Page 33 of Men in Shorts

Not fifty feet away, the Warriors and their opponents were warming up on the pitch’s patchy grass. It took only a moment to pick out Duncan in the row of high-stepping footballers in pale-blue shirts.

Lorna tugged his right arm. “This way.”

“Why not sit here in the middle?”

“It’s an away game for Warriors,” Paul said, “so their supporters sit at the end. The section with no roof, of course.”

“How do you know which—ah.” Brodie gaped up at the score of fans who provided a welcome blare of color against the drab background of concrete and clouds. A few waved rainbow flags, one loon wore a rainbow clown wig, and one quine flourished a stuffed version ofMy Little Pony’s Rainbow Dash on a stick. “I assume that’s the Rainbow Regiment?”

“The one and only.” Lorna unzipped her hoodie to reveal a rainbow tie-dyed shirt. “Ooh, they’ve finished warmups.” She dragged Brodie to the rope fence separating the stands from the pitch. “Harris, ya wee knob! We brought a surprise!”

Duncan looked over from where he stood talking to a tall, lean, ginger-haired man in a Warriors kit. At the sight of Brodie, Duncan’s face brightened with his signature broad smile. He abandoned his teammate and darted over to the fence.

“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked, still grinning. “Lorna, was this your idea?”

“It was Brodie’s,” she said. “He didn’t want to tell you earlier in case he changed his mind at the last minute out of fear.”

“Out of tiredness, you mean.” Brodie glared at her.

“You do look pale,” Duncan told him.

Brodie shrugged. “I was born pale.”

“Harris, let’s go!” the ginger teammate shouted. Even from this distance, Brodie noticed a desolate quality about the man. His shoulders hung heavy, and his mouth looked permanently etched into a grimace.

“That must be Fergus,” he said.

Duncan nodded. “I gotta dash. But I’m happy you’re here.” Blue eyes gleaming, he placed his hands beside Brodie’s atop the fence. “Really happy.”

Swept up in the emotion and the swell of support around him, Brodie leaned forward, just an inch. Duncan did the same. They hesitated, moved a little closer, paused again.

Then they kissed. It wasn’t long or passionate, but its very existence lit up every dark corner inside Brodie, lit him up with the hope and pride denied to him for so long. The kiss silenced the voices that said he couldn’t feel this way about another boy—or if he did, that those feelings must be forever hidden behind closed doors.

That one kiss cleansed him of a lifetime’s shame.

When it was over, Duncan squeezed Brodie’s hand. “Now we’re sure to win.” With a wink and a smile, he turned away to join his team.

Brodie stared after him until Lorna waved her hand in front of his eyes. “Earth to Campbell. Come in, Campbell.”

He blinked at her. “Sorry, I’m just…”

“Catatonic?”

“I’ve never been kissed in public before.”

Lorna’s smile turned sad, then happy again. “Get used to it.”

He glanced around, his apprehension returning. “Did anyone see us?”

“No, just everyone.” She put her arm around his waist and steered him to sit on the terraces’ front row with her and Paul. “I think a few of the Rainbow Regiment lads are pure jealous.”

He looked over his shoulder to see nothing but smiles and thumbs-up. The two guys behind him, wearing matching rainbow-tartan kilts, offered him a handshake and a fist bump. The word “adorable” reached his ears, making them burn with the best sort of embarrassment.

As the players spread across the pitch for the start of the match, Brodie let himself relax a little. Maybe this wouldn’t, in Duncan’s words, pure suck.

* * *

Duncan’ssunny mood darkened two seconds after they lined up for kickoff.

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