Page 27 of Playing the Game
Tito shook his head. “Tastes better this way.”
Jonas hopped up onto a stool against the kitchen island.
“Before Noah comes down, how do you think he is?”
“He’s been quiet since Friday night,” Tito replied. “I offered him a PlayStation challenge last night but he wanted to chill. I suppose everyone deals with pressure differently.”
“Aren’t you bothered?”
Tito gently stirred the porridge.
“Of course,” he replied. “I hate hate. Full stop. There’s only one way to defeat it though.”
“And what’s that?”
“To win.”
It sounded a line straight out of Adam’s vocabulary.
They were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Will you get it?” Tito asked.
“Sure.”
Jonas headed over to the door and opened it. To his joy, Noah also had on a tracksuit with a rucksack slapped on his back. Noah smiled.
“Morning.”
“How you doing?”
“Honestly? I’m shitting myself.”
Jonas shook his hand as he came in. “I think we all are deep down.”
They walked into the kitchen.
“Not another bloody scruff bag,” Tito wailed. “We will have a conversation about this.”
Noah frowned. “Are you going out after?”
“No I’m not,” Tito replied. “I’m cultivating a public image. Today will be fire.”
“Should I get changed?”
“Yes,” Tito exclaimed.
“No,” Jonas said at the same time.
Poor Noah had indecision all over his features. “Sod it,” he said, hopping up on a stool. “I’ll sort it by the next match.”
Tito sighed and resumed stirring.
“Did you bring your porridge?” Tito asked.
Noah shook his head. “Already ate it.”
“Two bowls, Haber. Come on.”
