When A Playboy Loves

|| 17.

King

The curtains were closed, light bulbs were turned off. Except for the rays of light emitting from the flat-screen TV attached to the wall, my living room was bathed in darkness. The AC was on full blast, its purring sound drowned out by the football commentary; the room was chilled but we were too pumped to notice it. The atmosphere was like that of a cinema but without the movie.

Seated on the edge of the sofa with our backs hunched, we tapped wildly on the gamepads in our hands, trying to control the actions of our players moving on the screen. Pogba ran across the field, stealing the ball from Kanté; he dribbled past Luiz and another one of Junior's player before he shot the ball straight into Chelsea's goalpost.

"Their father!" I murmured; hitting my chest repeatedly before punching the air.

Junior was holding the record of most unbeaten amongst us five, a goal against him was equivalent to scoring against the Shaolin Soccer team. It was hard. But whenever we did score, it always followed with a promise of his delicious yam porridge, the type that when you finished eating, you could understand why Esau gave up his birthright.

My jubilation was cut short upon seeing Junior's player run to the centre of the field with the ball. I didn't need to look at him to know that his eyes were narrowed or a frown was decorating his lips. His determination to equalise radiated off him in waves but I didn't intend for that to happen, not when it was less than two minutes to the end of the game.

"This pad no too good." Junior murmured, both of our attention still focused on the screen. It was less than one minute to go.

His statement was met with humourless laughter and I could already imagine the long epistle I was going to write in our group chat, most especially the prowess of the players that I didn't possess in real life.

"Next time you come, we will switch pads," I responded. I might have been lucky to win this round but I wasn't certain my luck would run on if we went for a rematch.

"If somebody sees you now, they will think you beat me like that, not knowing it's just one goal difference." He let out a long hiss, eyeing me like I was the one to blame. He never took kindly to losing which was what always made challenging him more fun, asides from the food.

Laughter bubbled in my throat and I tried desperately not to let it out but it slipped when Junior roughly snatched the gamepad from me, tossing it on the floor, alongside his. "My friend, shift, just because of one goal, person no go hear word again."

Moments like this reminded me of why we called him a big baby. We could have seen a movie to relax, enjoy this public holiday but no, he wanted to play PS4. I watched in amusement as he strolled to the switch, flooding the room with light shortly after. He still looked unhappy with a scowl on his face and his arms folded across his chest, making his biceps appear bigger than they were.

My phone pinged and Junior was momentarily forgotten, his annoyance was not going to last anyways. It was a text from Uti. I couldn't help the smile that instantly graced my face at the message.

Switching to a more comfortable position on the couch, I cracked my knuckles then picked up the phone again, ready for another round of uninterrupted chatting. Our constant texting over the last few days made the wait for her phone number totally worth it.

"Why are you smiling like that?"

"Hmmm ..." My fingers were moving rapidly over my phone screen, working at the same pace as my brain that was supplying me with an unending list of topics to pique her interest.

I saw a hand in front of my face but I didn't have enough time to process what was happening until the phone was no longer in my grip.

"Give me my phone," I thundered, standing up to my full height.