“Thanks, I think so too.” I tried to be polite. I loved the fans. I loved their enthusiasm. Even if it was in your face and over the top at times, they were who made it possible for me to buy my mum a house and to pay my bills. I didn’t shit where I ate.
Plus who didn’t like having their ego stroked over and over again?
“Will Millwood keep the 4-3-2-1 formation this season? It worked really well for you guys in the Championship, but will it work as well in the Premier League?” Doug went on.
“I can’t give away all our strategies, can I?” I felt a blast of wind at my back followed by another group of office schleps coming in for their happy hour pint. I barely paid them any notice.
“No, I guess you can’t. But I’ll be glued to the telly this season. I’ve been trying to get tickets, but you have to be willing to sell your kidneys to get one,” Doug was saying.
“That’s too bad,” I said offhandedly, willing the guy to go away.
“Maybe you could give the poor man some tickets, brother,” Anna piped up and I glared at her.
Doug went nearly apoplectic. “Seriously? You could do that?”
“No, I can’t do that actually. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” The bartender deflated noticeably and I felt like a right git. I sighed. “What did you say your name was again?”
“Doug. Doug Fisher.”
“Come to the box office on Saturday before the game and I’ll have a couple of tickets waiting there under your name. Just because I’m a nice fucking guy.” I bared my teeth in a semblance of smile.
“Fuck! Are you kidding me?” Doug shouted, pumping his fist into the air. “Lucas Bradley just gave me tickets to Saturday’s game!”
“You might want to keep that to yourself, otherwise you’ll start a stampede,” Anna laughed, clearly enjoying herself.
I picked up my plate and pint and indicated for my sister to do the same. “I think we’ll eat the rest of our meal over there.” I got up and made my way to the back of the room towards a booth.
“Hey Lucas!”
“Can’t wait for the game on Saturday!”
“The Flyers are going down!”
“Can I buy you a round?”
Anna and I slid into the booth having avoided being accosted by patrons. “That was not cool, Anna. I can’t just be giving tickets away to strangers like that.”
Anna frowned. “If you can’t use your celebrity for a little good, then what’s the point?”
“And how is giving some random bartender tickets to Saturday’s game doinggood?” I grumbled, eating a handful of chips, not caring about my strict diet. I wanted fucking carbs, damn it.
Anna leaned across the table and smacked my arm. “Because arsehole, to you it might mean nothing, but to Doug the bartender,” she jerked her thumb in his direction, “it means everything. And you call me a snob?”
I opened my mouth to say something smart arsey when something caught my attention.
Long, dark hair.
A fit body.
A nice smile.
Shit. It was Morgan. The girl from Friday night.
I watched as she walked towards the bar and stood in the queue waiting to put in her order.
“Hello? Are you listening?” Anna snapped her fingers in front of my face and I scowled.
“Not really,” I told her, smirking when she looked annoyed.
