Page 3 of Men in Shorts

“I like it. Sleazy yet poetic.” She checked her phone again, then cursed softly. “I thought you’d got seats,” she murmured.

“Who are you talking to?”

“No one. Follow me.” She marched up to a table where half the chairs were unoccupied. “Are these seats available?” she asked the three lads sitting there.

The largest of them sat back in his chair and leered up at her. “What’s it look like?”

“It looks like you lot have spread out your books and notes so no one will sit in those chairs.” She set her rucksack on the edge of the table. “Classic desk-hog behavior.”

The guy to her left said, “Ooh, Stevie, that’s you pinched by the Desk-Hog police.”

Stevie laughed. “Coming soon to ITV—Law and Order: Desk Hog Victims Unit.”

The third lad made theLaw and Order“CHUNK-chunk” sound effect.

Lorna pulled out a chair. “Okay, if you’re finished, we’ll just sit.” She started pushing papers aside.

“Hey!” Stevie slapped his arm across the notes. “Gonnae no do that, doll. These are proper organized.” He smirked. “By my mate, I mean, who’ll be back any minute to claim his seat.”

“The fuck he will, and I’m not your ‘doll.’” Lorna turned to the other pile of notes, ready to sweep the papers onto the floor.

Brodie stepped forward to stop her. “Forget it. Let’s find other seats.”

“‘Forget it. Let’s find other seats,’” Stevie repeated, mocking Brodie’s faint lisp and not-so-faint northeast accent. “Best listen to your girlfriend there,” he told Lorna.

A hot wave of humiliation swept over Brodie’s head from nape to scalp.

Lorna’s jaw dropped. “What did you call him?”

Brodie turned on his heel and walked away—but not fast enough to miss the hoots and cackles that followed.

It’s just a bit of banter.Stevie’s ridicule was nothing next to the beatings Brodie had taken in the tiny fishing village he once called home. Staying deep in the closet had kept him alive all those years—barely—but when he came to Glasgow seven months ago, he’d vowed never to deny his true self again. Now here at university, he was out and proud.

Well, he wasout. He was still working on theproudpart.

Lorna caught up to him around the corner. “Brodie, I’m sorry. I was just winding them up. I didn’t know they’d turn on you.”

Bullies always sniff out the weak ones.“Whatever. Let’s just find somewhere to sit. I don’t care where.” After the confrontation, he needed to catch what was left of his breath.

“Are you all right?” She put the back of her hand to his forehead. “Your face is red.”

“I’m fine. It’s pure meltin’ in here.” He unzipped his hoodie to cool himself off.

Lorna gaped at his chest. “You’re wearing a Passenger T-shirt. Like the lad in theSpottedpost!”

Brodie froze for a moment, then crossed his arms to cover the logo of the indie-rock act. “Loads of people have this shirt.”

“But you also wore it at Duncan’s party the night before vacation.” Her brown eyes lit up with glee. “What if thatSpottedpost is meant for you, from him?”

Brodie rubbed his throbbing forehead, wishing he’d never told Lorna he’d hooked up with their mutual friend. She was spot-on about the shirt. Brodiehadworn it that night, and when he went home to his mum’s, he’d slept with it on his pillow, not washing it until the last bit of Duncan’s scent had faded from the fabric, replaced by the ever-present salt air of Brodie’s village.

“That post can’t be from him,” Brodie said. “How can Duncan spot me if he’s not even here?”

“Erm…” Lorna bit her lip, looking guilty. “Because maybe he is here? Maybe I invited him to study with us?”

“You did what?” Brodie’s heart leapt even as his stomach plummeted. “Lorna, I can’t see him just now.”

“You can’tavoidhim either. You share a flat.”

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