“Does he fancy himself Clark Kent?” Danielle asked Colin as their group waited in John and Fergus’s car park for Andrew to put on his disguise. “Is he turning into Super Raver?”

“Lord Andrew’s too famous to go out as himself,” Katie said.

“Unless he’s got at least four bodyguards,” added her girlfriend, Siobhan. “I read it on Buzzfeed.”

“Why are we bringing him?” Liam asked Colin. “I thought you hated poncey toffs like Andrew.”

“I do.” Colin stared at the bright red Tesla. Through the roadster’s rolled-up tinted windows, he could barely make out Andrew changing clothes. “But there’s something about this one.”

“‘Something’?” Siobhan laughed. “You say it like it’s a mystery. He’s gorgeous and minted and dresses like a catwalk model.”

Danielle nodded. “He doesn’t have a je ne sais quoi. More like a je sais exactement quoi.”

Scowling at his girlfriend’s admiration, Robert said, “Colin, you just met him. I know he’s mates with John, but—”

“I didnae just meet him.” Colin crossed his arms, his gaze still fixed on the Tesla. “Remember that rave we went to last January in Tollcross? I met Andrew there. He looked completely different. He had glasses and facial hair and regular street clothes. Said his name was Adam Smith.”

Robert squinted at him. “Adam Smith? As in the father of capitalism? That didnae seem suspicious?”

“It seemed funny, but I thought, who would choose that as a fake name? Besides, ‘Adam’ and ‘Smith’ are pure common.”

“Did youse two hook up at that rave?” Siobhan asked. “Or after?”

“A wee snog, nothing more.” Colin was ashamed to admit how that night had ended. When Andrew had shown up at a Warriors training session a few weeks ago, Colin couldn’t even meet his eyes.

Here was the chance to turn the tables, make the powerful feel powerless. The moment Andrew had kissed him in the kitchen, Colin knew the trap was set.

“Be careful,” Liam said. “If you’re still mad about a guy you met six months ago, he’s one you need to stay away from. You’ll lose your mind.”

“Nah.” Colin licked his lips in anticipation. “I can handle this yin.”

The Tesla’s low, sleek door swung open. Colin felt his jaw and arms go slack.

Andrew had traded the fine linen trousers, dress shirt, and blazer for a pair of torn black skinny jeans and a tight, dark-gray T-shirt. His hair was now tamed straight, the gel muting the highlights, with a long fringe angling over his forehead. And perched upon his perfect nose were the same black-framed, rectangular glasses he’d worn in January.

He’d turned into Clark Kent, and the sight made Colin’s head swim.

“It’s a bird! It’s a plane!” Katie said. “No, it’s Super Hipster!” She examined Andrew’s T-shirt as he approached. Across the front, the words I Pity the Fool had been written in bleach with what looked like a finger. “Did you make that yourself?” she asked Andrew.

“Of course.”

Katie turned to Colin and whispered, “I like his style.”

Me too. Fuck. It was easier to hate Andrew when he was all toffed up. Now he looked downright human, yet still heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

“All right, then.” Andrew stepped close to Colin, nearly touching him but not quite. “Shall we away?”

Colin pulled in a breath, intending to beg off from the rave, to claim he was feeling ill and had to go home. But as he did, he inhaled that scent again. Andrew’s smooth, warm cologne made Colin’s every nerve stand on end, while at the same time soothing him. It was a scent that whispered, You’re safe with me.

He wondered if spiders gave off the same aroma to the moths caught in their webs. If not, the frantic flapping of wings would tear the strands apart. At some point, every moth surrenders.

But not Colin. He would wait until the last moment, then break free.

“Let me get this straight,” Colin said as he led Andrew down a bewildering series of North Glasgow streets and alleyways. “Your dad’s got millions of pounds, right?”

“Right.” Andrew craned his neck to catch sight of a street sign or a familiar landmark. He’d be lost if left alone in this dodgy, desolate area right now. It was rather exciting.

“So why can’t he leave you some of that money? Why does it all go to your brother?”

“The money is part of the estate, which can’t be divided.”

“Why not?”

“Because it can’t,” Andrew said. “The law of primogeniture, which says it all goes to the eldest son—”

“I know what fucking primogeniture is.”

“—was established to keep estates whole and undivided. It’s based on an incontrovertible principle—namely, who was born first. Not the most intelligent offspring, which would be my sister, or the parents’ favorite, which would be me.”

“If you inherit nothing,” Colin said, “why are you driving a Tesla and wearing expensive cologne?”

Andrew smiled inside at the fact Colin had noticed his scent. He’d chosen it because he’d worn it that night in January, when Colin had seemed absolutely ravenous for him. “Every penny I spend is my father’s. Theoretically, if I displease him, I could end up destitute.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, but it is right. Anyway, life’s not fair, as the cliché goes.”

“That’s why we’ve got laws to make it more fair.” Colin quickened his pace as if to rid himself of Andrew. “Like calling fouls in football.”

“But sometimes blatant fouls aren’t called, even when it could change the course of the game. The teams who waste energy screaming at the refs usually end up losing. Obsessing over fairness turns us into weak, whingeing children when we should be taking responsibility for ourselves.”

Colin stopped and turned to him. “You are the worst person I’ve ever met.”

“I doubt that.” Andrew walked on, catching up to Katie and Siobhan. “Do you know where we are?”

“Not exactly.” Katie looked up and down the dismal street with its shuttered pawn shops, newsagents, and Chinese takeaways. “But I think we’re almost there. By the way, don’t you dare tweet about this to your million followers. You’ll get us busted.”

Andrew smiled. This was only his twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth rave. “May I tweet about it tomorrow? Pretty please?”

“Hell yeah! And you better mention me.”

They laughed together, then fell silent as they approached a young beggar sprawled against the side of a city rubbish bin. His head rested next to the words of an advert for home refinancing. Though his cup was set out next to a sign reading Please Help, he didn’t accost them or ask for money, only stared into the night with empty eyes.

Andrew couldn’t understand how someone could end up like that in the UK, which seemed to overflow with government-provided housing. Perhaps that bloke had run away from home, seeking adventure in the city.

Glasgow was an adventure, for certain. Its citizens’ brash humor and fearless banter had felt like a scalding shower when Andrew first moved here a year ago for university. But bit by bit, it was changing him. He saw himself growing less civil, less tolerant of formalities. The city was prying open his heart and soul, begging to peer inside. Ye show me yours, I’ll show ye mine, it seemed to say.

Thinking of Glaswegians, Andrew turned to look for Colin, the epitome of this city’s aggressive openness.

He was gone.

Andrew stopped and scanned his surroundings, worrying his would-be companion had got himself mugged. Did the police even venture into these parts?

Then he spied Colin by the rubbish bins, bending over to talk to the homeless man.

Not just talking—giving him something.

Oh no, you’re not. As Andrew neared them, he caught sight of the pink-hued Royal Bank of Scotland note Colin was extending.

“Is this thing real, mate?” asked the beggar.

“Aye, and there’s nae more where that come fae, so gonnae no get any ideas.” Colin saw Andrew and promptly stood up. Then he stalked forward, brushing past him. “You either. Not a word.”

Andrew increased his pace to catch up—not quite hurrying, as that would be undignified. “You did not just hand over my hundred pounds.”

“It was my hundred. Now it’s his hundred.”

“It was meant for you.”

“I don’t want your money, pal.”

“But you need it,” Andrew said.

“If I kept it, then that’s my fourth tattoo sorted. I’ll just have ‘rent boy’ inked across my forehead.”

Andrew grabbed his arm. “Is that how you think I see you? As a rent boy?”

Colin stopped and studied him, pale eyes glinting in the streetlight. “Maybe.” He looked down at Andrew’s hand. “Gonnae let go of me now?”

Andrew did, but slowly, letting his fingers drift over Colin’s skin as he released him. “You said ‘fourth tattoo.’” He pointed to Colin’s arms. “I see only two there. Where’s the third?”

Colin smiled, this time for free. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Colin surveyed the street for signs of police as he queued up with his mates outside the Possilpark warehouse. On the whole, North Glasgow seemed quiet, what with the Commonwealth Games excitement centered in the East End. Men and women from all corners of the current and former British Empire had come to Glasgow to compete in what Katie had dubbed “The Queen’s Olympics.” The athletes and their drunken fans would keep Police Scotland well occupied tonight. Colin said a silent thank-you in particular to the scores of unruly Australians already nicked for drunken disorderly.

“What do you use in your hair?”

Colin jumped at the sound of Andrew’s voice close to his ear. “Sorry?”

“To make it all spiky in the back. Which styling product?”

Embarrassed to admit he used cheap crap from the supermarket, Colin said, “I don’t remember the brand. Why?”

“I want my hair to do that.” Andrew ruffled the back of his own head. “When it was very short, I could spike it like mad, but now it lies flat no matter what. Our hair’s about the same length, but yours goes out in all directions. It’s cool.”

Colin felt his entire head warm under Andrew’s gaze. “That’s how it grows, out instead of down. The hair follicles, I mean.”

“What, like cowlicks? Let me see.” Andrew moved to stand behind him. Then he ran his hand up through Colin’s hair, nails gliding along his scalp. Chills shot down Colin’s spine, awakening his cock again. “Ah, yes.” Andrew’s fingers drifted over Colin’s nape, tracing the patterns. “Here as well. It swirls all over the place. Makes you look as though you just hopped out of bed.”

“Aye…” Colin cleared his throat, dislodging the great lump of longing. “I cannae cut it too short, or it looks like someone’s taken a hatchet to me.”

Andrew chuckled. “Now who would want to do that?” After a quick squeeze, he let go and stepped away. Colin swayed a bit—he’d been unconsciously leaning into Andrew’s caresses, like a dog against its master’s hand.

Another group of ravers passed by, shuffling toward the back of the queue. They greeted Colin with smiles, back-pats, and hand-grasps, inquiring after his injured knee. He gave vague answers, hoping they wouldn’t mention the reason they were asking. He wanted Andrew to be…surprised.

“That’s the fourth bunch who’s recognized you,” Andrew said. “You’re dead popular.”

“Colin has loads of fans.” Danielle beamed at him. “He’s universally adored.”

“Not universally,” Robert said. “He’s got a few haters as well.”

Andrew’s lips tightened. “We’ve all got those.”

“Aye, but sooner or later, this bam’s gonnae kill someone.” Robert shook his finger at Colin. “Most likely his own eejit self.”

“Oh look, the door’s open.” Glad for the diversion, Colin pointed to the head of the queue, which was finally beginning to move. A muted cheer of relief rose from the crowd.

Andrew stepped in front of him as they approached the door. “Let me pay your cover.”

“What if they cannae change a hundred?”

“It’s okay, I found this in my trouser pocket.” With a wink, he displayed a tightly folded English twenty-pound note.

On their way inside, Colin tried to psych himself up, get into the spirit of the evening. After all, he was at a rave put on by one of the UK’s foremost underground DJs. He was with his best mates amidst a friendly crowd. Best of all, he was with a delicious lad who wanted to dance with him and possibly get naked with him.

But Colin’s fingertips still itched for the cash he’d given to the homeless man. He’d pretended it was easy, but Andrew was right—Colin did need the money. His father and gran needed it. So did his wee sister, Emma. A hundred quid could buy a week of groceries, even if they needed expensive items like toilet tissue or washing powder.

But to that homeless man, a hundred quid could mean the difference between life and death, or at least hope and despair. Though Colin was often submerged in a pool of self-pity, he occasionally remembered that others had it worse.

And Andrew? He’d flicked that hundred-pound banknote out of his wallet like it was nothing. There’d been several more just like it inside. The injustice made Colin want to cry, or break things, or both.

Och… He dragged his hands over his face. This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t a brooder. He was the life of the fucking party!

As if on cue, the music began. The bass shook the warehouse’s dark, dusty floor, sending quakes up Colin’s body. The treble laced down his spine, out his limbs, all the way to his fingernails. Even his left knee, confined to the supportive brace he wore under his jeans, seemed to pulse with longing, saying GONNAE GET ME ON THAT FLOOR NOW.

Aye, he had missed this. Five weeks of rehab, including eight days hobbling about on crutches, had filled him with so much pent-up energy, he thought he’d explode.

The moment they reached an open space, he grabbed Siobhan’s and Katie’s hands. “C’mon, wee lassies, let’s show ’em how it’s done!”

“No way!” Katie yanked on his arm. “What about your knee?”

“My physio said bouncing and flexing is fine,” he shouted as he demonstrated. “Just no twisting.”

She pointed two fingers at her eyes, then at him. “I’ll be watching.”

Colin closed his eyes and let the music take control. Soon sweat poured in rivers down his neck and back, but the heat only amplified his euphoria. Besides, everyone else was just as soaked as he was, and no one cared.

The only thing that mattered was This. Fucking. Moment. For one night, Glasgow’s youth was taking back this city from the invading tourists, making it theirs again. For one night, there was no tomorrow.

When Colin opened his eyes, he found Andrew dancing beside him, eyes closed, arms raised, mouth slack in a smug-free smile. He was…so fucking beautiful.

As if hearing Colin’s thoughts, Andrew opened his eyes and looked straight at him. They stopped dancing and just stared at each other, panting. Colin reached out and pushed Andrew’s black-framed glasses back up his nose. Andrew’s smile was so sweet and genuine, it almost made Colin feel they were the same.

Almost.

Colin swept a hand through his own sweaty hair and glanced past Andrew, up at the dancers atop a row of ten-foot-high storage containers. “Wow, check them.”

Andrew turned to look, then kept turning until he spotted a second container stacked atop the row, twenty feet tall and currently empty. “Let’s go up there!”

Colin grinned inside but shook his head. “It’s pretty high. Could be dangerous.”

“No, it’ll be brilliant!” Andrew took his hand. “This floor’s suffocating. We’ll have loads of room up there.” He laced his fingers with Colin’s. “I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

Colin took what he hoped seemed a reluctant breath, then tightened his grip. Got you, my wee butterfly. “Let’s do it.”

As they made their way over, he thought about how most lads he dated tried to rein in his madness. This lad stoked it. Andrew would come to regret it one day soon—or rather, one minute soon.

Colin scaled the lower container, aided by the dancers atop it, then turned to help Andrew. As he pulled him up, Colin saw the crowd on the floor start to point and cheer.

Youse are about to get the best show yet. With a running start, Colin vaulted up to the higher container and grasped the top edge. His feet scrabbled against the side, using the metal contours to push him up. Thanks to the extra upper-body exercises he’d been doing during his knee rehab, he hoisted himself to the top in a flash.

More cheers. The dancers on the level below helped Andrew scale the side of Colin’s container, then Colin pulled him all the way up.

Andrew straightened to stand before Colin, and for a moment, it seemed they were alone in the crowd—alone in all the world.

Then the music swelled, and Andrew began to dance with a sinuous grace the crowded dance floor hadn’t allowed. Colin joined in, mirroring Andrew’s motions. Though they didn’t touch, their hips moved in perfect sync.

The chant began, with just a few people at first, but quickly spreading. Glow sticks of all colors waved in time to the single-word call, creating a dazzling, urgent rainbow.

Andrew squinted at the crowd. “Are they telling us to die?” he asked Colin.

“They’re saying ‘Dive.’” He put his hands together and swooped them down like a swimmer. “Dive.”

Colin wished he’d had his phone ready to capture Andrew’s face as the horror took hold. But he’d remember that look for the rest of his life.

“Crowd dive?” Andrew shrieked. “At a rave? From up here? Are you insane?”

“Aye!” Before Andrew could stop him, Colin stepped to the edge, checking that the people below were ready. “See you in hell, mate!” Then he pulled his hands to his chest, bent his knees, and leapt.

For one glorious moment, he was flying, arms and legs spread. Lights streaked past his eyes, and air seemed to rush through every cell of his body. A split second before he hit, he pulled his tongue back into his mouth so he wouldn’t bite it off.

A mass of arms caught him, slippery with sweat. He thought they might drop him, but then they rebounded like a human trampoline, tossing him up into another weightless moment.

“Turn me over!” he shouted. “On my back!”

They managed it without dropping him, hands grasping, poking, wrenching his limbs. He looked up to see Andrew gaping down at him, hands to his mouth, eyes wide as vinyl LPs.

“Dive!” he called up, knowing Andrew would never dare. “Dive! Dive!”

The crowd took up the chant again, raising fists. A girl near Colin’s head asked, “Does that guy up there know what he’s doing?”

Her friend gave a hooting laugh. “Who’s daft enough to crowd dive at a rave, other than Colin?”

Nobody, he thought. I’m the bam. Nobody out-bams me.

Andrew crouched near the edge of the container, probably looking for an easy way down. But there was none, save the awkward way he got up there. He’d have to admit defeat.

The crowd’s excitement suddenly crested, and Colin was jostled so hard he couldn’t see.

“The fuck’s that guy doing?” asked the lad supporting his shoulder. “He’ll get himself killed.”

“Put me down!” Colin shouted. He was immediately dumped, and nearly fell on his arse, but managed to find his footing and stand straight.

What he saw atop the container confused him at first. Why was Andrew’s head down but his legs…up?

Oh no.

Katie appeared at Colin’s side. “He’s doing a goddamn handstand dive. Make him stop!”

He cupped his hands to his mouth and screamed, “Andrew, no! Gonnae no do that!” But his words were swamped by the crowd’s cheers and chants.

Andrew’s legs were nearly vertical now, his back to the dance floor, the spotlight catching the white outsoles of his black high-top trainers.

Oh fuck no.

“I can’t watch.” Siobhan covered her eyes. “He’s gonnae die.”

No no no no no NO.

Frozen with terror, Colin could only stare. He is gonnae die, he thought, and it’ll be my fucking fault. His next thought, though, was My God, Andrew must have the most amazing abs.

“Guess what, mate?” said the lad beside Colin, his phone raised to capture Andrew’s stunt. “You’ve just met your match.”