Playing to Win by Avery Cockburn Read Free Book Online Page B

the brain. But it was doing fuck-all for his mental clarity.
    He tapped the top of his head with his heels, hoping to literally kick some sense into himself. Neck extended, he peered outside and saw the sunrise reflected in distant windows facing his block of flats. Focusing on his breath, he imagined the bright orange rays searing through his confusion, answering questions that had plagued his restless sleep. But his thoughts were as hazy as the humid summer morning draping itself over Glasgow.
    Finally he did a slow, controlled descent to the yoga mat, then put his forehead to the floor in child’s pose, letting his breath bring him into harmony with the earth’s vibrations. (Or at least that was the idea. It rarely worked most days, and today even less than usual.)
    Frustrated, Andrew softly banged his head against the mat. What good was all this discipline, the yoga and the meditation and the 365 Days of Serenity calendar, if it didn’t grant him peace of mind? He wasn’t asking to reach Nirvana. He just wanted to stop wanting , if only for a few minutes a day.
    A soft ding to his right told him his ginseng tea was ready. He sat back quickly, folding his legs into the lotus position. The mug was within easy reach—as was the battery-operated kettle, the wooden box containing the teabags, and everything else in his flat’s small mezzanine loft, his sanctuary within a sanctuary.
    Before removing the teabag from the mug, he pulled off the tag offering today’s nugget of “yogi wisdom.” Sometimes the message was inscrutable ( Recognize that you are the truth ), sometimes laughable ( The art of happiness is to serve all ), sometimes nauseatingly twee ( Every smile is a direct achievement )—but he always read it.
    Today’s said, Where there is love, there is no question.
    “Piss off.” Andrew shoved the tag into his Answer Fish, a blue-and-white Chinese teapot where he kept these collected bits of so-called wisdom, none of which had ever helped him. Then he rubbed his temples, trying to eradicate the memory of Colin’s face, how it had glowed with triumph the moment before he launched himself into the crowd. How it had frozen with fear at the sight of the police.
    His number is still in your phone , said a voice inside him, originating from the part of his brain ruled by his cock. Andrew closed his eyes, remembering the adrenaline rush of the dive and its aftermath, when Colin’s arms had wrapped around him so tight he couldn’t breathe. He imagined those same arms clutching him close, bare chest to bare chest, as Colin moved deep inside him.
    His phone rang, and his eyes slammed open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He hurried with his tea down the spiral wooden staircase, back onto his flat’s main floor.
    On the glass coffee table, his mobile continued to bleat. To ensure sufficient peace for his daily yoga and meditation—not to mention sleep—his phone was programmed to stay quiet between the hours of midnight and seven. Calls and messages made no sound unless they were from select VIP contacts. One VIP contact, to be precise.
    “Good morning, Mum.”
    “Where were you last night?” she asked.
    His heart skipped. Had Reggie broken his promise not to tell Andrew’s parents about the rave? “What do you mean?”
    “The Duchess said you left her garden party after an hour. You didn’t even stay for dinner.”
    He let himself breathe again. “I needed to get back to Glasgow.” He took his tea into the dining area to check on his fish. “One of my mates was having a housewarming. I had to make an appearance, bring him a bottle of Nyetimber.”
    “Which one?”
    “The 2003 Classic Cuvee, naturally.”
    “I meant, which friend?
    “You don’t know him. He’s in my course at uni.” Andrew switched on the light atop the seventy-gallon saltwater aquarium. “And yes, he’s just a mate. Moved into his boyfriend’s flat in Woodside.” He kept chattering, hoping to distract her from his