Humming along with the Waldorf Astoria’s on-hold music, Andrew watched an array of international sports fans parade past him inside Ibrox Stadium. Shirts, flags, and badges of a dozen Commonwealth nations were on display before him, which should have made him reminisce about exotic locales he’d visited during his two gap years between prep school and university—places like India, Malaysia, and Belize.

Instead his memories were stuck in a dingy warehouse in a hopeless section of Glasgow. Memories like Colin’s face as he’d found Andrew after their dives. Memories like Colin’s hands clutching at his back as they’d kissed.

Andrew wanted more. So much more.

The music faded as the hotel clerk returned to the call. “I’m sorry, sir,” she said. “All our suites are booked for next weekend.”

“Oh no.” He’d known it was a long shot finding a vacancy within an hour of Glasgow, what with the Games and all. But he’d hoped with the competition winding down next weekend that some of the athletes and tourists would have returned home.

“You’re in luck, however,” the clerk continued. “We’ve just had a cancellation on a castle-view room with a king-size bed.”

“Ah love, you’re my hero.” Lowering his voice, Andrew recited his credit-card number, memorized so he wouldn’t need to take out his wallet in public.

After hanging up, he turned for the concessions area, deciding to treat himself to a soft drink. Junk food usually didn’t interest him, but he wanted to celebrate his luck with the hotel room.

He bought a Coke, but then instead of returning to his mates in the director’s box, he lingered inside, watching the Scotland-South Africa match on the monitor above the souvenir stand.

Or at least he pretended to. His mind was already planning how he and Colin could make use of that king-size bed. Assuming Colin decided to say yes.

It irked him how defensive the lad was. He’d seemed to think Andrew was out to prank him or something. Was Colin so deprived he didn’t recognize generosity when it fell in his lap?

Mmmm, Colin’s lap… Andrew rolled the end of the straw around the inside of his mouth at the thought of straddling those powerful hips and lowering himself onto—

“Mate, are we boring you?”

Andrew blinked himself out of his fantasy and turned to smile at his London friend Marcus. “No, I just needed to make a phone call, then got insanely thirsty.” He pointed to the television. “Best not to witness that live, anyway.”

Marcus shrugged his scarecrow-slim shoulders. “The Jocks are putting up a decent fight. Better than I expected. Of course, it’s their home field.”

“It is.” Andrew decided not to correct him by saying “our home field” or take him to task for using Jock to mean Scotsman. It was a word often used by Scots themselves, but for some reason it grated on Andrew whenever an Englishman used it. “Did you know the five of us were on BBC? Apparently the camera caught me taking our flag selfie.” He tapped the Scottish Saltire tucked into his blazer breast pocket. “Nice to know the media have got nothing better to do than take pictures of people taking pictures of themselves.”

“Meta journalism at its finest.” Tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his oyster-gray blazer, Marcus cast an appraising gaze over the passersby. “You know, Drew, your bodyguard will have kittens when he finds out you were on television, revealing your whereabouts to a hundred million people around the Commonwealth.”

“I doubt even ten million watch the rugby sevens. It’s not exactly football.” Ignoring Marcus’s sneer at the mention of the hooligan’s game, Andrew said, “As for Reggie, I’m slowly training him to give me more freedom.”

“How?”

“By stealing it.”

“Mature of you.” Marcus inched closer, his voice turning conspiratorial. “I wouldn’t piss him off if I were you, mate. I’ve seen that blade he carries.”

“When?”

“He showed me once—after the Public Enemy show at Electric Brixton? I must have seemed nervous, given that crowd.” His green eyes lit up at Andrew. “Don’t worry, I won’t report Reggie to the police for having a weapon. He’s not the sort of person those laws are written for.”

“No. He’s one of the good guys.” The fact his security man carried a knife—and knew how to use it—made Andrew feel safe, a feeling that persisted even when Reggie wasn’t around. “Come on, let’s watch the end of the match.”

They strolled back to the door leading to the private lounge and the director’s box beyond, Andrew tossing his half-full drink cup into the bin on the way.

“So whom were you phoning with such secrecy?” Marcus asked. “Is there a new man?”

“I hope so,” Andrew replied, with more fervor than intended. Worried his friend might think him sincere, he added, “After all, old men are such bores.”

His cover-up worked, judging by Marcus’s laughter. As they walked out into daylight again, Andrew pressed his hand to the phone in his pocket, wishing he could magically conjure the message he wanted. Wishing he could make Colin say yes.

Colin used to be good at hiding pain. He had the scars to prove it. For years, no one saw him so much as flinch. Then his social workers had gone and taught him how to admit when he was hurting.

That old faking-being-fine skill would have come in handy today, he mused as he spent yet another practice session with his arse parked on the bench, watching the Warriors train without him.

His manager, Charlotte Atchison, had run Colin through the standard battery of tests to see if his knee had healed enough to practice. He’d passed the flexibility checks, then every strength test save one—the dreaded vertical jump with a twist. As he’d leapt one-footed onto the bench, turning ninety degrees, a thick, yanking pain had seized his left knee. If Fergus hadn’t been spotting him, he’d have fallen off the bench and broken his leg.

Colin pushed the pale-blue ice pack down harder on his knee. He had to stop doing stupid things. Like crowd-diving at raves. Like taking the stairs instead of the lift from his flat on the fifteenth floor.

Like getting so lost in a sexy phone call with Andrew, he missed his bus stop and had to sprint a mile and a half to get to practice on time.

“I cannae go to Edinburgh,” he’d told Andrew on the bus. “I’ve got training next Sunday at one.”

“I’ll have us back in Glasgow by noon.” With a sultry laugh, Andrew had added, “Though I can’t guarantee we’ll be in the best of form. Personally, I’ll be crushed if you leave me able to walk a straight line.”

Colin knew there were a thousand reasons to say no to this trip. But Andrew’s promise of body-wrecking sex was taking a flamethrower to those reasons. To reason itself, in fact.

He forced his attention back to the pitch in front of him, where the Warriors were playing an eleven-a-side possession game. Four weeks of observing this team had taught him a lot.

Last season the Warriors had been on the brink of making LGBT sport history—nearly winning their division and the Scottish Amateur Cup—when their captain, Evan Hollister, suddenly abandoned them. The team fell into despair, with Colin’s spike in goal-scoring their only bright spot. He’d done so well he’d been designated the Warriors’ new playmaker at Evan’s attacking-midfield position.

Most forwards resented being moved back to midfield. It usually meant scoring fewer goals, the main fuel for their ravenous egos. But Colin had loved it. For the first time, he’d felt like a commanding officer instead of a foot soldier.

But now Evan had returned, settling back into the position as if he’d never left. Meanwhile, Shona Redfield, who’d taken Colin’s position at forward when he’d been reassigned, was proving to be a brilliant striker. And Duncan Harris, the other starting forward, was as speedy and consistent as ever.

Now Colin’s biggest fear was not whether he’d be able to play, but whether there’d be a place for him in the team. He needed to get better now, before the Warriors consolidated around this new lineup.

Before they no longer needed him.

Charlotte subbed out three of the four defenders—Katie, Liam, and Robert. Their replacements, who’d been warming up on the touchline near Colin, darted in, eager to prove themselves.

“Oh, sweetie…” Katie’s shoulders slumped when she saw Colin sitting on the bench, his knee elevated and iced. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“Naw,” he said, and it was only a half lie.

“I’ll never forgive myself for hurting you,” she said for the thousandth time, looking on the verge of tears.

“Lass, it was never your fault. And it could’ve been worse—I could’ve been blindsided by one of these yins.” He gestured to their brawny center-backs Liam and Robert, who had stopped nearby to pick up their matching green-and-white Celtic Football Club squeeze bottles.

“Still.” Katie wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Ugh, sorry, gross. I’m super weepy today as it is.”

“What’s wrong?” Colin asked her.

“Siobhan and I had a fight. She’s pissed I support independence. She doesn’t think I should have an opinion, since I’m not Scottish.”

“But you live here,” Robert chimed in, “so it affects you.”

“And I want to keep living here when I finish my degree,” she said. “I’m studying Scottish literature, for God’s sake. What am I going to do with that in America? Besides, I love Scotland, despite your crappy weather.” She gestured at the sunny sky and added, “Well, usually crappy. Anyway, I want to get a job, pay taxes, then someday marry a Scotswoman and have a whole mess of wee bairns. But I can’t. As soon as I’m done with university, the UK will kick me out.” She gave a despondent shrug. “Supposedly an independent Scotland would let me stay.”

“Then come campaign with us.” Robert gestured to Liam and Colin as he doused his own head with water from his squeeze bottle. “The three of us are canvassing in the East End Wednesday night.”

“I can’t,” Katie said, pulling her foot up behind her to stretch her quad. “Siobhan would kill me.”

Liam snorted. “Sounds like Danielle.”

Robert wiped his face on his sleeve and grimaced. “Aye, Dani’s a staunch No voter too, always calling me a ‘cybernat.’”

“Cybernat?” Katie lifted her chin. “Oh, I get it. Like a nationalist but online. I’ve heard Siobhan use that word too.” She sighed as she reached up to tighten her ponytail. “So Colin, our happily single friend, did you hear from Andrew yet?”

“Erm, yeah, he texted this morning. Then he phoned.” Colin examined his ice pack to avoid the others’ eyes. “Then he invited me to go to Edinburgh with him at the weekend.”

“Are you kidding?” Katie bounced on her toes. “That’s great! You said yes, right?”

“Not exactly.”

“What?!” she yelped.

“I cannae go away overnight,” Colin said. “We’ve got practice Sunday.”

“Edinburgh’s a forty-minute train ride from here. You could totally sleep in—or, not sleep, whatever—until eleven o’clock and still make it back in time.”

Colin had already made that calculation. “I need a good night’s sleep before practice.”

“So go to bed early,” she said with a grin. “I’m sure Andrew won’t mind.”

Colin gritted his teeth. “Listen, doll, I don’t need the distraction. What I need is to get the fuck back in this team!” He chucked the ice pack against the ground, where it made a satisfying squelch.

“Wise choice,” Liam said, then spoke to Katie. “Colin’s being sensible for once. Gonnae no encourage his madness.”

“His madness is what he needs right now.” She sat beside Colin. “Dude, when I first joined the Warriors, you like were a firecracker with feet. You kept us all on our toes, and you’d cheer us up after we’d made a shitty pass or bottled an easy strike. Remember?”

Colin tucked his lips under his teeth and looked away. He remembered.

“And then I hurt your knee,” she said. “No—don’t say it wasn’t my fault, because that’s not the point. The point is, after that you got all turtle-y.”

“Turtle-y?” Was that a reference to his speed?

“Like you’d pulled into a shell.”

“What are you talking about?” He looked at Liam and Robert for backup and saw nothing but pity. “I’ve come to every practice session. I’ve been cheering youse on from this bench.”

“I know,” Katie said, “but sometimes I look over when you’re not cheering, and you seem…less you.” She took his hand. “You’re one of those people who’s gotta be in motion. You’re like a shark.”

Colin’s face flamed with frustration. “So first I’m a turtle, and now—”

“Because if sharks stop swimming, they die.”

“I think that’s a myth,” Robert said.

“Shh.” Katie turned back to Colin. “But I know you’re not gonna shark-die, because last night at the rave, when you climbed up on that storage container and dove into the crowd? Part of me was scared shitless for you, but part of me was like, ‘He’s back. Our Colin’s back.’” She gripped his hand tighter. “And I bet it was because of Andrew.”

“It was probably the crowd,” Colin said.

“Maybe, maybe not. But I think Andrew brings out the fighter in you. And you’re gonna need to fight like crazy to get back in this lineup.” She looked up at Liam, who nodded reluctantly.

So Colin wasn’t imagining things. As vice-captain, Liam had insights into the workings of the team most of them didn’t.

Fucking hell. Maybe Andrew wasn’t a distraction after all. Maybe he wasn’t the last thing Colin needed.

Maybe he was the first thing.