Page 199 of Men in Shorts

“I think the number above the hook shows how many points you have.”

“Then what’s the number we hang underthatnumber?”

Brodie shook his head. “Not a fucking clue.”

The sound of their shared laughter warmed his chilly toes. Duncan still looked amazing in that faded navy University of Glasgow hoodie, the one that brought out the blue in his eyes, the one he’d always let Brodie borrow when he was cold and even when he wasn’t cold.

Seeing Duncan again, standing beside him again…it felt like Brodie was finally home.

Maybe if they focused on the present and kept their conversation light, they could get through this day without a major row. And if they could dothat, it would buy them the time and space tomorrow—or better yet, tonight—to forge their connection again.

So. Small talk. “Which is your favorite team name here?” he asked, pointing to the draw sheet.

“I like Baby It’s Cold Inside,” Duncan said. “It’s not a pun, and you don’t need to know anything about curling to get the joke.”

“My favorite is the team we just played, Grandma Got Run Over by a Zamboni. They don’t use Zambonis for curling ice, but it’s funny anyway.”

“Remember last year when we watched the cartoon based on that song?”

“Weirdest Christmas film by a mile.” Brodie rubbed the back of his neck, which was warming at the memory of how the two of them would snuggle in front of the TV, hands roaming beneath Duncan’s tattered tartan blanket, teasing each other until they finally shut off the telly and gave into their need.

“Erm, so…” Duncan stuffed his hands into his hoodie pockets. “Sorry about getting off on an awkward foot earlier. I’d no idea you would be here.”

“I didn’t knowyouwould be here until this morning. John forgot to mention your family’s shop was the event’s biggest sponsor. Though even if I’d knownthat, I would’ve assumed you’d be playing football today.”

“Yeah, Mum and Dad guilted me into this event after I told them I was going to grad school for sport psychology instead of coming back to manage the shop after uni.” Duncan gestured to the long, wide window looking out onto the rink. “Not that an afternoon curling makes up for a broken promise.”

“It’s okay to have your own dreams,” Brodie said. “You don’t have to follow in your parents’ footsteps.”

“I know. They know it too. They turned out to be a lot more understanding than I’d expected.” Duncan took off his Santa hat and ran a hand back and forth through his close-cropped, nut-brown hair. “But I wanted to do something to make them happy, you know?”

That was the essence of Duncan: sometimes ballsing things up, but always trying his best for those he loved.

“Funny,” Duncan said, “I didn’t recognize you at first, because of the beard.”

“I’ve only just grown it the last couple of months.” Brodie stroked it with the back of his fingers. “It’s long enough now it doesn’t itch anymore, and it keeps my face warm. But I’m not used to the scruffiness.”

“It suits you. Makes you look older and, erm…bigger?” Duncan’s gaze flitted over Brodie’s cheeks and along his jaw, then came to rest on his mouth. Those electric-blue eyes glazed over, enough to broadcast his thoughts, enough to make Brodie imagine how their reunion could’ve gone: tumbling onto the closest bed, tearing off clothes, kissing, touching, fucking, letting the months apart melt away like snow in a spring thaw.

Brodie looked away, at the forest of silver and gold streamers dangling from the warm-room ceiling. He and Duncan weren’t alone in a hotel room, bridging the divide between them. Instead they were in a curling rink, surrounded by several dozen revelers who were well on their way to getting blootered off the selection of high-quality-yet-reasonably-priced booze. In this atmosphere, it felt like anything—from miracle to catastrophe—could happen today.

Duncan cleared his throat. “I heard we’re to change positions each game. Do you know how that works?”

Brodie’s shoulders relaxed at the return to a safe topic. “If you were lead curler last game, you curl second in the next one. It’s meant to add fun, but I think it adds confusion.”

“I was lead in the first game. Mum said it’s where I’d do the least damage.”

“I was lead too. John said it was because I was good at putting up guards.”

Duncan snorted. “Can’t argue with him there.”

Brodie rewound his own words.Putting up guards.He couldn’t deny he’d once had a habit of shutting down or retreating to avoid rejection. Years of bullying at school had taught him to freeze or flee instead of fight.

But the last six months abroad had forced him out of his shell. He didn’t want to go back to being the hesitant, insecure lad he was before, even if that was the lad Duncan loved.

Time to be clear about the man he’d become. “It was never about you, you know.”

Duncan blinked at him. “What wasn’t?”

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