“You’ve become such a snob, Anna. You seem to forget you were raised on a council estate in Kent,” I reminded her, watching people as they filtered into the bar for happy hour. “I like it here. It’s laid back. No frills.”
“With loads of people waiting to tell you how wonderful you are,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes when a group of men in suits offered to buy me a round, which I declined. I was making an effort to rein in my more unsavory impulses after another weekend spent on the front page of the gossip mags.
“I’d think you’d be used to it by now,” I teased. Anna’s car was in the shop so I had offered to pick her up from school after training. We were both hungry so I had decided to stop and get us something to eat. The Thorny Rose just happened to be the closest pub to the house.
“That’s a nasty cut you have on the side of your face. You’ll catch ugly if you’re not careful,” Anna quipped, pointing to the injury just below my ear that was a result of Finn Skov’s studs colliding with my head.
It had been a grueling training session. Brutal to the point of too much. Jack was pushing us extra hard with our first match coming up this Saturday. We were playing the Bolton Flyers, another Championship team that had been promoted this season. We had a lot to prove with this first game. We had to come out swinging. We had to make an impression. And that impression was that we were in it to win.
I felt ready to get the season started. The team was tight. We were playing well together. And even though Jack Millwood wasn’t one of my favorite people, I appreciated how he forced us to a standard where we were unstoppable. He was one of the great managers for a reason.
I rubbed the scabbed over cut. “It makes me look rugged. The women love that shit.”
Anna made a face. “You’re ridiculous. But seriously, it only takes one blow to the head or one torn hamstring and you’re out of commission. Remember that. I think football players are pushed too hard. Your body has limits,” she lectured. It was a familiar diatribe. Anna had decided to go into sports medicine after watching one of my teammates get knocked unconscious during one of our games.
“Well hurry up and get your degree so you can become our team physician then,” I told her with a grin.
“Hey Lucas! Can’t wait for the game on Saturday!” someone yelled and I lifted my beer in acknowledgment.
“Can we go somewhere else? This is annoying,” Anna muttered.
“No way. This is my public, baby sister. I have to make them happy.”
“You sound like a twat,” she said.
“And you sound like a jealous little kid,” I countered.
“Here you go. I gave you extra chips,” the bartender said, putting plates of food in front of Anna and me.
“Thanks, mate,” I said, not wanting to be a jerk and tell him I couldn’t eat them. I took the veggie burger off the bun and cut into it.
I was on a strict nutrition regimen, which meant no carbs until Thursday. The nutritionist had us deplete our body of all carbohydrates and then slowly increase the amount we consumed up until game day. I didn’t really understand the science behind it but I did as I was told.
I took a sip of the chicken and pepper broth and made a face.
“You should have let me make something. This food is crap,” Anna said, pushing her chips around on her plate. “Why did we have to stop here again?”
I shrugged, looking around the crowded bar. It was full of the after work crowd. Men in suits and women in high heels. I had liked the place when I was here on Friday night. Though that may have had more to do with the excessive amount of booze I had ingested.
And the hot piece of action I had gotten in the toilets.
The bartender handed me another beer. I hadn’t even realized the one I had been drinking was empty. “Thanks, uh—”
“Doug. My name is Doug,” the bartender filled in enthusiastically.
“Thanks, Doug.” He was hanging around staring at me like a star struck kid. I was used to the staring. I got it a lot. But this guy was standing two feet from me while I was trying to eat.
“I think we’re fine here,” I told him, hoping he’d get the point so I didn’t have to be a dick about it.
“Okay, but I’ll be right over here. I’ll come and check on you in a minute,” the bartender went on. “I’m Doug. Wait, I already told you that. You just have to yell my name if you need me.”
Anna snorted and I kicked her beneath the bar. “Okay, Doug. Thanks.”
But the guy continued to stand there.
“I can’t wait to see how Chester does this season. You guys are great. It’s been a long time since we’ve been able to be proud of our local team but you and the rest of the guys have done something special,” Doug the bartender enthused.
“Hey, can we get some service over here?” someone shouted from the other end of the bar.
