Andrew was not bluffing about the threesome. Colin could tell by the way he and Joey ground against him on the dance floor, one behind, one in front; and by the way Andrew watched with avid interest as Joey slid his hands over Colin’s hips while they danced.

Colin tried to divide his attention equally between them, counting the number of seconds he focused on Andrew, then on Joey. But he kept adding time with Andrew, searching for ambivalence in those steel-blue eyes, hoping to find the answer to his most burning question: Don’t you want me all to yourself?

Finally Colin went to fetch another round of drinks, leaving Andrew and Joey on the dance floor together. At the upstairs bar, he ordered four blended whiskies (an extra for himself, to steady his nerves). While he waited, he gnawed another cocktail straw and Googled “How to survive your first threesome.” The search results were monumentally unhelpful and seemed full of dire warnings of ruined relationships.

Did he and Andrew even have a relationship? They had fun together, and they shared a love of football, and they made each other laugh. Their connection in bed was unlike anything Colin had ever experienced. He’d always been an intense lover, but often his intensity was faked, a compensation for his uncertainty. But with Andrew, he’d no need to pretend. Andrew stoked every emotion at once inside Colin—hate, rage, lust, fear, and something that occasionally almost felt like love.

How could he divide that intensity between Andrew and another man? If he did, would it vanish? Would he come to see Andrew as just another fuck pal?

The drinks arrived, and Colin pulled a handful of cash from his sporran. All these American notes were the same moldy green color, so it took him a moment to find the correct ones. As he waited for his change, he threw back the first dram to silence the nagging voice inside.

Something’s been born between you and Andrew. Something real. What if this threesome with Joey smothers that something in its cradle? Would it be worth losing him, just to become the delicious meat in a sweaty fuckwich?

“Maybe,” he said aloud, then tossed back another whisky to help him decide. He collected his change—cool American coins!—and took the remaining pair of glasses to the banister overlooking the dance floor, forging a crooked path with unsteady steps.

The DJ was playing one of Colin’s favorite Calvin Harris tunes, a bouncy hymn to hedonism that always made him drink more than he should. He searched for Andrew and Joey, finding them at the center of dozens of hopping bodies. They shouted the lyrics to each other, hands in the air with the rest of the crowd.

They were dancing like mates, Colin realized, not like lads who wanted in each other’s trousers. He smiled and set his drinks on the railing’s shelf, the voice inside him finally speaking reason. Tonight you’ll have both these delicious lads, and you will never, ever forget it.

Suddenly Joey bumped into the man dancing behind him, then bounced forward into Andrew’s arms. They laughed together at the mishap…but then they didn’t let go.

Joey snaked a hand behind Andrew’s head and pulled him down into a kiss.

A red veil of rage dropped over Colin’s eyes. He picked up one of the drinks in a grip so tight he thought the glass would shatter. He wanted to hurl it over the railing and smash it into their heads. Into their stupid kissing faces.

“Hey.” Someone touched his shoulder.

Colin jumped, then turned to see a beefy dark-haired guy in an olive-green T-shirt. “What?” he snapped, half expecting him to be a bouncer informing Colin he didn’t belong in this exclusive club.

“I was about to ask if I could buy you a drink.” The beefcake pointed to the glasses in Colin’s hands. “But I see you’re good.”

“I am good. I am fucking tremendous. And so are you.” Colin shoved one of the drinks into the stranger’s hand, then toasted him, nearly missing the glass. “Cheers.” He drained the dram in one gulp. “Now you can buy me a drink.”

Andrew broke the kiss, pushing Joey away as politely as possible. “Sorry, not without Colin.”

“Oh my God! Right, sorry.” Joey wiped his mouth with his wrist. “I got carried away.”

“No worries.” Andrew looked around, hoping Colin hadn’t seen the kiss. He kept dancing with Joey, but farther apart, until the song ended. “Let’s find Colin. He’s been gone too long.”

“The lines at the bars get crazy on Friday nights,” Joey said as they made their way off the packed dance floor. “Sorry, I mean the queues get mental.”

“Don’t apologize. I speak American.”

Joey stopped at the curving stairway to the top floor. “He might’ve gone up where it’s less crowded.”

“Good idea.” With a strange dread hardening his gut, Andrew hurried up the stairs. Joey lagged behind, pinned to the railing by the crowd. Andrew reached back and took his hand—partly to pull him along and partly to make it look as though they were together. That way fewer men would slow Andrew down trying to chat him up.

The top level was nearly as jammed as the one they’d left. Andrew craned his neck to search for Colin at the main bar. “Where have you gone, you silly boy?” he muttered.

Joey tugged Andrew’s hand. “There he is!”

Andrew turned to see Colin sitting on the edge of a stool at the smaller side bar, his left foot propped on the leg of a muscular young man with buzz-cut dark hair. Colin’s knee was bent to show his companion the black supportive brace, making the hem of his kilt slide far up his bare thigh.

“There was this massive pop,” Colin shouted to Muscle Man as Andrew and Joey approached, “and my knee just exploded in pain! I thought, ‘Fuck me, my football career’s pure finished.’ But my physio’s a fuckin’ superhero, and now I’m brand new, see?” He flexed his knee, making the kilt ride even higher. “Scored the equalizer in our first—oh look, it’s Lord Andrew!”

Andrew flinched inside at the hostility slathering his title. “Hello.” He dropped Joey’s hand and crossed his arms, trying to look calm.

“Hey. Guy.” Colin shook the dark-haired lad’s elbow. “This yin here—whom I am currently fucking—is the son of a marquess. That means he’s nobility. He’s met Prince Harry once, but ‘just the once.’” He started cackling, holding his stomach. “‘Just the once.’ Isn’t that precious?”

The heat of anger prickled Andrew’s scalp. Clearly Colin was hammered, but that didn’t make his words sting any less.

“Oooo-kay.” The guy at the bar tried to move away, but Colin grabbed his shirt.

“No! You’ve got to meet him. Lord Andrew, this is…” He turned to the lad. “Who is this?”

“Brandon.”

“Brandon! Och, that is the porniest name I’ve ever heard. Brandon’s in the Army. But shhh. He’s gay.” Colin put a finger to his own lips, poking himself in the nose.

“It’s not a secret, actually.” Brandon looked embarrassed. “They ended ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ before I signed up.” He wrenched his shirt out of Colin’s grip, then stepped up to Andrew. “Your dude’s pretty wasted.”

“I can see that.”

“I swear I didn’t know he was with you. He acted available. When I realized how drunk he was, I asked if he had a friend who could take him home, but he said the guy he came with wasn’t a friend and if he wanted to get home he’d have to run away again.” Brandon shrugged. “Any of that make sense?”

Andrew gritted his teeth, for a moment seriously considering letting Colin find his own way back to Glasgow. “He was sober fifteen minutes ago. Did you put something in his drink?”

“No, sir.” Brandon shook his head solemnly. “He had one, then I bought him another, then he had half of mine. He must have been pounding shots before I found him.”

“That’s not like him.” Now more worried than angry, Andrew turned to Colin, who was holding two cocktail straws in his mouth, angling them down like walrus tusks, then up like a warthog’s. “Come on, pet,” Andrew said. “Let’s go home.” He helped Colin slide off the red vinyl barstool onto unsteady feet.

“We’re bringing them, right?” Colin grasped for Joey, who was wisely standing several feet away. “I want them both. And you. I love you.”

Andrew sighed. How many drunken lovers had told him that? Dozens. How many sober ones? None. “You don’t love me.”

“I do! I love everyone. Which includes you.” He poked Andrew’s chest with the cocktail straws, which he then examined with crossed eyes. “Bet I could tie these together with my tongue. Would that impress you?”

“Very much.” Andrew realized they’d yet to move an inch. “Bring them so you can show me.” He guided Colin away from the bar, taking a step toward the stairs.

“Ooh!” Colin lurched forward. “Gonnae let’s slide down the banister.”

“Oh dear.” Andrew looked at the two lads they were leaving behind. “Please tell me there’s an elevator.”

Joey pointed to the exit sign beyond the bar. “There’s a lift back by the loos.”

Rolling his eyes at the British-isms, Andrew nodded and started to turn away, then stopped. “Joey, may I introduce Brandon. Brandon, Joey. Goodnight.”

“Wait—they’re not coming?” Colin asked as Andrew steered him through the crowd toward the lift. “Brandon and what’s his name?”

“Joey. No, I’ve introduced them. Perhaps they’ll fall in love.”

“Ah. You think they’ll marry someday?”

“I hope so, and invite us to the wedding. We can wear our kilts again.” They reached the lift, and he let some of Colin’s weight rest against the wall as he pushed the button.

“I’m never wearing this kilt again.” Colin’s head drooped against his chest. “It makes chaos.”

The door opened to an empty lift. The light in here was brighter than in the bar, making it clear how steaming drunk Colin was. In their month together, Andrew had never seen him more than slightly tipsy. A devoted athlete, Colin always wanted to be at the top of his game, even for practice sessions. Which meant his tolerance was probably lower than most men his size.

“What happened?” he asked Colin. “Did that lad roofie you?”

“No, I just had a lot. A. Lot. Like…hang on.” He squinted at his fingers and thumb as he counted. “Five?”

“In a quarter of an hour?” Andrew swiped his hands up over his face. “I’ll see that bartender sacked.”

“No!”

The door opened, thankfully quite close to the club’s entrance. Andrew led Colin down the ramp to the front door, where he found his bouncer acquaintance still stationed at the ID check. “I need to speak to your manager.”

“I said no!” Colin jerked Andrew’s arm. “You cannae sack that man. He’s my friend.”

“He’s not your friend.”

“You’re not my friend either.” He let go and staggered backward, out onto the pavement. “I saw you kissing Joey!”

Bloody hell, is that what this is about? “No, you saw Joey kissing me. Apparently you missed the bit where I pushed him away.”

“Maybe I did!” Colin shouted, as if this proved his point. “But then youse were holding hands.”

“I was trying not to lose him in the crowd. He walks so slowly for a New Yorker.” Andrew glanced at the club’s long queue, where everyone was watching them avidly. Then he stepped up to Colin, laying a hand on his arm and lowering his voice. “Look, in these three-way situations, it’s completely normal to be jealous.”

“I’m no’ jealous, I’m fine!”

“You’re drunk.”

Colin gave him a well, obviously look. “I’m Scottish!”

“So playing into the stereotypes now, are we?”

“Stereotypes?” Colin’s eyes burned with rage. “You’ve got me dressed in a fuckin’ kilt—the better to attract American cock, aye? I’m for sale the night, aye? All Scotland’s for sale the night. Me with my precious accent and adorable temper.” He jabbed his thumb against his own chest. “I’m like those shops in Edinburgh. Tartans and shortbreads and fuckin’ bagpipes. My arse is Scotland-land, and tonight, America’s got free admission!” Colin reached down, fumbling for the back hem of his kilt.

Oh no. “Please don’t do that.”

“They want Braveheart, I’ll gie ’em fuckin’ Braveheart.” He bent over, raising his kilt to display his bare backside to the Broadway traffic. “Freedom! Freeeeeeeeedom!”

Part of Andrew wanted to laugh. Part of Andrew wanted to join Colin in this uniquely Scottish salute to the United States. None of Andrew wanted to be the grown-up in the room right now.

Then the bouncer said one word in a low but urgent voice. “Cops.”