Page 36 of Play Hard

“How red? Beet red? Do I look like I’m having a heart attack?”

“Not quite beet.” Robert waggled his palm back and forth. “More like apple. Maybe cherry.”

Liam wiped his forehead with a bar napkin. “Have you ever done this yourself?”

“No, but by the way you look, I’m dying to try.”

“I recommend it to anyone.” Liam reconsidered. “Though perhaps not an airline pilot.” He picked up Robert’s empty glass. “Another Tennent’s?”

Robert started to nod, then held up a finger. “Actually, let me try one of the new Belgian ales. Whichever you think I’d like.”

“Ooh, we are getting out of our ruts this weekend, aren’t we?”

Robert gave a coy shrug. “You’ve inspired me to expand my horizons.”

Liam grinned as he set the glass beside the sink. But his smile vanished when he turned to fetch the ale.

The Belgians were in a small, temperature-controlled refrigerator on the floor beneath the bar—which meant Liam would have to bend over to retrieve one.

“Ahhhh!” he couldn’t help exclaiming as he crouched down. The pleasure was so bone-rattlingly intense, he swore he could feel pre-come leaking from his swollen cock.

Scarlett’s green high-tops appeared beside him. “All right, lad?” she asked. “You hurt yourself down there?”

“No, I’m just—” Perilously close to orgasm. He grabbed a white ale from the fridge and stood up, making sure the bar apron worn over the front of his jeans was still hiding his erection. “I tweaked my knee in yesterday’s match. It’s been fine until just now.”

His voice sounded far away inside his own head. How was he even forming words, much less complete sentences? It reminded him of the time when he was fifteen and he’d come home absolutely hammered and had to feign sobriety in front of his mum.

Scarlett looked worried. “Want to sit down and put some ice on it?”

“No!” The mere thought of adding pressure to the plug—especially if he put a foot on a chair to elevate his “tweaked” knee—was giving Liam a hot flush. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

He had to stop talking, and-and looking at people, and-and existing like this, or soon everyone would surely know.

Liam opened the bottle, then grabbed one of the specially designed glasses for the fancy ales and returned to Robert. “Now I know why you ordered a Belgian.” He started pouring. “You wanted to watch me bend over.”

Robert’s eyes gleamed. “Worth the extra three pound.”

Liam leaned in, his fingers forming a death grip on the edge of the bar. “I’m literally a bawhair away from coming in my pants.”

“I can tell.” With a serene smile, Robert raised his pint in a toast. “Here’s to the next hour, and to what comes after.”

“I’ll never make it back to my flat in this state. You’ll need to fuck me limbless in a nearby alleyway.”

Robert shifted on his stool, no doubt adjusting for his own stauner. “Too dangerous. Besides, I’m looking forward to the walk home, when you describe to me how it feels as we go.”

Taking a deep breath, Liam looked at the clock above the bar. Thank God. “Time for last orders. Enjoy your drink, mate.” He punctuated the last word with a hard T.

Liam picked up a bar tray and headed for the big group at the corner table, the one with the band. “A final round?” he asked as he collected the empty glasses.

“Aye, and this one’s my shout,” said old Billy O’Brien. His offer was greeted with sarcastic gasps of astonishment, as he wasn’t exactly known for his generosity.

“So make it the cheap stuff?” Liam asked.

Billy winked at him. “These lads are too steaming to taste the difference.”

Liam’s laughter sounded unusually loud—and unusually gay, in both senses of the word—because he’d just bent far over the table to retrieve a glass.

He turned away from the small crowd and made his way to the bar, trying to keep his smile from twisting all lopsided and maniacal. He could feel Scarlett’s eyes on him.

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