Page 21 of Playing to Win

Andrew gasped. “You are wicked.”

“Is that a yes?”

His laugh was low and sultry. “More like a ‘No, but I fancy other things you might like.’”

Colin’s breath stopped. “Such as?” he asked, hearing the roughness in his own voice.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

His face warming, Colin turned away from the girl, into the barrier between the seats and the wheelchair lift. “Are your mates listening in?”

“No, I came inside to ring you. Scotland are getting hammered by South Africa, so I’m not missing much.” He paused. “Where are you?”

“On the bus to football practice.”

“Seems an awkward place to be if I start talking filthy.”

Colin swallowed, digging his fingers into the edge of the seat. “I can handle it.”

“Good, because the photo you sent reminded me how much I enjoyed last night. Before the arrival of law-enforcement personnel, that is.”

“Aye?” Pressing a finger to his other ear to block out the bus noise, Colin fixed his gaze on the speckled black-rubber floor.

“I loved the way you filled up my mouth, the way my lips had to stretch to take you all in.” Andrew’s tone was matter-of-fact, like he was describing a room’s decor. “And the way you felt rubbing the back of my throat? My mouth is watering at the mere thought.”

“Is it?” Colin whispered.

“Yes, it’s very wet in there right now. You’d fancy it, wouldn’t you?”

“Aye, I would.” His own mouth was turning dry from his quickening breath. “Where else would I fancy?”

“Mmm. Lots of places, I imagine.” Andrew paused, then inhaled softly. “We could start with Edinburgh.”

Colin hesitated. WasEdinburghcode for some mysterious body part? Perhaps he should play along to find out. “Okay…”

“Brilliant!” Andrew said. “Meet me Saturday morning at Queen Street Station, oh-nine-thirty. Pack an overnight bag.”

Colin nearly dropped the phone. “Wait—sorry, what?”

“I’ve yet to truly make amends for ditching you in January.” Andrew paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had lost all arrogance. “Will you let me?”

CHAPTERSEVEN

ITWASTHEtowel warmers that did it.

Not that the hotel’s ten-foot-high crystal chandeliers didn’t make Colin feel out of place. They staggered him, as did the polished brass and wood inside the lift, and the green marble arch at the entrance to their hallway, and the gleaming chrome of the bathroom he sat in now.

But when he’d gone to dry his hands and spied the odd-shaped towel rack made of a dozen polished metal rungs, then noticed the button above it, a button that glowed orange when pressed…

He had to sit down a wee while.

What am I doing here?

Perched on the edge of the white porcelain bathtub, Colin leaned forward to force the blood back to his brain. He saw his ragged shoes, held together by duct tape, their tongues scraping the frayed hem of his best jeans, the only ones without significant rips. Everything on him screamed NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

Gonnae stay with your own sort, lad, or you’ll embarrass yourself.

“Get tae fuck,” he whispered to the memory of his mother’s words. “I can handle this.”

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