“Don’t be a twat. I’m too tired for this. And my ankle hurts.”
“What did you do to it?” I asked, glancing down at his foot. “Do you need to elevate it?”
“Yeah, I should. And it’s nothing serious, just twisted it colliding with one of their centres.”
“Hey, don’t dismiss a twisted ankle. My great-granny died of a twisted ankle.”
“Fuck off, she did not,” Bailey said.
“She did! That’s what the death record said anyway,” I argued. My mum was massively into family history and had spent the past five years researching all our relatives and building a big family tree. It meant I knew the most random things about some of my distant relatives, although ironically, I hadn’t seen my cousins in a decade.
“Something else had to be involved too, though, right?”
“I don’t fucking know,” I said. I prodded his thigh, right below the hem of his shorts. “Put your ankle on the bench.”
“Fine, but can I have some wraps, please? I’m hungry.” He didn’t usually ask me to fetch him food, but I’d do it if it meant he sat still. I’d need him up and mobile tomorrow if we were going on a wild goose chase around Leicester.
“Sure, any preference?”
“No, just food, please.”
I resisted the urge to press a kiss to the top of his head as I stood. I still hadn’t really talked to Bailey about my feelings for him and I needed to. We’d talked about how we felt about Aiden and that we wanted to be together as a throuple, but I hadn’t told Bailey how much he meant to me. That was just as important.
The dressing room wasn’t the place for that conversation, though.
I walked over to the middle of the room where the catering staff had laid out our post-match refuel. Jonny was already there, stood next to West, the pair of them chatting quietly as they grabbed handfuls of food.
“How’re you doing?” West asked.
“Fucking knackered. You?”
“About the same. That was not good.”
“Understatement of the year,” Jonny said, putting wraps on a plate.
“We can take it apart next week,” West said. “I think Clive and Tommy are already making plans.”
“Oh fun, PowerPoints,” Jonny said. I chuckled. Tommy, the assistant head coach, loved a fucking PowerPoint, usually with diagrams to highlight every single one of our mistakes.
“Can’t wait,” I said as I grabbed a plate of my own and began to carefully stack wraps on it, getting Bailey one of each flavour. I stuck to the chicken, bacon, and avocado and the hoisin duckas I still struggled with anything breaded or fried. With the exception of potato wedges, because I liked those.
“By the way, check your phone when you get home,” Jonny said under his breath.
“Any reason?”
He shrugged. “We’ve got a day off tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And I’m guessing you don’t have plans?”
“Er, not really.”
“Thought so. In that case, I know a good pub you should go to. It’s a bit of a trek, but it’ll be worth it.” He shot me a pointed look and I nodded. “I’ll send you the address.”
“Sounds great, thanks,” I said, giving him the tiniest smile.
“Good. Let me know how you get on.” He clapped me on the shoulder and walked away.
Maybe it wouldn’t be such a wild goose chase after all.
