Playing for Keeps (Glasgow Lads Book 2) Read Free

John’s hand, with breath for only one word. “Aye.”
    = = =
    John watched Fergus’s swift, graceful gait as he ran toward the center of the pitch for the kickoff. Halfway there he stopped. John hoped the tall, lean ginger would turn back with one last word or smile for him.
    Instead, Fergus wrapped the captain’s armband around his upper left arm, then gave his biceps a quick flex to check the fit. Finally he laid an almost reverent palm over the white letter C , his expression inscrutable.
    When Charlotte had first handed Fergus the armband, he’d stiffened suddenly, as if his back had spasmed. Then, as he and John chatted, Fergus had fidgeted with the piece of black cloth, stroking, stretching, and squeezing it like a stress toy. But once they’d laughed together, he’d seemed to forget he was holding it at all.
    Kind of like how John had forgotten he was trying to persuade Fergus to play the charity match. What had started as a charm offensive had turned into genuine flirtation. His fingertips still tingled where they’d brushed the smooth skin behind Fergus’s knee.
    As he sat down on the bench to wait for Charlotte, he pondered Fergus’s inexplicable—and rather annoying—reluctance. What did he think he was protecting his team from? Doing a good deed? Attracting hordes of new fans?
    The wind drooped to a bare breeze, letting in the sounds of nearby traffic and accentuating the sun’s heat. John unbuttoned his cuffs so he could roll up the sleeves of his ghastly Oxford shirt, the sight of which brought to mind his afternoon in court. At least the Fergus Taylor Enigma was proving a distraction from that nightmare.
    The manager blew her whistle to start play, then walked backward off the pitch, watching the team intently. “Well? What’d he say?” she asked John when she reached the bench.
    “That he’ll let me know.”
    “Riiiiight.” Charlotte sat beside him with a sigh, smoothing back pale-brown wisps of hair too short for her ponytail. “Listen, if Fergus refuses to do the charity match, it’s not because he doesn’t want to help or doesn’t care. It’s because he does care—about his players. He wants this club to be seen as a serious sporting organization, not a sideshow or a source of scandal.”
    He watched Fergus slipping effortlessly among his players, directing their actions like a conductor with an orchestra, and marveled that he had such command on his first day as captain. “Why would this match cause a scandal?”
    “A gay football team raising money for a gay charity? It calls attention to, you know, the gay.”
    “And?”
    “And it could lead to distracting drama. Personally, I think more attention is what we need.” Straightening up, she propped the end of her battered clipboard atop her thighs like a shield. “Attention means supporters, which means money. Can you guess my primary goal for this season?”
    “Getting promoted to the top division?”
    “That’d be nice. But no, my primary goal is not to lose a single player because they can’t afford proper shoes, much less membership fees. I want to provide those things.” Charlotte lifted her chin, which looked sharp enough to chisel ice. “This club’s a source of pride and hope for Glasgow’s working-class gays. It’s one thing growing up different in the West End, but in the poorer areas—”
    “I know. I live in Ibrox.” Even the straight lads on John’s street had to earn one another’s respect with punches and kicks. Once he’d come out, he’d had to be twice as tough as the rest—and twice as good at finding allies—just to survive.
    “Then you understand why this is important.” She lowered her voice. “Don’t tell Fergus, but I’ve already made a list of possible opponents. I’ve known most of the local managers since we played youth football together twenty years ago. The sooner we get this scheduled, the sooner you can start selling tickets.”
    Charlotte clicked her ballpoint pen and