Page 6 of Men in Shorts

“Punk?”

“It’s a line from an old Clint Eastwood film. Have you not got televisions up north?”

“Just the one over at the meeting hall,” Brodie deadpanned. “We villagers take turns hiding in the box and making the voices.”

“Ooh, maximum interactivity.”

“Aye, it’s a right 3-D entertainment experience.” Brodie angled a sly gaze toward Duncan, who had to steady himself with the other banister. The look on Brodie’s face, smiling with only his eyes, matched the look seared into Duncan’s memory, the look directly before Brodie had kissed him.

At the bottom of the stairs, Brodie suddenly stopped and put a hand to his pallid cheek. “On second thought, a taxi would be—” His balance wavered, and his next step was a stumble.

“I’ve got you, mate.” Duncan slipped a supporting arm around his waist. Brodie flinched as if he wanted to shrink away, but he seemed to lack the strength.

Which was fortunate, because at the moment, Duncan lacked the strength to let go.

Chapter2

“Sorry about your match.That cup thing, I mean.”

Duncan winced at the mention of the Warriors’ crushing quarterfinal defeat, then continued opening the tin of chicken soup.

“Nae bother,” he told Brodie, who was sitting behind him at their flat’s kitchen table, head resting on his crossed arms. “Life goes on.”

“It’s not fair.” Brodie’s voice slurred with exhaustion. “You worked so hard.”

“Who ever said football was fair?”

“Still, it must’ve been difficult to lose your captain.”

Duncan froze at the sound of the final word.That wasn’t all we lost.By ditching the Warriors to run off with his lover, Evan Hollister had fulfilled the worst gay stereotype—that of a shallow, fickle man following his prick. He’d made the team a laughingstock. Ultimately, he’d robbed the Warriors of not only a captain and an attacking midfielder, but their pride in themselves.

“Aye, it pure sucked.” Duncan chucked the tin opener back in the drawer with a bang. “But what do you care? You don’t even like football.”

“I’m only expressing sympathy.”

“I don’t need it,” he snapped. Duncan hated hearing the hostility in his own voice. It wasn’t like him to lash out at those who didn’t deserve it, or even those whodiddeserve it. But lately, he couldn’t help it.

Anyway, he was lying. He did need sympathy. After Evan’s departure, Duncan had seriously considered borrowing his parents’ car to drive up to Brodie’s wee village.

But for what?he wondered as he started microwaving the bowl of soup. He and Brodie weren’t even close friends. They were in the psychology course together, so they saw each other nearly every weekday, between lectures and study groups. But they didn’t pal about on a Friday night or anything. Duncan had his football mates, and Brodie had his…well, his gay mates, the activists at Glasgow Uni’s LGBTQ club.

Besides, as flatmates they were careful to keep each other at arm’s length to avoid domestic awkwardness. If they’d started something, then split up, it would’ve made their home a living hell—not just for them, but for the ten other students living here. Their flat had already suffered two heterosexual breakups this year. Slammed doors, late-night screaming matches, broken dishes—Duncan had no desire to enact the gay version of that scene.

If only it hadn’t bothered him more and more to see Brodie bring his dates home. If only Duncan could view their own recent hookup the way Brodie did, as a booze-fueled mistake. If only he could stop remembering Brodie’s half-naked body, or stop dreaming of his fully naked body.

The electric kettle dinged, snapping Duncan back to the present, back to their prickly conversation.

“We should have won,” he told Brodie. “We’d had last-minute substitutions before and always adapted. Even without Evan, Warriors were still the better team. It should’ve at least been close.”

He poured water for tea—Earl Grey for himself, and for Brodie, some medicinal herbal stuff their flatmate Petra had offered for public consumption after deciding she hated the taste.

“But it wasn’t a close match,” he continued. “We got fucking destroyed. We couldn’t pass, couldn’t defend. It was like we’d forgotten how to play the game. In the two league matches since then, we’ve been complete crap. We’ve lost control of our fate in the division.”And I’ve lost control of myself.“It’s like Evan stole our mojo. Know what I mean?”

There was no response.

He turned to Brodie, who was fast asleep, cheek pressed to the dining table’s shiny, wood-effect surface, his dark lashes lying still against his fair skin.

Something softened inside Duncan at the sight, and he felt a chunk of his rage melt away. Maybe this lad could make him feel more himself again. Surely he couldn’t be unkind to someone so sweet and fragile as Brodie.

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