Page 13 of Play Hard

Liam groaned. “What are they doing now? In the picture?”

“Nothing! They’re just standing there.”

“But how are they standing?”

“They’re standing…straight.” Wait a minute. Robert lifted his eyes to meet Liam’s. “Is this to do with me being bisexual? I thought you were cool with that.”

“Mate, I’m cool with that. Guess again. They’re staaaaanding…aaaaaaat…”

“They’re standing at…attention?”

Liam pressed his lips together and nodded frantically.

Robert took a step back and scanned the whole of the collage. “You want…” Oh God. Liam. “You want my undivided attention.”

“Yaaaaaassss!!” Liam threw the poster board in the air and jumped forward into Robert’s arms. “That was brilliant, mate.”

Robert hugged him, feeling like his chest would cave in. How distracted had he been lately, that all Liam wanted was to be seen? “You’ve got it. All my attention.”

“All night?”

“Of course.” He pulled back to arm’s length and glanced down at Liam’s dark-green tracksuit bottoms. “What’ve you got planned, a strip tease?”

“There’s nae challenge in holding your attention to that.” Liam stepped away, into the kitchen. “I’m gonnae make food for our tea, and then we’ll watch some telly.”

Robert was confused. “And?”

“And you’ll ignore your phone the entire evening.”

“Ah.” Robert did have a nasty habit of checking for messages while sitting in front of the TV. But his primary funder was going to write back with a time and date for that meeting…

“This way there’s no, ‘Liam, what did they just say?’ or ‘Liam, rewind so I can see that bit again. I missed it cos I’m sooooo important.’”

Robert’s neck tingled with shame. “I’m not important.” He went to Liam and touched his arm. “You are.”

“Well, of course I am.” Liam nudged him aside in the cramped kitchen. He opened the fridge and bent over to stick his head in. “Cheesy toast and beans okay?” he asked, his voice echoing in the emptiness. “Orrrrr better yet, cheesy beans and toast!”

“Either sounds grand.” He considered offering to order a curry, but Liam’s pride would be hurt if Robert provided for them all the time. Besides, the man could make a miracle of toast and beans.

While Liam cooked, they talked pro football, not just Scottish but every major European league. As January was transfer season, there was no end to rumors and breaking news about which players were going where and who was raging about it.

“These transfers are gonnae wreak havoc with my fantasy Premier League team,” Robert said. “I could lose some of my best players.”

“Fantasy leagues take all the joy out of sport,” Liam said, as Robert knew he’d do. “A team’s not a team anymore—they’re just a collection of individuals, and every match is a collection of stats.”

“I know, but I like it, and I’m good at it.” Robert realized with a start that he’d not set his fantasy squads for tomorrow’s matches. He’d tumbled down the ranks recently, when his preoccupation with work had stopped him keeping up with the tsunami of holiday fixtures.

By instinct he pulled out his phone to bring up the fantasy-football app.

A tea towel flicked his hand. “Put that away!”

“Ow.” Robert obeyed, setting the phone screen-side down on the table. “It wasn’t for work.”

“I don’t care. You promised. And listen to me, sounding a wee wifey nipping your head for it. Don’t make me do that.”

“Can I at least set a reminder for tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Liam opened a drawer, pulled out a stack of sticky notes, and tossed them onto the table. “Old-school style.”

---