Page 26 of Playing the Game
So much for a quiet season. It appeared they were on another rollercoaster.
SIX
JONAS
Sunday came around too quickly for Jonas’ liking. He’d been awake since six. Now, at eight in the morning, he had to start the day.
With a sigh, he got out of bed and went straight into the shower. As usual, he stood under freezing cold water for five minutes. It was the only way to wake up properly. His mother had taught him that.
He screwed his eyes tightly shut and tried to clear his mind. It did no good. Today was a big day for Brockton and a lot of eyes would be on him.
Once he’d suffered the jets, he cranked the heat up and enjoyed the sensation. Life itself seemed to pulse through his whole system.
After the shower, he threw on a tracksuit and padded into the kitchen. The nutritionist at the club had given them all diet sheets and boxes of meals ready to be heated up.
He lifted the lid on today’s breakfast.
“Porridge,” he muttered to himself. “Not bad.”
In other clubs he’d been made to eat pasta first thing. Still if it meant their play was at top level, it was a small price to pay.
He grabbed the carton and left the apartment.
After running down the flight of stairs, he knocked on Tito’s door. It didn’t take long for the striker to open it.
“Who’s in the mood for a goal today?” he said, beaming.
Does nothing affect this guy?
Tito looked ready for a night out in a brown cashmere sweater and black jeans.
Jonas held up his carton. “Why don’t we eat together?”
Tito grinned. “Come on in. I’ll message Noah.”
They walked into Tito’s apartment. While Jonas kept his house perfect, Tito’s was chaos. Clothes were strewn on the sofas and food lay on the kitchen counters.
“Bloody hell,” Jonas said. “Did a bomb go off and no one told me?”
Tito fiddled with his phone. “I’m going to tidy up when we get home. I didn’t know what to wear.”
“To arrive at the ground?”
Tito put the phone down and stared at Jonas as if he were a fool.
“The ground that will be swarming with paparazzi. You are not wearing that.”
It had even occurred to Jonas. “Do you expect me to wear a designer outfit?”
“Erm yes.”
“Tough.”
Tito shook his head. “Don’t come crying to me when I get all the sponsor money and you’re the face of comfortable leisure wear.”
He emptied the contents of Jonas’ carton into a pan. He also opened another which he added to the mix.
“Aren’t you going to microwave it?”
