Page 20 of Brat on the Ball

I ground my teeth together. “No. And if you’d read my blog, you would know that was not the point I was making.”

Pete cut in immediately. “I think George’s blog was quite clear in that he doesn’t think all soccer fans are hooligans, but that expectations in rugby make violence less likely than it is in football. I don’t think anyone could seriously suggest that’s the point he was trying to make.”

The pool went silent for a moment, and then the questioning moved back to the captains and managers. When it was all over and the journalists had filed out, Steve put a hand on my arm. “Well, if you thought your little page had gone viral before, that’s nothing compared to how it is now.”

“I had no idea so many people were reading,” I admitted truthfully. “Finn said he’d tweet it or something, but I stay off social media.”

“You really are the last dinosaur. Ah well, you got people talking. Keep going,” grinned Steve. “And I hear you’re off out to town.”

“I am.” I looked over to where Finn and Rhys stood in conversation, each glancing over at me now and then.

“Have fun. And make sure you’re back to the hotel for the team bus by 10am tomorrow,” said Steve, clapping me on the arm roughly.

“Let’s go, boyo,” shouted Finn. “We have drinks to down and men to flirt with!”

“Nathan isn’t here,” I said to him. “Better not be trying any funny business.”

“I value my life and my arse. No, you’re going to be doing all the flirting for us. Rhys, Callum and I are living vic-vi…through you now.”

I couldn’t help the grimace that crossed my face. “I think I’d rather cut out my own eyeballs,” I muttered.

“Cheery. Let’s go,” said Finn, taking the lead and leaving me and Rhys in the dust.

“When did you get so grumpy?” Rhys asked casually.

“I…what?”

“When we were playing for Cardiff, you were a laugh. You always seemed happy. Baby faced. Now you’re all frowns and hard lines.”

“I was…ah, I was trying to impress you,” I admitted. “Sorry to your boyfriend and all, but you weren’t exactly advertising that you were off the market.”

“Sweet. I’ve still got it,” Rhys smiled.

Finn was waiting at the end of the corridor already, holding the door open for us. “Come on! I want to see some bears in their natural habitat!”

“You already are,” I murmured. Rhys laughed.

It was cold and dark outside, and a ginger giant of a man was waiting for us. I’d met Callum Anderson a few times, and he waved at Finn and me before pulling Rhys in for a kiss that left nothing on the table. They were completely and utterly in-fucking-love with each other.

“You played well today,” he said in a deep Scottish brogue once they had come up for air.

“We lost though,” complained Rhys.

“Which means I win,” he replied, snaking one hand down and patting Rhys’ arse. Rhys blushed and looked awkwardly around. I didn’t meet his eyes. “But who cares about winning or losing when you played so well? I’m very, very proud of you.”

“Spoken like a true pundit,” replied Rhys.

“Right, enough of this lovey-dovey crap. Where are we off?” asked Finn. “I need a pint in my hand and food in my belly.”

“Regents,” said Callum. “Friendliest gay bar in town.”

We walked as a group through Edinburgh old town centre to the bar, where flags for every subsection of the LGBTQ community hung above the bar. I ordered a pint for each of us, and Finn whispered in my ear to ask that I buy a non-alcoholic pint for him. The music was lower here, not yet at nightclub volume, and I appreciated that.

The bar was quiet, but filling up, and I couldn’t help but cast my mind back to the guy I had back in Cardiff. Was he waiting for me in the same way, or had he thrown himself at the first guy in the club once he realised I wasn’t turning up?

“Oh God, you’re growling. Why the hell are you growling?” Finn asked, looking around the room. “Did someone glance at you wrong? Insult the rules of rugby? Piss on your seat?”

I took a sip of my pint to fortify myself. “I did something potentially stupid,” I admitted.

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