‘I’m up for a couple of quiet ones.’ Eddie’s voice resounds mischievously across the tiles. He’s the team joker and our resident hooker, on and off the pitch. Hard to know if he’s referring to pints or women. Either way, we’re on the same page. I give him a fist punch in solidarity as he passes by me in the direction of the shower.
James chips in from behind a long section of lockers. ‘I’ll go for a couple, but I need to get back to Dublin for Nadine’s dad’s sixtieth.’ James is my best friend, but lately, I’ve had to share him.
‘Man, what is it coming to when I’m getting ditched for a geriatric birthday party? Fucking hell, dude.’ I pretend to be pissed, though I understand.
Fuck it, if he invited me, I’d probably go for the craic. But three’s a crowd these days.
‘Got to keep the old man sweet if he’s going to allow me to marry his daughter in a few short months.’ James shrugs.
‘Why you want to get married is beyond me.’ Selfishly, I’m worried about losing my best mate. I’ve already lost him as my favourite wingman, but marriage’s a whole different kettle of fish. Change is looming. On and off the field.
‘Have you seen my girl?’ James delivers a sharp dig to my ribs.
‘Ouch! She’s a looker alright.’ I can’t disagree.
Nadine’s an underwear model for a high-end clothing catalogue. James regularly brags he’s going to turn her into a maternity model the second he gets that wedding band on her finger.
‘About time you found yourself a good woman, by the way. You’re not getting any younger, Connolly.’ Marcus throws on his long-sleeved green top with the Irish crest on it.
‘Ha! You’ve got to be kidding.’ I will him to shut up. I hate this line of conversation.
‘Why not, man?’ Marcus stares at me inquisitively.
Just because he has his perfect wife and beautiful family, it doesn’t mean we all crave the same.
‘You know me, lads. Never looking for the one, just the next one.’
‘What about that girl in the paper a few weeks ago?’ Marcus pipes up.
‘It was a couple of dates, that was all.’ I brush off his questions, hoping he won’t remember the heading of that particular article.
‘What did the tabloids call it? Callum Connolly’s Latest Touch Down.’ A snigger follows. ‘You’re not getting any younger, Callum. You’ll have to grow up sometime.’
Smug marrieds look at a single status as something to be sympathised with. As though I’m somehow lacking if I don’t have a wife.
Eddie slaps me on the back encouragingly. ‘Callum has no problem with women. They flock to him like flies around shit. Makes him a terrible wingman.’
I don’t like his analogy, but he’s right, I don’t have a problem attracting women.
‘No one is saying he can’t get a woman, you douche bag. We’re saying he can’t keep one.’ James punches Eddie lightly on the shoulder.
‘I can keep a woman. I just don’t want to,’ I insist. ‘Who wants to eat the same dinner every night anyway?’ I’m oddly compelled to defend myself from the implication that I’m somehow lacking. It’s a direct insult to my masculinity. Why do I need a woman to prove myself as a man?
‘What if it was the most succulent meal that you ever tasted? And the thought of someone else indulging in that very same delicacy made you want to rip their head off?’ Marcus stirs the pot as usual, resting an enormous shoulder on the closed red locker next to mine.
‘It hasn’t happened, but if it does, I’ll work it.’ I pull on jogging bottoms and a hoody.
‘Prove it,’ James challenges me cockily.
‘Prove what exactly?’ I don’t like where this conversation is leading, but the competitive streak in me refuses to shut up.
‘That you can keep a woman for more than a week,’ James persists.
‘If you insist, tough stuff. I’ll send you a photo if you like? I’ll even smile so you can frame it.’
‘Put your money where your mouth is.’ Marcus bets me, that cool smug look he sports when he thinks he’s right instantly raises the hair on my neck.
If there’s one thing about Marcus, he’d gamble with his own mother if he thought there was a chance he might win something.
