Page 31 of Men in Shorts

“I don’t want you to. Because we’re not in San Francisco or one of your Merchant City clubs. We’ve got even odds at best. But maybe you feel lucky.” Brodie reached into his pocket and pulled out a pound coin. “Heads, all these lovely hipsters smile at us. Tails, some drunken breets follow us home and kick our balls in. Ready?”

Brodie tossed the coin. Duncan snatched it out of the air and held it tight. “Okay. You’ve made your point.”

“Which is?”

“That we don’t have equality. Not yet. Not until we can show our feelings for each other in public—anywhere in public—without fear.”

Brodie nodded, his eyes hard as marble. “Now, that might not seem a tragedy to you, but it is to me. And that’s what we whingeing activists are trying to change.” He rose unsteadily to his feet, nearly knocking his head against the dangling lantern. “If our server pops by, please tell her I’m ready to pay the bill. I’m tired and want to go home.”

Duncan watched Brodie as he made his way toward the gents’, his head down and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Then he reached across the table and opened his fist to place the pound coin next to Brodie’s phone so he would see it when he returned.

Lastly, Duncan flipped the coin over, showing heads.

* * *

“Straight to bed with you,”Duncan said as they shuffled toward their flat’s entry door. Brodie’s steps had grown so heavy, Duncan practically had to hold him up—not that he minded the excuse to put an arm around him in public. He was far from the only lad in Glasgow helping a mate stagger home on a Friday night.

They’d barely spoken since their row in the restaurant. Duncan hoped Brodie’s silence was from fatigue and not lingering resentment—or worse, second thoughts about the two of them.

Inside their flat, music was thumping from three open doors, including that of Shu-Fen’s room beside Brodie’s.

“We could sleep in mine tonight,” Duncan said. “My end of the hall’s quieter. Petra’s not back from vacation yet.”

“No.” Brodie let go of him. “I mean, yes, you should sleep there. I’ll sleep in my room.”

“But—”

“I’m shattered, and you’ve a match tomorrow. We’ll sleep better if we sleep apart. These beds aren’t made for two.”

“Okay.” He took Brodie’s hand. “I’ll see you after the match?”

Brodie nodded, then started to turn away. “G’night.”

“Hey.” Duncan stepped forward and kissed him. Brodie’s hand tightened on his for a moment, then let go as he pulled away.

“I knew it!”

They turned to see Shu-Fen stepping out of her room. She waved her plastic cup, sloshing a bright green liquid over the edge. “Duncan, I thought that was you I heard through the wall last night.” She stopped and put her hand to her cheek. “Oh God, please tell me itwasyou I heard through the wall last night.”

“It was.” Duncan’s face warmed, with pride more than embarrassment.

“Good. It’s about time you two got together.”

“Why?” Brodie said.

“Just look at you,” she scoffed as she pushed past them into the kitchen. “Fucking adorable.”

When she was out of earshot, Brodie said, “Why do straight lasses love to gay-matchmake?”

“How can they help it when we’re fucking adorable?” Duncan offered a cheesy wink-and-finger-point as he turned away. He decided to ignore Brodie’s grumbled protest of “We arenotadorable.”

Later, lying under his own covers for the first time since Tuesday night, Duncan spread his legs wide, then rolled to his side, bending his knees to stretch his lower back. It was rather nice to have extra space again.

For about five minutes, that is. Then his arms felt empty, and doubt chilled his skin. Was he fooling himself, thinking he and Brodie could make this work? Brodie was so sensitive, and Duncan…well, he always seemed to say the wrong thing lately, or laugh at the worst times. To someone like Brodie, he must seem the world’s most callous bastard.

Maybe Brodie’s feelings for him this past week had been but a side effect of his virus, or an outgrowth of his gratitude. Maybe he’d been too ill and weak for rational thought.He only fancied me because he was sleep-deprived.

Mind spinning, Duncan fetched the paperback version ofFever Pitchfrom his shelf and returned to bed. He flipped to an arbitrary chapter, because no matter what was wrong or right in his life, here he could always find perspective. Some people drew comfort from randomly selected Bible verses; Duncan’s solace lay in Nick Hornby’s obsession with Arsenal Football Club.

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