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

sounded like the punch line to his joke of a life thus far.
    But the real punch line came when John looked down to discover the condom hanging off his limp, lifeless prick.
    This is ABSOLUTELY not happening.
    “Fuck.”
    Fergus opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing!” He turned away. “Just a wee technical difficulty.”
    “Is it the condom? I’m pretty sure they’ve not expired.”
    “It’s not the condom.” John slipped it off, facing away from Fergus, and tried to coax back some semblance of an erection. But his panic was feeding itself, so the harder he tried, the less hard he got. It seemed his cock would’ve gladly retreated inside his body, were it an anatomical possibility.
    “Are you okay?” Fergus asked.
    “It’s not working. I don’t know why.”
    “What’s not working?”
    “My penis!” God, now he was using the clinical term. Could he get any more ridiculous?
    “Oh,” Fergus said, then rushed to add, “It’s all right. It happens to everyone.”
    Brilliant , John thought, I’m that guy . He didn’t bother saying “It’s never happened to me,” even though it was true.
    “If you want,” Fergus said, “I could take over. I don’t mind.”
    “No!” John’s voice pitched up in alarm. “I cannae—I have to go. I’m sorry.” He scrambled for his trousers and shoes, avoiding Fergus’s eyes. “Do you see my socks anywhere?”
    “John, you don’t need to—”
    “Forget the socks.” He found his shirt by the wall nearest the door. Which he was now opening. “I’m sorry. Goodbye.”
    “Please don’t go.”
    John stopped, clutching the doorknob. Fergus’s voice held neither a plea nor a command, but rather a simply stated wish. Those three words paralyzed him, because despite his shame and fear, John’s own wish was the same.
    Fergus approached and spoke softly behind him. “Listen, we don’t have to do anything. We can just talk.” He took a step closer. “I just want to know you better. Not tomorrow or next week. I want to know you better now.”
    John stared at the pewter doorknob he was still clinging to. You don’t want to know me.
    Fergus’s fingers brushed John’s arm with a touch as soft as breath. “Will you stay?” he whispered.
    John’s fists clenched as the rational part of his mind begged him to fight the gravity of this room and this man beside him.
    “If you want,” Fergus said, “we could even get dressed.”
    “No.” John dropped his clothes in surrender. “I don’t want that.”

C HAPTER F IVE

    F ERGUS WISHED HE ’ D taken the left side of the bed, with his back to the lamp, so he could see John’s face better. It was charming and animated, like the man it belonged to, but that wasn’t why Fergus wanted to view it clearly. He hoped to discover the reason behind John’s bizarre meltdown.
    Rather than scaring John off by probing directly for answers, Fergus kept the conversation light, which also served to lift his own perilously teetering mood. At the moment, he felt he’d do anything to keep another man from walking out on him.
    Currently they were discussing their favorite TV talent shows, a subject that seemed to relax John back into his effusive persona.
    “My dad and I got hooked on Strictly Come Dancing last year after my mom left,” John said. “Bruno Tonioli is my spirit animal.” Lying on his back, he imitated the Italian-born judge’s flamboyant flourishes. “Ssssssscott.” His tongue savored the t like a dry wine. “You tango beast. Always your eye on the prey, cos you know you’re gonna get it.”
    Fergus laughed at John’s flirtatious lip purse. “Your construction-manager dad fancies a ballroom dancing show?”
    “It was his idea. He probably thought it a good way to bond with his gay son. Now we’re streaming the older series while we wait for the new one to start. We’re watching number ten now.”
    “Is that the one with the Olympic gymnast?”
    “Aye, Louis Smith. He’s—wait, why do