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

nose and mouth. “When I woke and you weren’t here, I thought you’d run off.”
    John let out a hard breath, his horror melting into regret. “I meant to leave a note. Then I was so chuffed about my surprise, I guess I forgot. But Abebi knew where I was. You could’ve asked her.”
    “I know.” Fergus dropped his hands but kept his eyes on the floor. “Can you forgive me for being an arse?”
    “Probably.” When Fergus didn’t laugh, John stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Look, I get it. After what Evan did, it must’ve felt pure awful to wake alone. I should’ve told you where I was going.” He reached up to trace the pillowcase crease in Fergus’s cheek. “Thing is, you look proper cute when you’re asleep. I couldnae wreck that.”
    Fergus’s face went soft. “I can’t believe you’re not walking out right now.”
    Neither can I. In truth, Fergus’s message had cut much deeper than John let on. But he felt guilty for hiding the fact that Keith’s assault had been an anti-Catholic hate crime, and for lying outright about being a Rangers fan. Fergus had every right to mistrust John—just not for the reasons he thought.
    “I’m still here.” John held up the shopping bag. “And still famished. Gonnae show me where the pans are?”
    Shaking his head, Fergus bent over to retrieve a pair of frying pans from the drawer beneath the oven. “I should be cooking you breakfast, not the other way around. You paid for dinner, too.”
    “Then I guess next time’s your treat.” As he set the groceries on the worktop, John watched Fergus from the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction to a second date.
    Fergus beamed like he’d won a prize. “I’ve off Friday, since my firm’s putting in extra hours this week to finish a big project by Thursday.” He shifted the pans to center them on the front burners. “So maybe dinner Thursday night?”
    John simply nodded, not trusting his voice to stay in a normal register. He forced his eyes away from Fergus’s auburn hair, which had the most fantastic pillow-tousle. Were it not for Abebi’s presence and his own growling stomach, John would have dragged Fergus back to bed in an instant.
    “Ah, white pudding.” Fergus picked up the sausage and examined the label. “It’s been ages since I had this.”
    “It’s my favorite. I checked with Abebi first to make sure you don’t hate it.” John switched on the electric burners. “You didn’t tell me your flatmate was Nigerian.”
    “I was going to mention it, since some of your asylum seekers are from there. She might have some insights.”
    “We chatted before I went to the market. Did you know that under a new Nigerian law, people can be imprisoned not just for being gay, but for failing to report someone who is?” He took the pint of berries from the bag and popped it open. “Also, what can I wash these in?”
    “There’s a colander under—wait.” He stared at the plastic container in John’s hand. “You bought blueberries?”
    “For pancakes. You said they were your fav—”
    Fergus cut him off with a kiss, holding John’s face like it was something precious. John pressed closer, dizzy with the kiss’s intensity. He slipped one arm around Fergus’s waist and dropped the other in surrender.
    Which of course spilled the blueberries.
    “Och!” John stooped to collect the scattered fruit, and to hide the emotion on his face. “Don’t move.”
    Too late. Fergus had already stepped back in surprise, crushing several of the purple berries. “Sorry,” he said.
    “No worries, there’s plenty not demolished.”
    “But they’ve been on the floor. There’s dirt on the floor.”
    John could see no evidence of that. “I was gonnae wash them anyway. Keep still.” He plucked a crushed blueberry from between Fergus’s toes, looked up at him, then popped the berry in his own mouth. “Sorry, was that filthy?”
    “Completely,” Fergus said with a dreamy smile.
    “Am I interrupting