Playing for Keeps (Glasgow Lads Book 2) by Avery Cockburn Read Free Book Online

hot. By the way, you chose well in the end with this.” He held up Fergus’s shirt in front of himself, then froze.
    Spread across the bed, revealed now that Fergus had removed the piles of clothes, was an enormous fleece blanket featuring a Celtic Football Club logo.
    “Thanks.” Fergus crossed the room and took back his shirt. “Glad you fancied it.”
    John couldn’t meet his eyes or look at anything but the fleece’s bright green shamrock. It was like seeing his own bed’s evil twin. “You’re a—but I thought—” His mind spun, scrabbling for words that wouldn’t give himself away. “That is, after what you said about sectarianism, I assumed you hated Old Firm football.”
    “I hate the violence and the sectarian chants and all that rubbish.” Fergus sat atop the blanket with the shirt in his lap. “But I’ve loved this club since I can remember. First Communion, first Celtic match: part of the whole Scots-Irish Catholic package, I suppose. I know I should be enlightened and abandon Celtic for some politically neutral team, but this is who I am.” He ran a loving hand over the fleece.
    So that’s why Fergus had been so angry at the sight of the Orange Walkers. John had hoped it was mere anti-sectarian sentiment, like most Scots. Disdain, not animosity. Not righteous rage.
    “I didn’t know you were Irish.” Wait, that sounds bad. “I mean, your last name’s Taylor.”
    “Dad’s family was English way back. Mum’s is Irish. Both Catholic, though.” Fergus jerked up his head, then shot to his feet. “Oh, you—you’re from Ibrox. So you must—that is, are you…” He left off the obvious end of the sentence: a Rangers fan?
    Staring at the blanket, all John could see was the green-and-white scarf of the Celtic fan his brother had assaulted. Green and white—and crimson with blood.
    In his head, Keith shouted, This man is your enemy. Fucking flatten him! while their father whispered, An honest mistake. Just turn around and leave, and no one need ever know.
    But in front of him, Fergus said, “It’s okay if you are. I hate Rangers with every fiber of my being, but it’s just a game. Some of my best mates are Rangers supporters. We leave the rivalry behind in the park.”
    Swallowing hard, John shifted his gaze to the window, whose sheer curtains glowed orange with the sun’s final rays. “I’ve a confession to make. I…I’m…” He couldn’t say it. Forgive me, he prayed to the Rangers altar in his mind. “Honestly, I’m not much of a football fan.”
    Fergus let out a deep breath. “Okay, I lied when I said some of my best friends were Rangers supporters. They’re more like friendly acquaintances.” He stepped forward. “Also, I think it’s adorable—and yes, hot—that you pretended to like football to impress me.”
    “It’s not that I don’t—”
    Fergus cut John off with the most passionate kiss yet, pushing him against the wall and tearing off his unbuttoned shirt. John’s hands slid down Fergus’s back, and once they found his tight, toned arse, nothing else in the world mattered. Not religion. Not war. Not even football.
    He bent his knees and lifted Fergus off his feet. Fergus wrapped his legs around John’s waist as they came crashing down onto the bed. Onto the Celtic fleece.
    John shut his eyes tight and focused on the feel of Fergus’s hands on his skin and in his hair, on the taste of his lips and tongue, on the sound of their intermingled sighs of longing and groans of anticipation. If he opened his eyes, he would see nothing but green.
    He solved this issue by rolling them over, putting Fergus on top. Fergus sat up, straddling him, his eyes dark with desire. He took John’s hands and lifted one to his mouth, slipping one finger into his mouth as he pressed John’s other hand to the front of his trousers. John’s focus returned in an instant as he stroked Fergus’s cock through the thin tan cotton, up and up and— Good God —up, finally sliding