Page 81 of Playing By Ear

“I don’t think I’ve ever imagined winning the Cup,” Robert said. “Like, literally hoisting that thing.”

“Me neither,” Jamie said, “and I don’t want to start. Tonight I just want to celebrate.”

“Hear, hear.” Liam tapped his bottle against Jamie’s. “And starting tomorrow, we focus only on the semifinal.”

Katie gave a nervous twist to her long, dark-brown braid. “I hope everyone stays healthy and fit. Can we all make a pact not to do anything stupid before the end of the season?”

Liam held up a hand in oath. “I solemnly swear not to bungee jump for at least two months.”

“I swear that too,” Katie said.

“No skydiving or parkour,” Robert added.

“And definitely no lion taming,” Jamie said.

“Deal. ‘No numpties’ on three.” Katie put her hand in the middle of their circle, and the rest of them followed suit. “One, two, three.”

“No numpties!” they shouted, then toasted with their beers.

Colin passed them, shaking his head. “Sorry, I cannae make that promise myself.”

“That’s okay,” Liam said. “Strikers are easily replaced.”

A round of oooohs went up, but everyone knew it was a wee bit true.

Jamie’s phone went off, and he quickly checked it in case it was Perry. Sadly, it was only a notification from the football forums app. He tapped on it, then held up his phone to show his mates the screen. “Shall we see what they’re saying about me now?”

“Dunno how you do it,” Robert said. “I’d go mad if I read reviews of my matchday performances.”

“Street musicians need thick skins.” Jamie read the post aloud. “They say, ‘That penalty on Jamie Guthrie was rubbish. The foul was so far out of the box it was in another postal code.’”

Katie raised her fist. “Vindication!”

“Anyone could see that. You’d have to be b—” Liam cut himself off. “You’d have to be, erm…”

“Biased?” Robert offered.

“Biased, aye.” Liam gave Jamie a nervous look. “You’d have to be dead biased not to see it.”

“Or blind,” Jamie said. “Perry would be the first to agree with you, though he’d ask for a bit of grace for referees.”

Liam snorted. “I cannae believe you’re going with a ref.”

“Ex-ref.”

“Even worse,” Robert said with a grin. “He’s probably got all that dictatorial energy bottled up now he can no longer boss people about on the pitch.”

Jamie shrugged. “He’s no mewling kitten, but he’s yet to make me polish his boots with my tongue.”

“Well, maybe not his boots,” Katie said.

Jamie saluted them with his empty beer bottle. “Who wants another?”

They all did, of course, so he pushed his way through the still-growing crowd to the kitchen. Though he’d wanted to come to the party with Perry—who probably would have been pleased to be discussed as a referee rather than as a blind man—the noise and jostling would have been a nightmare for him.

He didn’t need another beer, but he opened one anyway and drank deeply, pondering his mates’ discussion of Perry. If he was being honest, he’d often fantasized how it would feel for Perry (Falcon?) to totally dominate him, pinning him down and plowing him senseless. Maybe he’d bend Jamie over the dining table, or flatten him against the wall, or⁠—

“Have you got a case for us?”