Page 177 of Men in Shorts

“That’s not until noon.” Robert slid onto the corner barstool. “You done around midnight?” Hannigan’s closed at eleven, but there was usually at least an hour’s worth of tasks for Liam to see to, as he was now responsible for closing the pub on a Sunday.

“Aye, same as usual.” Liam goggled at the sight of the small brown paper bag in Robert’s hand. “Is that my challenge?”

Robert danced the bag in front of himself. “Can you take a wee break?”

“I think so.” Liam went to the other end of the bar to speak to his coworker Scarlett, who gave Robert a friendly wave. He returned promptly. “I’ve got five minutes. Come and show me my prezzie.”

Robert followed him to the quietest corner of the pub, opposite the band members. He handed Liam the bag. “Don’t pull it out.”

“I wouldnae. I assume it’s something sexy. Ooh, maybe I can guess what it is without looking.” Liam reached into the bag and fumbled about. “There’s two things. One of them’s small and squishy. A packet of lube? Or maybe ketchup?”

“Got it on the first guess. What’s the other thing?”

Liam’s gaze went distant. “It’s inside a zip bag. It’s solid. There’s a wee…handle, maybe? And…the other end’s kinda like a doorknob but pointier.” His face lit up. “A new butt plug?”

Robert was amazed his partner’s mind went there so fast. “Have a look.”

Liam turned toward the wall, blocking the view of the rest of the room and using the light from the brass sconce above them to see. Robert peered over his shoulder as he lifted the plug to the edge of the bag. The white handle bore a familiar symbol.

Liam gasped. “Rabbie, wherever did you find a Celtic Football Club anal toy?”

“It’s just a shamrock, not meant to be Celtic’s logo, as that would be a trademark infringement.”

“Can you imagine the faces of the old yins if there really were Celtic butt plugs?”

“Like if they sold them at the merch kiosks at Parkhead?” Robert could barely suppress a cackle. “So many heads would explode.”

“This is the best gift ever. Thank you.” Liam turned it over in his hand. “A wee bit smaller than I prefer, so I’m not sure what the challenge is.” He closed the bag and looked around. “Dunno where I can safely stash this. Want to hold onto it for me until later?”

Robert crossed his arms. “It’s not for later, and I know exactly where you can stash it.”

“What do you—” Liam froze, his eyes wide. “Oh.”

Robert took a mental snapshot of Liam’s rapidly reddening face.

“You want…” Liam leaned in close and whispered. “You want me to wear this now? At work?” His voice rose. “On aSunday?”

“That’s why it’s a wee bit smaller than you prefer—for all the moving about you need to do at your job.”

Liam drew in a quick breath, almost a squeak. “Oh my God. What if I need to change a keg? All that bending over…”

“Will be much more thrilling than normal. Obviously if you’re not comfortable with it, you can say no.” Robert tilted his head. “I mean, with it being Sunday and you being so pious.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Shut it.” He palmed the paper sack and nodded to the men’s toilets. “Be right back.”

While he waited, Robert went to the bar and ordered a pint of Tennent’s from Scarlett. Settling onto the patchy green vinyl barstool, he could totally relate to the legions of people who’d slumped here after a demoralizing day at work.

The university researchers had emailed Robert an hour before, vetoing the idea of adding a social aspect toGlasgow Effect, claiming that any interaction between players might complicate the results. They were right—and the idea might be added to a later version—but the rejection had disheartened him. And with his funders’ meeting a little over twelve hours away, he needed new ideas fast.

Just as Robert’s lager arrived, his phone bleeped with a text message. He pulled it out, intending to shut it off so he could pay full attention to his boyfriend tonight regardless of work pressures.

The screen contained a one-word message from Liam:

help

Robert replied,

omw

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