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“Maybe.”
“That's good, because I've always fancied you.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Lovely little thing like you shouldn't be wasted on a young pup like Jimmy.”
He moved towards her and tried to slip an arm around her waist but she wriggled away.
“Tom! Not here!”
“Where then?”
“Nowhere, I’m Jimmy's WAG.”
“Jimmy's gone.”
“Well, you can't come over to my place, Jimmy might come back.”
“No, he won't.”
“How do you know?”
“Oh, I just think Jimmy's found the older woman he’s always been looking for.”
“Do you know something, Tom Balfour?” she insisted.
“No, no, just a wee hunch.”
“You still can't come back to my place, I'd be too nervous. And we can't be seen in public, I'm the most famous WAG in England, you know.”
Balfour moved quickly, sensing her weakening and gripped her round the waist again.
“How about a quickie in the showers then?”
“Certainly not, not unless you've got some champagne in there.”
“We'll make it official. Jimmy's bolted and you're my WAG now.”
“We'd need to wait till Jimmy was officially bolted, and you know the club's told us to say nothing.”
“I can't wait forever, Cynthia, lots of young lasses out there bursting to be WAGS.”
“If he's not back by the Liverpool game they'll have to announce it. Can you wait till then?”
“For a piece of you? Oh yeah.”
“But only if we win.”
“For you, I'll score.”
He pecked her on the cheek, picked up his football and ran off to join his team-mates on the training pitches.
“Pity he's not a goalie,” Cynthia mused, “I've never done a goalie.”
But unknown to Cynthia their tryst had been spotted by the manager, Fergus Alexander, who now challenged his player.
“Ah saw ye, sunshine, sniffin' roon' Jimmy's burd,” he barked.
“She was sniffing round me,” Balfour snivelled.
“A broken doon auld fullback like you? When she's got the club captain in her mitts.”
“Ah, but the club captain's not here.”
“An' she cannae keep her knickers on till he gets back?