Page 72 of Playing to Win

“Good idea.” With a strange dread hardening his gut, Andrew hurried up the stairs. Joey lagged behind, pinned to the railing by the crowd. Andrew reached back and took his hand—partly to pull him along and partly to make it look as though they were together. That way fewer men would slow Andrew down trying to chat him up.

The top level was nearly as jammed as the one they’d left. Andrew craned his neck to search for Colin at the main bar. “Where have you gone, you silly boy?” he muttered.

Joey tugged Andrew’s hand. “There he is!”

Andrew turned to see Colin sitting on the edge of a stool at the smaller side bar, his left foot propped on the leg of a muscular young man with buzz-cut dark hair. Colin’s knee was bent to show his companion the black supportive brace, making the hem of his kilt slide far up his bare thigh.

“There was this massivepop,” Colin shouted to Muscle Man as Andrew and Joey approached, “and my knee just exploded in pain! I thought, ‘fuck me, my football career’s pure finished.’ But my physio’s a fuckin’ superhero, and now I’m brand new, see?” He flexed his knee, making the kilt ride even higher. “Scored the equalizer in our first—oh look, it’s Lord Andrew!”

Andrew flinched inside at the hostility slathering his title. “Hello.” He dropped Joey’s hand and crossed his arms, trying to look calm.

“Hey. Guy.” Colin shook the dark-haired lad’s elbow. “This yin here—whom I am currently fucking—is the son of a marquess. That means he’s nobility. He’s met Prince Harry once, but ‘just the once.’” He started cackling, holding his stomach. “‘Just the once.’ Isn’t that precious?”

The heat of anger prickled Andrew’s scalp. Clearly Colin was hammered, but that didn’t make his words sting any less.

“Oooo-kay.” The guy at the bar tried to move away, but Colin grabbed his shirt.

“No! You’ve got to meet him. Lord Andrew, this is…” He turned to the lad. “Who is this?”

“Brandon.”

“Brandon! Och, that is the porniest name I’ve ever heard. Brandon’s in the Army. But shhh. He’s gay.” Colin put a finger to his own lips, poking himself in the nose.

“It’s not a secret, actually.” Brandon looked embarrassed. “They ended ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ before I signed up.” He wrenched his shirt out of Colin’s grip, then stepped up to Andrew. “Your dude’s pretty wasted.”

“I can see that.”

“I swear I didn’t know he was with you. He acted available. When I realized how drunk he was, I asked if he had a friend who could take him home, but he said the guy he came with wasn’t a friend and if he wanted to get home he’d have to run away again.” Brandon shrugged. “Any of that make sense?”

Andrew gritted his teeth, for a moment seriously considering letting Colin find his own way back to Glasgow. “He was sober fifteen minutes ago. Did you put something in his drink?”

“No, sir.” Brandon shook his head solemnly. “He had one, then I bought him another, then he had half of mine. He must have been pounding shots before I found him.”

“That’s not like him.” Now more worried than angry, Andrew turned to Colin, who was holding two cocktail straws in his mouth, angling them down like walrus tusks, then up like a warthog’s. “Come on, pet,” Andrew said. “Let’s go home.” He helped Colin slide off the red vinyl barstool onto unsteady feet.

“We’re bringing them, right?” Colin grasped for Joey, who was wisely standing several feet away. “I want them both. And you. I love you.”

Andrew sighed. How many drunken lovers had told him that ? Dozens. How many sober ones? None. “You don’t love me.”

“I do! I love everyone. Which includes you.” He poked Andrew’s chest with the cocktail straws, which he then examined with crossed eyes. “Bet I could tie these together with my tongue. Would that impress you?”

“Very much.” Andrew realized they’d yet to move an inch. “Bring them so you can show me.” He guided Colin away from the bar, taking a step toward the stairs.

“Ooh!” Colin lurched forward. “Gonnae let’s slide down the banister.”

“Oh dear.” Andrew looked at the two lads they were leaving behind. “Please tell me there’s an elevator.”

Joey pointed to the exit sign beyond the bar. “There’s a lift back by the loos.”

Rolling his eyes at the British-isms, Andrew nodded and started to turn away, then stopped. “Joey, may I introduce Brandon. Brandon, Joey. Goodnight.”

“Wait—they’re not coming?” Colin asked as Andrew steered him through the crowd toward the lift. “Brandon and what’s his name?”

“Joey. No, I’ve introduced them. Perhaps they’ll fall in love.”

“Ah. You think they’ll marry someday?”

“I hope so, and invite us to the wedding. We can wear our kilts again.” They reached the lift, and he let some of Colin’s weight rest against the wall as he pushed the button.

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