It was a right battle not to sing in the shower this morning.

Usually after a night like last night, Andrew woke with a sense of dread and the urge to flee, an urge he was too well-mannered to follow. He would sit through an excruciating though sumptuous hotel breakfast with his now-former lover, counting the minutes until they could part forever with an amicable wave of the hand. Good times, good memories, good riddance.

But today, he couldn’t wait to get back under the covers with Colin. He planned to wake the lad with a strategically placed tongue, get him hard while he was still asleep, so that by the time he opened his eyes, he’d be ready for a pre-breakfast quickie. No games or gymnastics, just a bit of sweet pleasure and fun before they headed home.

And then what? Andrew asked himself as he applied his ginger-and-brown-sugar scrub, sloughing away the dead skin cells accumulated in the last twenty-four hours. What happens when we’re in Glasgow?

The moment Colin had passed out in the plague room yesterday, he’d pried open Andrew’s heart. Then he’d dug deep inside, dredging up Andrew’s secret demons. They’d exposed each other’s wounds, then attempted to heal them with that endless kiss that seemed to say all is forgiven.

Finally, after laying Andrew bare, at the end of the night Colin had wanted to hold him. To snuggle, for God’s sake, like a married couple. Ugh.

Yet Andrew had lain awake for hours afterward, wishing he could have that moment back. Wondering what it would feel like to have another body fit around his as he fell asleep. To waste so much king-size space together.

Out of the shower, he quickly toweled off, drew a handful of mousse through his hair, then slipped into one of the white terry hotel dressing gowns, keeping the sash loose around his waist. Then he eased open the bathroom door and tiptoed around the corner to their bed.

Which was now empty.

“Colin?” He covered his mouth at the forlornness of his voice, then glanced around, expecting—hoping—to be ambushed from behind a chair and dragged back into bed. But the room was silent and dark, the curtains still drawn.

Andrew yanked open the wardrobe doors to find only his own shirts and trousers draped on the silk-padded hangers, only his own shoes arranged on the top shelf. He slid out the wardrobe’s top drawer, where he’d seen Colin put his stuff.

It banged against his knee, empty. As empty as their bed, as empty as his gut, which gnawed at itself with more than hunger.

He searched the room for a note, for any explanation other than the obvious: Colin had left him.

So this is what it feels like. Andrew sank onto the bed, instinctively detaching himself from the situation. Surely this misfortune could inspire a witty tweet. He crossed his legs into the lotus position and tried to steady his breath.

Serenity seemed a million miles away. All he could think about were the hours he’d planned this morning with Colin. He felt robbed.

“You bastard.” Andrew pulled his pillow into his lap, bunching it between his fists to shed his anger.

Was this Colin’s revenge for being ditched in January? On the surface it seemed fitting, but after all they’d done yesterday—entirely at Andrew’s expense—Colin at least owed him the courtesy of a proper goodbye. The brute was probably right now laughing all the way back to Glasgow and would soon be gloating to his mates how he’d taken advantage of a smitten toff’s generosity.

Andrew closed his eyes, trying to reconcile this absconder with the man who’d gazed at him last night with such wonder, who’d kissed him with such tenderness, who’d licked his face with such affection. That Colin couldn’t have been plotting a cowardly escape. That Colin had wanted to see him again and was brave enough to say so. What had changed? What had drained Colin’s heart of all feeling for Andrew?

He rested his chin on his pillow and immediately noticed something odd. He examined the pillow, then its companions—the one Colin had slept upon and the two spares tossed to the side. The other three pillows were still enrobed in their Egyptian-cotton cases.

Andrew’s pillowcase, and Andrew’s alone, was gone.

“You left before breakfast? Are you daft, mate?”

Liam and Robert frowned down at Colin in their usual configuration of disapproval—crossed arms, jutting jaws, stormy gazes.

Sitting on the practice-pitch bench retying his football boots, Colin answered Liam. “Hotel breakfast is expensive, and I didnae want any more of his charity.”

“Isn’t breakfast included in the price of the room?” Robert asked.

“At a posh place like that? Aye.” Liam turned to Colin. “You robbed yourself of a free meal.”

“Oh.” Feeling more ignorant than ever, Colin stood and pulled his foot up behind him to stretch his quadriceps.

“All right, Colin?” Charlotte called as she strode over, the wind whipping wisps of pale-brown hair across her face. “You know the drill.”

“I’ve started. See?” The quad stretch was the first flexibility test of his injured knee. His legs had held up well during sex with Andrew, but that fact probably wouldn’t impress his manager.

“I bet that hotel’s got an amazing full Scottish breakfast,” Liam said to Robert. “Haggis and black pudding and tattycakes—”

“Plus omelets made to order, nae doubt,” Robert added. “Probably Belgian waffles as well.”

Colin gritted his teeth in annoyance as he knelt and bent backward, placing his hands on the unusually dry grass. Charlotte watched him closely for signs of pain and stiffness.

“Imagine the Waldorf Astoria’s puddings!” Liam grabbed Robert’s shoulder. “Chocolate soufflés, strawberry cream tarts, tiramisu. As many as you could eat.”

“Oh aye,” Robert said. “Not to mention unlimited champagne cocktails.”

“Shut up!” As he got to his feet, Colin rubbed his empty stomach, which had settled for a dry bagel at the Edinburgh train station. “I did what I had to. I couldnae stand the inevitable morning-after knock-back, the ‘Bye now, see you never!’ Not from him.”

“Ten lateral hops, right leg first,” Charlotte instructed. “Sounds like you opted for a preemptive knock-back.”

“Exactly.” Colin didn’t normally discuss his personal life with his manager, but she was part of the conversation now. He leapt from side to side on one foot. “At least I was able to leave with some dignity.”

“Dignity?” Liam asked. “You stole his fuckin’ pillowcase.”

“Which he’ll be charged for,” Robert added.

“Aye, and probably several times what they’re worth—”

“To serve as a deterrent.”

“—cos there’s added value as a souvenir.”

“Especially if they’ve got special embroidery.”

“Stop!” Reaching the tenth hop, Colin put his other foot down and covered his ears. “You guys are like one person in two bodies.”

“No, we’re not,” Liam and Robert said in unison. They shared an awkward glance, then shifted a matching step away from each other.

Fergus shouted to Liam for a pre-practice captain/vice-captain conference, and Robert agreed to spot Colin for his vertical jumps, the one-legged hops onto the bench. He and Charlotte went silent, knowing how crucial this readiness test was for Colin. If he passed it, he could practice with the team again at last.

As before, both his right and left side did fine on the straight jumps, as did his right leg on the vertical jump with a ninety-degree turn. Behind him on the pitch, his teammates fell quiet, one by one, watching. Waiting to see how his injured left leg would fare.

Colin wanted to pause, take a few deep breaths, adjust his socks, double-check the fit of his boots. But that would psych him out. He could do this, despite the fact he’d had a total of four hours’ sleep this weekend. He could do this.

And if he couldn’t, he’d never forgive himself for trotting off to Edinburgh when he should’ve been resting.

After only three leaps, he felt himself tire, but he pushed on. It wasn’t fair to put the most difficult exercise at the end when his leg was most fatigued, but it was a better test of his ability to play a match without injuring himself. The ligaments had to stand as strong at the ninetieth minute as they did at the first minute.

It’s not fair, but it is right. Andrew’s words came back to him now. Thinking of the smug, beautiful toff stoked his energy. Colin had been a coward this morning, but this afternoon, he’d be strong. He’d fight his way through the fear and fatigue.

With a final burst of strength from an unknown source, Colin finished the rest of the leaps, higher than ever, and when he landed the final time, Charlotte shouted, “TEN!”

A cheer went up from the pitch. Still standing on his left leg, Colin turned to his teammates and raised his arms, fists clenched in victory. They rushed over for hugs and backpats, showering him with Welcome backs and Yaldys and Thank Gods.

Katie embraced him last and longest. “I’m so, so happy you’re back. We’re gonna crush Shettleston at next week’s preseason.”

Colin didn’t want to get his hopes up too soon. “I’m only back to practice. It could be a while before I play in an actual match.”

“Charlotte adores you. You’ll at least get a few minutes’ play next week.” Katie squeezed his arms. “So how was your big Edinburgh date with Andrew?”

“It was…legendary,” he said, using Andrew’s word. “But probably a bad idea, considering how close I just came to failing that strength test.”

Katie grinned. “He gave you a good workout, huh?”

“Maybe.” To hide his mixed emotions regarding last night, Colin bent over and pretended to adjust his shin pads.

“Are you seeing him again?” Robert asked Colin.

“Nah, it was just a one-off.”

Katie poked his shoulder. “You sure about that?”

Colin straightened up, then turned to see a bright-red Tesla coming to a stop on the lane beside the practice pitch.

Fuck. He tried to move his feet forward to meet the man who’d given him the night of his life. But they wouldn’t budge.

Because that man was Lord Andrew again, strutting toward him in a cream-colored linen suit that brought out his blond highlights. His shirt was the same dark brown as the lenses in his gold-rimmed sunglasses, and he swung a small white shopping bag at his side. The bag’s gilded-leaf design stabbed Colin’s eyes with reflected sunlight.

Andrew stopped before Colin and handed him the bag. “You left these behind. I thought you might need them. They’re nice.” Having said all this in about two seconds, with no discernible emotion, he turned on his heel and departed.

Colin’s mouth opened, but his words evaporated in the summer heat.

“He says, ‘Thanks!’” Katie called out. Without looking back, Andrew lifted an elegant hand in acknowledgment.

Colin pulled a handful of gold tissue paper from the bag. Unfolding it, he saw the unmistakable blue silk of his own favorite briefs. “Fuck’s sake.” He shoved the package back into the bag.

“He’s right,” Robert said. “Those are nice.”

“Since when do you shop at Versace?” Katie asked.

“Since never. The bag is his.” Colin twisted the soft white cords of the twin handles. “I packed in a hurry. I must have left them on the floor.” His underwear had probably been kicked under the bench he’d hate-fucked Andrew upon.

It never was a hate fuck, a voice inside him said. He deserved better than to be left like that.

Colin sighed. This was true. He should say something right now.

But when he looked up, he saw the Tesla driving away, its electric motor pure silent.