Page 23 of Pitch Prince

“Over here!” Finn waved his hand at someone and I groaned as a pretty waitress brought over a tray piled high with shots, pints and a bottle of very expensive vodka.

“Are you determined to blow all of Wesley’s budget on just the Wales table?” I asked him.

“Nah. I’ll let the others get a bottle of wine each,” he winked. “Though you’re Scottish and our captain so I think I’ve technically been more than generous letting you sit here.”

“Twat,” Rhys said, cuffing him affectionately on the shoulder. I felt my stomach coil again. The way Finn looked back at Rhys…he was interested, I knew it. Maybe it was some kind of closet-case to closet-case gaydar, but Finn Roberts was not straight. I could tell.

And what was stupid was my urge to pull Rhys close to me and claim him as my own. I wanted Finn to back off. I wanted to hold Rhys close and not let a man like Finn anywhere near him. He was stupid, and irresponsible, and reckless and…

“You OK?” Rhys asked, and one warm hand came to rest on my knee. “You were somewhere else for a second there.”

“Yeah, uh, fine,” I said. I reached for a pint off the table and downed it pretty quickly to distract from my own idiocy.

“Oh we’re playing those games now are we?” asked Finn. He grabbed a pint and downed it in seconds.

“No, no, I didn’t mean to…” but soon our whole table, and the whole bar full of British and Irish players, were competing to see who could down a pint the fastest. When the glasses were empty, Finn started to challenge some of the English players to shot challenges - first just one shot of whisky, but then quickly mixing up the drinks and drinking the equivalent to three or four shots all at once. I declined the extra shots, and sipped at another pint I’d retrieved for the bar. I was halfway to the table when I realised Rhys didn’t have one, and I went back to get him one.

“Hey, is the captain buying pints for everyone now?” Finn asked.

“Just for Rhys…for putting up with me,” I said. Rhys grinned at me and clinked his glass with mine in thanks.

“This isn’t your scene, is it?” I asked Rhys quietly as Finn got up on the table to sing Tom Jones’ Delilah to the whole team. The Welsh players joined in whole-heartedly and the others swallowed their pride for a half-hearted chorus. When they were done, Rhys leaned in.

“Nah, not really. I like a bit of stupidity, but I feel like I’m looking after Finn sometimes so he doesn’t get into trouble.”

Finn had just bared his big hairy arse to the whole room to a mixture of boos and cheers, and I shuddered.

“He could be one of the greats,” I said to Rhys, “but if he does something too stupid in the next couple of years he could fuck it all up.”

Rhys nodded. “I know, I’ve tried telling him.”

“Right then boys! Who wants to see me light a shot on fire and drink it?” Finn asked the crowd. People had stopped paying him so much attention but he seemed determined to carry on. I knew I was going to have to stop him. Wesley had deliberately avoided coming down to the bar so he wouldn’t have to discipline us for bad behaviour, but there were things that went just that little bit too far and this was one of them.

“Come on, big boy,” I said. “Get down off the table and stop being stupid.”

Finn looked down at me and I could tell he was already too far gone to care. I couldn’t believe he’d gotten so much drink down him in such a short time.

“Who you talking to?” he slurred down at me.

“You, now let’s get you down and get some water in you.”

Finn jumped down off the table, knocking down some drinks as he did. “You wanna talk to me like that?” he said, squaring up to me. I stood up. He had just a couple of inches in height on me and was more muscular but I knew we’d be even enough in a fight if I fought dirty enough.

Finn stepped closer, then put one hand on my chest, and suddenly Rhys was between us.

“You’re being ridiculous Finn,” he said. “Get some water in you and calm down.”

On sight of Rhys, Finn’s eyes changed completely. He really did have it bad for the man. Or perhaps their friendship just transcended everything.

“Right, I will….I will calm down. I will…”

And then Finn threw up all over himself, me and Rhys in one motion.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Rhys pushed Finn backwards into his chair and rushed to the bar to grab a bucket. He was in instant matron mode, holding the bucket under Finn’s face as he projectile vomited into it.

“Come on. Room. Now.” He hoisted one arm under Finn’s armpit and did his best to budge the man but couldn’t.

“Help me?” he asked. So I looped one arm around Finn’s back and pulled him upright. I retched at the smell of all of us as Rhys deftly kept the bucket under Finn’s mouth to catch drips, and we manoeuvred him past baying rugby players and out of the bar door.

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