Page 4 of Single Daddy Scot
He stops then, turning to face us, or Keir, more specifically. ‘You, my friend, are a cautionary tale. The one good Scottish mothers use to warn their sons.’ For a minute, I think he’s about to make some unnecessary reference to gold diggers and prepare to intervene. Unfortunately, it would be a little too near to the truth for Keir’s ex. But I don’t need to as Will wiggles a finger, pitching his voice high.
‘Remember, wee Jock, you only need to get your dick wet once to get a lassie pregnant!’
‘You’re an arse,’ Keir deadpans.
‘The first time you ever got to use it in something other than your hand, you got her pregnant!’ He’s right, of course. That’s Keir, not Will. ‘And now your dick is back in the packaging, never to be used again.’ He turns to the concrete box designated as the home team changing room, but not before asking, ‘Meet you at the pub?’
‘What kind of a question is that?’ I call after him. ‘And you’re a rubbish wingman.’
Will pivots quite suddenly, jogging backward for a moment with a grin like half a melon. ‘What I am is discerning. You don’t even remember shagging her mate last month, do you?’ My brow furrows.Did I?Before I can summon a retort, he adds, ‘I’m no’ interested in your sloppy seconds. Not unless they come as a three-way pair.’
My responding smile is less melon and more grapefruit.Like I’m sucking the bitter fruit.
‘He’s got a point,’ Keir says as Will almost steps in a puddle at the edge of the field. ‘It’s obviously why you played like shite today.’
‘What, am I a professional athlete now? Of course, I can have sex the night before a match!’
‘What I’m saying is you’ve got a face like a bulldog licking piss off a nettle, so you must’ve been gutted at leaving her in bed this morning.’
‘Aye, well, you’re both wrong.’
Rhianna, as it turned out, left in the early hours of the morning, though not before giving me a glowing critique as she’d pulled her knickers back on.
“Excellent foreplay. Some men—apparently—think a couple of finger pokes covers it, but not you. Anal was excellent; not too rough, but not too tentative. And you should totally teach a class in oral. You’d make a fortune!”
It was... odd. It felt impersonal. Like I was a restaurant being reviewed on Yelp.
‘Yeah, right.’ Keir’s retort is disparaging as he gives me a side order of CEO glare. ‘We all know you’d shag anything with a pulse lately.’
We reach the path leading to the changing rooms, our boots clacking on the concrete.
‘That’s a bit harsh. You’re not thinking of staging an intervention, are you? If you are, can you make it somewhere in the Caribbean?’ I keep my voice light even as his words sting. Since when has my sex life become a point of discussion?
‘There’s something up with you today. The question is what?’
‘Hey.’ I pull on his arm, slowing my pace until he turns to face me. But what can I say? Deny I’m numbing myself in pussy? Tell him he’s wrong... that I’m reliving my university days? But what would be the point of another lie? I’m only thankful Will hasn’t yet realised I seem to only bed one type of woman these days.
The blonde type. Because a love unrequited is the biggest bitch out.
Instead of denials, I address the deep gash above his eyebrow. ‘You need a couple of stitches in that.’ Experience tells me it’ll need a butterfly bandage or two.
‘Nah.’ His expression lightens. ‘If I had a pound for every scrape or bruise we’ve had between us since we started chucking ourselves around a field, I’dbe...’
‘What? You’d be rich?’
‘Something like that,’ he answers wryly. Like the bastard isn’t already as wealthy asTonald Drump. But I know what he means. I’ve been dragging my arse out of bed for matches since he and I met at uni over a decade ago, bonding over piss weak cider and cheap shots at the student union bar.
‘So you haven’t played like you’ve got two left feet today because of a girl?’
‘I didn’t say it wasn’t a girl.’ I sigh as we reach the changing room door, but before I pull I open, Keir props his foot against the bottom.
‘A girl orthe girl?’ There’s another reason there’s no point lying. And that would be because he knows.
‘Thegirl.’ I yank the door open, my words now hard. ‘Fin got married on Friday.’
After we shower and dress, Keir and I head to the local pub, as is our home game tradition. It’s maybe not the kind of place you’d expect to find us in, or find our high-end motors parked outside, but we’ve been coming here for years.
‘Three of the usual?’ Tracey, the fifty-something blonde behind the bar asks over her shoulder, pulling pint glasses from a mirrored shelf.
