“Just so I don’t accidentally fuck up, no one here knows about you and Liam, right?”

“Shhh,” I hissed, looking around to make sure no one had overheard him. When I was satisfied they hadn’t, I leaned toward him. “No, and we’re going to keep it that way, yes?” My tone made it clear that if he didn’t, there would be ramifications he wouldn’t enjoy.

Angus raised his hands in a sign of surrender. “Whoa. They won’t hear it from me.” He dropped his hands and cocked his head. “Although, I thought you were done with all that?”

“Me too.” I slanted my eyes toward Angus with a warning glare that I hoped looked menacing.

“What’s the story then, should anyone ask?”

“No one should, but if they do, Liam and I are friends. I mentioned I didn’t know anything about rugby, and he offered me these tickets. For all intents and purposes, that is the truth. And you’re here because …” I glanced at my friend out of the corner of my eyes. He looked ridiculous. The man was dressed in a full Scottish regalia. “Shit, I don’t know why you’re here. Could you be any more conspicuous?”

“Sure I could,” he answered with an indifferent shrug. “I could have brought my bagpipes.”

“You don’t have any bagpipes.”

“That you know of,” he answered with a smirk.

I laughed because what else could I do? I’d known Angus almost ten years, and even now I couldn’t tell when he was feeding me a line of bullshit or telling me the god’s honest truth. It was one of the reasons we’d stayed friends for so long. It was rare I met someone who didn’t eventually bore me.

Which was probably why at thirty-three, I’d never been in a serious relationship. Well, until now. Even though Liam was firmly in the closet, when it was just the two of us alone together, things felt pretty fucking serious. And, if our conversation earlier in the week was any indication, he felt the same.

“Coming through,” a beautiful brunette said when she reached our seats. Angus smiled up at her and winked, while we each moved our legs to the side so she could get past.

When she settled in three seats down, she turned and extended her hand. “I’m Mary, James’s wife. Since you’re sitting here, you must be friends with someone on the team.”

I shook her hand while Angus stood and, leaning over me, kissed her knuckles. Instead of swooning, she took one look at his get up and burst out laughing. “What are you wearing?”

Angus pretended to be offended. The truth was, he lived for a reaction—any reaction. “What? You don’t like my kilt?”

“I like your kilt just fine,” Mary answered, her eyes sparkling. “But I’m pretty sure you’re the only one here wearing one.”

“What can I say? I’m a proud Edinburger. My family traces its roots back to the Enlightenment. Rumor has it my great many times over uncle was in Dowie’s Tavern the night Burns penned O Poortith Cauld.”

Mary laughed. “Just don’t freeze your baws off, yeah?”

To my horror, Angus cupped himself over his plaid. “Thanks for your concern, but my baws will be just fine. I’m sure I’ll find someone to warm them before the night is over.” He winked again, and dropped back down next to me with a laugh.

I turned to Mary. “Please, excuse him. I forgot what he’s like when we let him out in public.”

She waved away my concern. “Nah, he’s alright. But I’m afraid I didn’t catch your names.”

“Oh, I’m Lachlan, and that’s Angus,” I said, angling my thumb over my shoulder. “We’re friends of Liam’s.”

Mary leaned forward in her seat. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that. He never goes out with the rest of the team, and he hasn’t mentioned having any friends here. James and I were worried he was holed up in his flat playing video games or something.”

I laughed and shook my head. I knew for a fact that was exactly what he did on the nights we didn’t spend together. But since that was something I shouldn’t know, I dropped my smile. “He comes into my restaurant a few nights a week—it’s right down the street from his place—so it’s fair to say he’s not spending every night on his X-Box.”

Shit. Was that too specific? Everyone who played video games had an X-Box, didn’t they? I honestly had no clue.

“You men and your toys,” Mary said with an indulgent shake of her head as she stood and set her purse and blanket on her seat. “Anyhow, have a good night!”

“You too!” I called after her as she made her way down the row to talk to someone else.

“Do you think she noticed I knew what video game system Liam plays?” I asked Angus once she was out of earshot.

He scoffed. “No. Quit worrying. Nothing about that points to him having his cock down your throat every night.”

“Would you fucking shut it?” I asked from between clenched teeth.

“Chill. No one’s listening. You’re fine.”

I slumped down in my seat. Angus was probably right, but I’d been frazzled about being here since I’d agreed to come. I’d been so worried, in fact, that I’d thought about skipping the match altogether, or going to a pub to watch instead. But since it was important to me that I support Liam, here I was. Nervous as fuck, but present nonetheless.

“I just hope the sex is worth it,” Angus whispered out the side of his mouth. “Because otherwise, I have no clue why you’re putting yourself through this. He’s cute, I’ll grant you that, and his body is banging, but he’s kind of a bore.”

My annoyance spiked. I didn’t like Angus badmouthing Liam. Sure, he didn’t party every night like Angus and his friends, but that hadn’t been my scene since I’d launched CAMP. I suddenly wondered if Liam had been right before when he’d said Angus had a thing for me. We hadn’t gotten high and fucked since Liam and I met, and after our conversation the other night, I wouldn’t be getting high with Angus anymore, either.

“He thinks you’re a bad influence on me. No more weed, my friend.”

He rolled his eyes and issued a disgusted grunt. “Like I said. A bore.”

Our conversation was cut short when several more people sat down around us and the announcer welcomed both teams to the pitch. At that point, all talk turned to rugby as Angus gave me a crash course in what I was about to witness.

“The Bore will be at the back of the pack for every scrum. The props—those are the gents with thighs the size of tree trunks—are usually the biggest men on the pitch, but an eight man is pretty damn big too. But you already know that.” I tossed him a look and he smirked. “You also have to be tough as fuck and willing to put your body on the line. Liam will be doing a lot of tackling tonight, especially given the way the opposition forms their rucks. When we have the ball, he’ll be one of the players doing the hard yards. It’s a slog, and you probably won’t see him with any huge breakaways, but by the time the match is over, those metres will have added up.”

“Okay, I think I got it.”

* * *

And I had, mostly. I couldn’t explain half of the penalties that’d been called, but I’d been able to keep up with what was happening, at least where Liam’s play was concerned.

Angus had been right; it had been a long, hard slog, and I could tell Liam was going to be covered in bruises tomorrow. He’d also been taken off before the half when his head connected with another player’s and he’d needed to have his eyebrow sewn shut. He’d been back on the pitch in less than ten minutes with gauze and tape wrapped all the way around his head, making him look like some sort of wounded World War II hero.

Angus had been wrong, however, about the amount of running Liam would do. Twice, he’d picked up the ball, broken through a wall of defenders, and hoofed it down the field before being brought down by two or three players from the other team. And now, he was being awarded his Man of the Match medal.

It was silly, but as I watched him standing on the pitch in front of a mobile plaque bearing the sponsor’s logo, I felt an immense amount of pride. I’d won a few awards recently, but none of them had made me feel half as good as I did watching Liam joke with a reporter and shake someone’s hand. Despite the knocks he’d taken, he wore a grin that stretched his mouth wide and his eyes sparked with delight. He was sweaty and covered in blood and dirt, and he’d never been more handsome to me than he was now. He was in his element, and he glowed with victory.

Angus nudged my shoulder with his. “I take back everything I said earlier. That man isn’t boring; he’s a beautiful fucking barbarian.”

My lips hitched to the side. “Mmm-hmm.”

“Please tell me he’s like that in bed,” he said, his eyes having turned hazy with lust. I hoped no one looked our way because one glance at Angus’s face—and the tenting of his kilt—and it would be immediately obvious what he was thinking.

“Yeah, I’m not answering that,” I said. “And get a grip on yourself. There are children present.”

“Oh, I’ll get a grip on myself alright,” he said, moving his hand toward his dick.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I said, my arm shooting out to catch his before he could reach it. “Quit being an asshole.”

He tugged his hand out from my grip. “You’re just pissed because I’m picturing how your man fucks.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“If you told me, I wouldn’t have to imagine it.”

“Knock it off, would you? You’re never going to fuck my boyfriend, so quit imagining it.”

Instead of arguing, Angus shrugged and then sauntered away. When he was a few feet away, he called out over his shoulder, “Never say never!” Then he waved and disappeared into the crowd.

“Your friend is … something else,” a deep, masculine voice said as its owner sidled up next to me. I turned my head to find an attractive man in a thousand pound suit smiling at me.

I laughed and nodded. “He is a force unto himself.”

“Angus Mackenzie, right?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I own one of his paintings, actually. He’s quite talented.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” I answered with another laugh. “He’ll be even more insufferable.”

“I find most talented artists are.” He stuck his hand out and I took it. “Oliver Gordon.”

“Lachlan MacLeod.”

“Oh, the chef,” he said knowingly.

A little too knowingly, I thought. Our hands dropped and I nodded. “That’s me.”

“Your restaurant is excellent.”

“Thank you. I try my best.”

He smiled at me, his blue eyes warm. “Handsome and modest.”

Wait, was this guy hitting on me? I took a tiny step back to create some distance between us.

My confusion must have shown on my face because Oliver shook his head and said, “Sorry, I’m afraid I have a habit of saying the first thing that pops into my head. I didn’t mean anything by it. I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, sure. Yeah. No worries.”

“You’re gay though, right?”

My breath caught in the back of my throat and I coughed. It wasn’t a secret that I was gay—hell, there’d been several articles written about it—but having my sexuality discussed at Liam’s match made me uncomfortable. Still, I didn’t hide who I was.

“Yes, I’m gay.”

Oliver nodded slowly, as if he was trying to figure me out. When his gaze rested on me for a moment longer than I liked, I turned my head toward the field. Liam’s interview had wrapped up and he was heading toward the tunnel that would take him to the locker room. Lest my eyes linger on him too long and my face give me away, I quickly glanced down at my watch.

“Don’t let me keep you. I just wanted to stop by and introduce myself.”

“It was good meeting you. You and your boyfriend should stop into CAMP some time.”

He smiled warmly then, and my suspicion vanished.

“We’ll do that,” he answered, his own eyes flicking to the nearly-empty pitch.“You should go find your friend.”

I shook his hand again, and turned toward the exit. It wasn’t until several moments later when I leaned against the cold cement wall waiting for Liam that I realized what Oliver had said. He could have been talking about Angus, but a small part of me didn’t believe that. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Oliver had known exactly who I was there for, and it wasn’t the crazy artist.