable Lawrence’s radio to him with a winning smile. The police officer shook his head and started toward their car. “I’ll phone you back,” Colin told Katie.

Without a word, Lawrence got in, drove them exactly one street over, then got out and opened the back door. “Go on,” the officer said. “I never want to see your faces again.”

“Thank you!” Colin said as he slid out of the car behind Andrew. “I’m so sorry.”

“Right.” Constable Lawrence lifted his chin. “There’s your man now.”

Colin turned to see Reggie’s black sedan pulling up to the curb. The officer drove off with no further acknowledgment.

Reggie got out of his car and strode over. “See? Told you I’d sort it,” he said to Andrew, then extended his hand to Colin and introduced himself.

Colin hesitated, surprised at the friendly gesture. Then he cleared his throat and shook the man’s hand. “Thanks for helping us.”

“It’s what I do.” Reggie’s grip was strong as a python’s. Colin tried not to grimace or shake his finger ligaments back into place after the bodyguard had released his hand. “Sir,” Reggie said to Andrew, “we’d best be getting you back to the flat now.”

“Yes.” Andrew gave Colin a look of regret. “I know I said earlier you could come home with me, but…it’s not a good idea. I’m sorry.”

Colin felt his own face turn to stone. “Nae bother.” He managed a shrug through superhuman effort. “Like I said, my mates and I come and go together.” He lifted his phone. “So I should, erm, find them now.”

“Okay.” Andrew looked as though he wanted to add something, but didn’t. Colin decided to spare them both the awkwardness.

“Later,” he said simply, and turned away.

Colin walked up the street, his back to the black car, though he’d no idea if he was heading in the right direction to find his mates. All that mattered was that this time, he’d been the one to say goodbye.

If only every step away from Andrew didn’t feel like a walk through quicksand. If only he could let himself turn back for one last glimpse, to see if Andrew were watching him walk away. If only it were easy.

= = =

The yoga was a bloody farce.

To be sure, the scorpion pose was stretching the kinks out of Andrew’s back after last night’s rave adventures. And with its inverted nature, legs bent up and back to form the scorpion’s tail over his forearm stand, thevrschikasanawas awakening him with a rush of blood to the brain. But it was doing fuck-all for his mental clarity.

He tapped the top of his head with his heels, hoping to literally kick some sense into himself. Neck extended, he peered outside and saw the sunrise reflected in distant windows facing his block of flats. Focusing on his breath, he imagined the bright orange rays searing through his confusion, answering questions that had plagued his restless sleep. But his thoughts were as hazy as the humid summer morning draping itself over Glasgow.

Finally he did a slow, controlled descent to the yoga mat, then put his forehead to the floor in child’s pose, letting his breath bring him into harmony with the earth’s vibrations. (Or at least that was the idea. It rarely worked most days, and today even less than usual.)

Frustrated, Andrew softly banged his head against the mat. What good was all this discipline, the yoga and the meditation and the365 Days of Serenitycalendar, if it didn’t grant him peace of mind? He wasn’t asking to reach Nirvana. He just wanted to stopwanting, if only for a few minutes a day.

A soft ding to his right told him his ginseng tea was ready. He sat back quickly, folding his legs into the lotus position. The mug was within easy reach—as was the battery-operated kettle, the wooden box containing the teabags, and everything else in his flat’s small mezzanine loft, his sanctuary within a sanctuary.

Before removing the teabag from the mug, he pulled off the tag offering today’s nugget of “yogi wisdom.” Sometimes the message was inscrutable (Recognize that you are the truth), sometimes laughable (The art of happiness is to serve all), sometimes nauseatingly twee (Every smile is a direct achievement)—but he always read it.

Today’s said,Where there is love, there is no question.

“Piss off.” Andrew shoved the tag into his Answer Fish, a blue-and-white Chinese teapot where he kept these collected bits of so-called wisdom, none of which had ever helped him. Then he rubbed his temples, trying to eradicate the memory of Colin’s face, how it had glowed with triumph the moment before he launched himself into the crowd. How it had frozen with fear at the sight of the police.

His number is still in your phone, said a voice inside him, originating from the part of his brain ruled by his cock. Andrew closed his eyes, remembering the adrenaline rush of the dive and its aftermath, when Colin’s arms had wrapped around him so tight he couldn’t breathe. He imagined those same arms clutching him close, bare chest to bare chest, as Colin moved deep inside him.

His phone rang, and his eyes slammed open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He hurried with his tea down the spiral wooden staircase, back onto his flat’s main floor.

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