Nottingham Forest really managed to defend their title. This made someone feel as if he was sitting on a bed of needles.
While the Forest players were on leave, Carl Spicer was in a bad mood since he woke up. He had left his mobile phone switched off since the end of the game to prevent people from disturbing him. He knew that the moment he switched it on, he would receive many calls from the media asking him when he intended to make good on his promise.
Eating a table?
You've got to be joking! Is that something a human can eat? I'm not a mouse!
He had no time to regret his bet with Twain. He had to rack his brain to come up with a way to avoid the embarrassment.
He suddenly heard the doorbell.
A staff member from a logistics company was at the door smiling at him. "Mr. Carl Spicer?"
"Er, I am."
Spicer had not been awake for long, so he was not dressed properly. He had not shaved, so his tired look made him look a little haggard.
