The Last Ride Chapter Four (AU Cowboy!C.Sturniolo)
summary: when spoiled and sheltered city girl Y/N finds herself in running in the wrong crowd, her dad gives her an ultimatum. it's either spend the summer of her gap year on her uncle's ranch or face being cut off and finding a job. just when she thinks it can't get any worse, she meets Chris, the brooding farmhand who thinks he knows her type. but as the summer goes on, they both realize there may be more to the other than meets the eye.
requested and advised by @rootbeerworshiper
contains: angst, verbal fighting, feelings of loneliness, general sadness, fluff, parental issues, 2.1k words
a/n: sheesh. that's all i gotta say
the last ride masterlist
For the first time in my life, my alarm wakes me up on my birthday. Instead of forcing myself to get up quickly how I’ve trained myself to, I allow myself a few moments to stare up at the ceiling, dreading the lack of notifications on my phone.
My dad had sent out a quick and haphazard message the night before, not even waiting until midnight, and I’m under no delusion that anyone else cares enough to call.
Sighing, I push myself up out of the bed and head to the shower, longing for the chance to have some part of me feel brand new.
When I’m out and dressed, I stare in the mirror for an embarrassing amount of time. I turn my face from side to side, smoothing my fingertips over nonexistent wrinkles and laugh lines that should be deeper. Every year, I hope that I’ll look into my reflection and see someone different. I cross my fingers for a version of myself that feels wiser, kinder, and more comfortable in her skin. But standing here now, freshly nineteen, the only thing I see is a girl who’s running out of time.
****************************
After a very uneventful breakfast, I head out to meet Chris to help with the fence repairs. I’m hoping he’s in the mood to take it easy on me today but of course, he’s feeling the opposite.
From the moment I hop in the pickup truck, he’s throwing task after task at me. By the time the sun is high in the sky, I’m exhausted and defeated. But when I lean against the wall for a second, Chris happens to come around the corner, scowling. “We ain’t got time to lay around today, Scotch. We’re behind on yields.”
“I wasn’t-”
“Go take some hay out to the boys at the stables. Take the pickup truck and I’ll have someone drop me around there in a second.” He cuts in, tossing me the keys and walking away before I can respond.
I grit my teeth to keep from throwing curses at his back and do what he said, motivated by excitement to visit the horses.
When I walk in, all I see is chaos. Cinnamon’s got a mean grip on some poor guy’s shirt and is refusing to release him.
“Let me go, you mean old bastard!” The boy howls. Why he doesn’t just take his shirt off and charge it as a loss? I don’t know.
Another worker brandishes a whip to scare her into letting go but Cinnamon doesn’t even flinch. My kind of woman.
Despite how entertained I am, I decide to intervene, hoping my girl still has a soft spot for me. Cautiously, I approach and coo for her attention. She seems to physically relax at the sight of me so I reach out and stroke the side of her face until she releases him. When she does, I reach down for her treats and feed her some, offering praise. “Good girl. What’d that bad man do to you? Huh?”
“I ain’t do a thing to that monster!” He wails, scrambling up from where he fell when she let him go. I ignore his whining and tell the boys about the hay before turning my attention back to Cinnamon. I notice she’s still wearing her head collar, which is probably what he was trying to remove, so I take it off for her and she neighs in satisfaction.
Someone clears their throat behind me and I groan internally, knowing who it is before I even turn.
“Did you not hear me when I said we had a busy day?” Chris asks, his voice rough with irritation. I sigh before giving him a brief explanation, even though I know he won’t care.
He doesn’t say anything for a second but then walks over, his voice softening slightly. “Alright. Go help them unload before I dock your pay.”
****************************
When it’s time for lunch, we do what’s become our custom and sit together in the bed of the truck to eat. Sometimes the other ranch hands join us, crowding around and telling inside jokes, but most days it’s just the two of us.
Today, we eat in comfortable silence, my mind too full of self-pitying sadness to conjure up conversation. Chris nudges me with his shoulder and I look over. “What’s up with you today? Missing on the mall?”
I roll my eyes at his joke, the small barb cutting me more than it would any other day. “I’m sick of you acting like it’s impossible for me to have any depth.”
He laughs, not picking up on my tone. “C’mon, Y/N. You’re as deep as an autumn puddle, darlin’.
Anger pours over me like a cold shower and I slide off the truck, packing up my trash. “Fuck you, Chris.”
“Whoa.” He says, eyes widening. “Relax. It was a joke.”
“Was it?” I ask glaring.
“I mean…” He sighs and takes off his hat to scratch his head. “I’m just sayin’. You’ve had it easy. Perfect parents who gave you the perfect life. Not all of us have it that good.”
It’s my turn to laugh at the audacity he has to make statements like that about my life. “You know what, Chris? You’re right. I’ve been privileged. I’ve been lucky. But what do you know about my life? What’s so perfect about it? Is it the friends that couldn’t care less about me? My parents? You mean the woman who ran out on us when I was ten? Have you ever spent your birthday waiting on the stairs for your mother to come back because you convinced yourself she wouldn’t miss it?”
I scoff in disgust, despising the sympathetic look on his face. “Or did you mean my dad? The one who spent my entire life throwing gifts at me and then punished me for being who he raised me to be? So fucking perfect. Thanks for pointing that out.”
Chris opens and shuts his mouth twice, finally speechless. He reaches out a hand as if to pull into him. “Scotch-”
I back away so he can’t touch me. “Save it. God. You are so self-righteous about who you think I am. But all you’ve done since I got here is pretend you know everything about me.”
I storm off, spotting my uncle and asking him if I could work under him instead today.
“Did you talk to Chris about it?” He asks hesitantly, looking over my shoulder at him. I nod quickly and he raises an eyebrow, clearly seeing through me. But at the look of desperation on my face, he caves and points me towards the goats.
****************************
When Aunt Birdie calls me for dinner, I’m tempted to tell her I’m not hungry but I know she will insist. I didn’t even stop to speak to her when I got off this afternoon, just ran into my room and sunk into a bath.
I step into the kitchen with my eyes low so it’s a genuine shock when they yell out “Happy birthday”. My eyes are full of wonder when Aunt Birdie comes over with a beautiful jumbo cupcake from the local bakery. She’s placed a “19” candle in the center and hands me a lighter to make a wish.
I think about it for a second. “Can I maybe save it for later?”
“Of course, bunny. It’s your birthday. You make the rules.” Aunt Birdie answers sweetly, pushing my hair out of my face.
I look down at the cupcake again, my eyes getting teary. “I didn’t think you remembered.”
“Oh, honey. Like your dad would ever let us forget. ‘Sides, ain’t a year passed since you’ve been on this earth that I ain’t mailed you out a card.” Uncle Buck chimes in.
And it’s all I have not to shatter into a million pieces on the floor.
****************************
That night I sit crisscrossed in my bed thinking over my wish. The lamplight tinges the room yellow and it just makes me sadder.
I pick up the lighter, my hands shaking as I spark it. I close my eyes, feeling childish but not willing to risk wasting my wish.
“I wish to never feel this alone again.” I whisper, my voice quivering before I blow out the fire. As soon as I do, whatever was keeping me together inside snaps and I fall apart.
I put the cupcake on the nightstand and curl around myself, sobbing until I shake into my pillow. I stay like that until I feel like there are no tears left in my body until the sobs turn to sniffling hiccups.
Just as I start to calm down I hear a sharp knock on my window and sit up. I wipe my face quickly and peer out, staying far back in case I have to yell for my uncle.
“It’s me.” A voice calls and I step closer on instinct. Chris is kneeling in the grass outside my window, his face pressed close to the glass.
Confused, I unlatch the window and slide it up, going to my knees so we can be at eye level. He leans his head into my room, his hair covered by a new trucker hat and a gold chain dangling from his neck.
I look down at my pajamas and cringe. He would come to my window on washday. My eyes must be bloodshot from the way I just cried but Chris doesn’t comment. He just crosses his arms on the windowsill, looking past me into the room.
“You decorated.” He notes with a small smile, nodding at the new rug and bedspread. I’d hardly call it interior design.
“Well, you know me. Too shallow to leave well enough alone.” I answer bitterly, bracing a hand against the wall.
Chris’ face drops at this and he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that… I owe you an apology. It was a cheap shot even without knowing the whole story.”
“Mhm.” I agree, still a bit too petty to accept his apology. The silence between us becomes a bit awkward for a second before I speak. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Is that really how you see me? Just a surface level city broad?” I ask quietly after a beat and my heart hammers when he hesitates.
“Do you want me to be honest?” He asks cautiously, using the same tone he approaches the bulls with. I nod, despite not knowing whether it’s the truth.
Chris turns his trucker hat backward, giving me a good look in his eyes and studying me before he answers. “I did at first. Now I reckon that’s just what you want everyone to think.”
His statement settles over me like the shine from a spotlight. But for once it doesn’t feel like an accusation.
“Anyway,” He starts, leaning back and picking up something from where it lays at his feet. “A little Birdie told me it was your birthday.”
Surprise must be all over my face because he grins from ear to ear as he hands me a wrapped rectangular box. I peel the paper off slowly, still in shock that he thought to get me anything and gasp when I see its shoes. Chris clears his throat like he’s nervous and I look back up at him. “Evie told me you liked hers so I just thought…” He trails off, picking at the paint on the windowsill.
I fling off the top excitedly and pull out the boots. They are gorgeous, almost an exact match to Evie’s except brown with a cut out of some flower along the side instead of a name.
“What flower is this?” I ask as I run my finger over the leather in wonder.
“Waterlilies. It’s your birth flower.” Chris answers before adding a low and embarrassed. “If you don’t like ‘em, it’s cool. I know it probably ain’t your style-”
I cut him off with a hug, wrapping my arms tight around his neck and burying my face in his shoulder. “Thank you, Chris. This means a lot.”
He freezes up at first but slowly returns my hug, pulling me closer. “Don’t mention it, Scotch.”
I finally pull away and wipe at my face, cursing myself for being so emotional today. Chris gives me a lopsided smile before he taps the window once and sighs. “I gotta get home. Get some sleep. We’ve got horses tomorrow.”
I grin back at him and nod, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “Okay. Goodnight, boss.”
When he’s gone, I pull the window back down and lock it before looking back down at the boots. I place them on my shoe rack, tossing a pair of my Ricks to the side to make room. I stare at them for a long while, the swirling feeling in my chest growing until I finally make myself go to sleep. And when I dream, it’s of fields of waterlilies.
🏷️/ @xoxo4chrisss @sturniolho @sttzee @tillies33ssss @miloisdone1 @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @mrsmiagreer @asturniolos
@teapartyprincess4two @whicked-hazlatwhore @sukiipjs @accio326 @sturniolosmind @imfromthediningtable @st4rswrld @thvvluvr @sturnssmuts @littlenerdybee @sturniolossss @iloveneilperry @eclipzw @chrissloverrrrrrr16 @sstvrnioloo
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music to my eyes - jamie tartt
fandom: ted lasso
wc: 4,266
warnings: spoilers for the season 3 finale of ted lasso, jamie being a lil self deprecating. reader uses female pronouns.
summary: jamie has a crush on the band’s bassist.
author’s note at the end!
Jamie’s so, so late.
Roy’s gonna have his balls. It’s the first training for the Queen’s Cup final against Tottenham– their first one without Ted, a little something before the freaking Champion’s League starts next year– and Jamie’s having the worst morning of his life.
He woke up late for his 4 am training that ran long, traffic was absolute shit and now he’s sprinting– not running, cause he’s not allowed to after he and Colin almost ran over the Prince of Denmark while racing each other to the locker room, a story for another day– down the hallway with Roy Kent’s fury just waiting to find its rightful owner.
He didn’t even have time to comb his hair today. It still looks amazing, but it’s the routine that matters. For his mental health or whatever.
Maybe that’s why he feels so jittery and doesn’t look where he’s going as he makes his way to the locker room. Jamie’s got his bag clutched to his chest and his headphones hanging around his neck, his jacket halfway on before he gave up and left it trailing down his side like a sad blanket.
He’s cursing whatever Gods control alarm clocks and traffic and hairbrushes when he knocks onto someone. It’s so forceful it sends them both to the ground with a grunt and a little ah! of surprise. Jamie tries not to grow annoyed and fails. He considers laying on the ground and becoming one with the carpet so he doesn’t face Roy’s justified punishment and sighs out his nose, pushing himself to a sitting position.
“–so sorry,” and it’s a woman, Jamie just knocked out a woman in his rush to work. What’s next? Is he gonna hit a cat with his car? Maybe spit on a kid’s face? She keeps babbling apologies, unaware of Jamie’s foul mood. “–supposed to be at her office but there’s just– there are so many hallways–”
“‘s alright,” he cuts her off harsher than he means to, guilt stabbing at him when she looks at him with wide, remorseful eyes. Jamie sighs, dusting off his clothes and standing, offering her a hand. “Me fault for bein’ in a rush. Should’ve seen where I was going.”
“Oh, god, you actually know where you’re going,” she says with a grimace, accepting his hand. She’s on her feet and standing too close to Jamie for a second that feels like a lifetime– almost nose-to-nose with Richmond’s greatest. Her laugh is stuttery and nervous when she steps back, barely meeting Jamie’s eye.
She’s cute. Jamie’s not planning to do anything about it, especially not with his fine for being late slowly becoming one for missing training but she is. Cute. His mouth lifts in a half smile at the thought, charmed.
“I was looking for Rebecca Welton’s office but I only got myself lost,” she says sheepishly, putting her hair behind her ear every couple of seconds since it keeps stubbornly falling out of place. Jamie’s fingers twitch a little but no. No, absolutely not, he’s not doing this to himself, no sir. “Is there any way you can give me directions without having to go with me? I don’t want you to be late for– shit. Practice, huh?”
Jamie thinks she’s the smartest woman that’s ever walked the face of the Earth until he remembers where they are. At Richmond’s training facilities. She’s looking at a disheveled man in a sports outfit. The story kind of tells itself.
“I– yeah,” Jamie stutters a little, clearing his throat to disguise it. “There’s, um, it ain’t a problem. I can take you there if you want.”
Her entire posture screams relief as soon as he offers, and it’s enough for Jamie to make up his mind even if she hasn’t said yes yet. “Would you? They said in the group chat not to be late and, like, they weren’t specific about it but you just know when a message’s for you, you know. And here I am, late–”
A beat.
“–and rambling,” she smiles at him again, the sight tugging at Jamie’s chest as he stands there like an idiot, his brain rebooting whenever she does it. “Yes, please. I’d really appreciate it.”
And so Jamie asks a kitman to take his stuff to the locker room while he walks her up to Rebecca’s office. His hand hovers but doesn’t quite touch the small of her back while he blabbers his way through small talk. Nice weather, today, innit, traffic was absolute hell though. Oh, you’re not from around here, that’s nice, do you plan on going sightseeing?
He delivers her to Rebecca’s floor to a thankful, ecstatic Higgins, who welcomes her with a hearty shake of the hand and promises that she hasn’t missed anything important. She’s barely able to spare him a smile and a quick thanks before the door’s closed behind them and Jamie’s standing there on his own, smiling at nothing.
He’s still wearing a dopey grin when he finally finds himself on the field, Roy yelling at him to run laps until sundown for being late. His legs are killing him, he’s £200 poorer, and he didn’t even get the woman’s name; but nothing can drag him down from his high and make him forget how she’d squeezed his arm in gratitude, touch warm and calloused against his skin.
The next day Rebecca’s there before practice starts, looking tall and pleased as she claps her hands and shares the big news: since the final of the Queen’s Cup is being held right here at Nelson Road, she managed to get a band to play during the halftime show. They’ll be here the entire next two weeks for rehearsals and staging, so everyone must be on their best behavior if they don’t want their name in the summer transfer market.
Jamie doesn’t connect the dots until he sees her again, this time at a local bar big enough to house less than two thousand people. Keeley hears from Roy who hears from Beard, who heard from Higgins that Rebecca said the secret band was gonna hang around the city for a couple of other smaller, quick gigs.
Jamie manages to excuse himself from video games at Colin’s with the guys and offers himself to Keeley as a buffer between her and Roy at a bar tonight. Though, in Jamie’s very humble and very right opinion, they’re already on their way to getting back together for good.
The band’s gathered a nice crowd, the lighting low and the thrum of the music hammering on Jamie’s teeth. He’s nursing the beer Roy bought him, the man charmed enough by Keeley’s presence that he let Jamie bend his rigorous diet regime. Just for the night.
It takes three songs for the bassist to speak up, a makeshift spotlight landing on her, sweaty and delighted at being onstage. Jamie’s blood rushes to his face and his vision blacks out for a second.
It’s her. No longer is she lost and out of her element, shyly asking a stranger for help. Both of her feet are steady on the ground, the strap of her bass snug around her neck. Her fingers are toying with the strings even when no song’s playing, an air of rightful confidence washing over the room as it takes her in. Jamie isn’t the only one suddenly breathless.
She grins against the microphone, coy. “Thank you so much for having us, Jaded Joker. We’re Karma Police, and we hope you have as much fun hearin’ us as we do playing for you.”
They fall into another song with that quick introduction and Jamie can’t take his eyes off her, barely hearing the song as the world around him slows down. Her clothes and jewelry sway with her to the rhythm of the music, the lights shifting seamlessly into different colors making her look ethereal.
Keeley clocks it in immediately.
“She’s good, huh?” she nods at the stage where Jamie’s stranger is moving to the beat of the bass like no one’s watching, shamelessly enjoying herself and making funny faces at her bandmates. “Fuckin’ smoking, too.”
Jamie only hums in a very Roy Kent-like way, knowing there’s no fooling Keeley fucking Jones. The last thing he needs is to give her details and have her dip a toe into Jamie’s nonexistent love life.
Of course, he doesn’t take into consideration that Roy’s a brazen gossip.
“So,” Sam elongates the word as he’s spotting Jamie on the press the next day, happy watching him grunt at the effort. “How was the band last night?”
Jamie almost drops the damned thing on his chest.
“Roy said you enjoyed it,” he continues giddily like he didn’t almost commit accidental manslaughter by catching Jamie off guard. “Especially the bassist. What was her name?”
Sam fakes confusion for less than a minute before Jamie gives, mumbling it under his breath. He’d been weak and googled Karma Police in the privacy of his car before going home, swiping through the images that popped up until he recognized her face.
(Y/N) (Y/L/N), the article he clicked on informed him. Jamie had repeated the name under his breath just to see what it felt like on his tongue for an embarrassing amount of time.
Thanks to Karma Police’s bassist and lyricist (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the band’s sophomore album New Perspective has found a home in people’s hearts and high on the global charts.
Keeley wasn’t kidding. She’s good.
“Oh,” Sam realizes, some of his amusement softening into genuine interest when he watches Jamie’s face do whatever the fuck it's doing. “Oh, you like like her.”
Jamie immediately flushes under Sam’s gaze, making sure the weight is safe in its place before physically fleeing the conversation. Sam doesn’t mention it to anyone, which Jamie appreciates so badly he could cry a little, but he does find his eyes across the locker room later when Rebecca comes in, four people in tow.
“Everybody, these are the wonderful musicians I spoke to you about the other day,” she says it in a way that screams I’m a pleasant human being and embarrass me and I will end your career right where you stand all at once. “We’re on a little tour of the installations and I thought we’d all come to say hi to wrap it up.”
The boys are charming and welcome them with ease. They’re not one of the most liked teams in England despite their bad runs for nothing, but Jamie’s frozen the second he catches sight of her. She’s a step behind one of her bandmates, shaking hands and smiling politely at conversations while staying slightly in the background, the stage persona from the previous night gone like taking off a jacket.
Jamie takes pride in the way their eyes meet and her tight expression loosens, her smile blossoming into something more genuine, less unsure.
“Hey, stranger,” she says a little awkwardly after having gathered the courage Jamie couldn’t to cross the room and say hi. It feels like they’re alone in a room full of people, and for a second Jamie thinks he sees Sam stealing a few looks, making sure he keeps the others away and distracted for a little privacy. “Did you make it to training the other day?”
“What?” Jamie blanks like an idiot, then shakes his head when he remembers how they met; both of them, late for their respective responsibilities. “Oh! Oh, yeah. I– yeah. I had to run for me life to make up for it, but I made it.”
“Good,” she smiles, shifting in her place. “I, um. I’m glad we get to play for you guys. What you’ve done this past season, getting back to the top, has been unbelievable.”
“You’re unbelievable,” he replies, awestruck, and backtracks when she looks a little apprehensive. She’s doing the hair thing again, combing it back while it stubbornly escapes its place every couple of seconds. A nervous tic, maybe. “I mean– some friends and I, we saw you last night at the Jaded Joker. If anything, it’s an honor we get you guys to play for us.”
“Oh!” she seems pleased, ducking her head at the compliment. Her shoulders loosen again, and Jamie tries not to feel like he just scored a goal against Man City. “Oh, you should’ve said hi! Did you enjoy yourselves?”
“I did,” he says, too soft, and it feels like an admission of something when her eyes search his face, for a moment landing on his mouth before putting herself back together. “Up there, it’s like– it’s like you forget everyone else. You’re made for the stage.”
If anything, (Y/N)’s delight only strengthens, tugging at the neckline of her shirt. Jamie finds himself trying to follow the trail of new skin and flushes as well when he catches himself just in time.
“Thank you,” she matches his tone. “You’d think it’d be nervewracking but it’s… silence. In my head. Does that make sense? I feel like it doesn’t.”
“It does,” Jamie agrees, breathless. It’s exactly how he feels when he gets the ball on his feet, every anxiety and worry and part of him he doesn’t like quieting the minute he steps on a pitch. “I get the same when I play. Peace in the chaos, I guess”
(Y/N) looks at him like she’s discovering the world’s eight wonder.
“Kids!” her bandmate breaks the moment by coming over, arm draped around (Y/N)’s shoulder. (Y/N) blinks, looking a little shell-shocked. “Sorry to interrupt this party, but rehearsal awaits.”
Disappointment claws at Jamie’s belly, but before he can let it fester the conversation continues, bubbly and loud. “Alas! We’ll be done around 5. You’re welcome to visit then. We’re going to the third floor, I think.”
(Y/N)’s only amused at her friend’s antics, even if Jamie’s back to having a knot in his throat out of nervousness alone. Jesus, what’s wrong with him? It’s like he’s eight again and crushing on the cute boy that lived in the apartment in front of the Tartt’s.
“See you then?” (Y/N) says, hopeful, and Jamie thinks it’s only fair he’s brave as well and nods as resolutely as he can.
“I’ll be there.”
He ends up having to ask Higgins for directions, after promising he’s not gonna stir up any trouble at least four times. It takes Roy passing by and giving a few reassuring grunts, guaranteeing Jamie’s best behavior before Higgins gives him the location. When Jamie goes to thank him, Roy only points at him menacingly, though lacking his usual frown, and says don’t fuck this up.
Rehearsals are just wrapping up when Jamie gets there, instruments being packed and people saying goodbye to each other when he makes his way into the room. He immediately finds (Y/N) sitting on the piano playing a complicated melody.
She lights up when she sees him, the music seizing. “You made it!”
Jamie stops her from standing up, instead sitting next to her after she scoots over to give him room. “That was nice. A song of yours?”
(Y/N) shrugs. “Hopefully soon. You never know, when you’re writing. You start working on a song and it ends up being a completely different thing from when you started.”
“Sounds messy,” Jamie says, a little consternated at the thought. Fortunately, (Y/N) laughs.
“It is. Do you play?”
“Fuck no,” he says quickly, then tries to explain himself as she splutters in amused surprise. “I mean, I don’t think I can. It seems pretty complicated. I’ve always been better with me feet.”
He reaches for the keys and begins playing some nonsense, loud and offkey, knowing it’ll make her laugh again.
“No, you gotta–” she cackles, placing her hands on top of his and quieting the dissonant echo of the keys. Jamie feels the tug at his lips, insistent, automatic, the same rush of delight that courses over him whenever he’s in her presence. “Gentle. Be gentle about it, jeez.”
She lines up their hands so her fingers move his and begins playing a quiet, fun melody. Jamie’s doing shit other than staring at her face, slightly twisted in concentration as she mumbles the notes under her breath. G, G, G, F, G, B, G, G…
“I know this one,” Jamie mumbles in recognition. (Y/N) turns her head to smile at him, pleased. “‘s from Nottin Hill, innit?”
“And a million other movies,” she murmurs back, unable to break the spell that’s fallen over the room. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a romantic.”
“‘s my favorite film,” he concedes, finding it incredibly easy to be honest when they’re sitting side by side like this, alone, their sides warm against each other. He loves his teammates, but (Y/N) didn’t know him when he was awful and arrogant, too cocky. There’s nothing she holds against him, no standard he needs to meet for her to be happy in his company. “Cried me eyes out at the end. Though I’ll deny it if you ever ask in front of anyone.”
(Y/N) laughs. “I promise I won’t. It’s a good movie. Doesn’t beat While You Were Sleeping, though.”
Jamie’s expression remains blank. (Y/N)’s face falls into disbelief, her hands tightening against his. “You’ve never watched While You Were Sleeping.”
He’s heard of it, but it’s hilarious to watch her forget herself, any sign of nervousness or polite shyness finally out the window. Jamie likes it– likes her, wants her to be comfortable with him and stop holding herself so tightly whenever she’s off the stage.
“You poor, sheltered boy,” she exhales, aghast. “Holy fuck, I can’t believe I’m about to introduce you to the best romantic comedy ever made.”
Jamie goes to take the opening but stops himself at the last second. He knows this process; the flirting, the leaning in for just a moment so she smells his cologne then pulling away, leaving her wanting more. The asking for a date, a fancy dinner, then taking her home. Sneaking out in the middle of the night, dodging calls until she stops trying to reach him.
He’s been doing it for years. He wants to desperately break the cycle and he wants to do it with her, but does he have it in him? Jamie’s been working on himself harder than he’s worked for anything else in his life, but what if he’s one slip away from becoming his old self? From turning out like his dad?
Sure, the old man’s changed, or– well. He’s trying to. But whether Jamie likes it or not he sees a little too much of him in himself sometimes, and he can’t do that to her. He’s known her for less than a week and he knows she deserves better. Everyone does.
Roy told him not to fuck it up. Maybe this is what he meant.
His expression stutters, shatters, and reestablishes itself in a matter of a moment, a blink of an eye. Jamie knocks his shoulder into hers gently, leaning back into place after a second. He teases: “And who made you the expert, eh?”
Rather than letting it drop, (Y/N) takes the bait just like Jamie knew she would. They stay there until a security guard comes to kick them out for the night, and they talk about everything and nothing. Movies, songs, bands they like, and foods they don’t. Jamie’s favorite players when he was a kid, his hero-like worship for Roy Kent, and how he’s made him a better player, a better man.
(Y/N) shares with him the first time she held a guitar in her hands, the albums she listened to when she was a kid that changed her as a person, realizing she could create magic through words and music. Her favorite cities to tour, how long she’s known her bandmates, how she’d die and kill for them if necessary.
By the time he’s walking into the pitch at Nelson Road two weeks later, the roar of the crowd around him swallowing every other sound, Jamie’s spent every free moment of his time with (Y/N) (Y/L/N). It was unavoidable, helpless as he is in his attraction to her, but Jamie doesn’t know what to do without, as Roy so carefully put it, fucking it up.
It hadn’t helped when (Y/N) snuck into the locker room to wish him luck, showing him the Richmond bracelet she was gonna wear onstage with a roll of the eyes. “Our stylist wouldn’t let me wear the jersey, but don’t you doubt for a second that I’m rooting for you, Tartt.”
Jesus Christ. Jamie had felt his cheeks warm up and dared to thank her with a loud, exaggerated kiss on the forehead that left them both grinning like idiots and Roy staring at them knowingly.
Before Jamie followed his teammates into the field, Roy had pulled him aside with a hand on his shoulder. “Tartt–”
“I know, I know,” he answered a little too self-deprecatingly. “Don’t fuck it up.”
But Roy only raised his eyebrows, realization dawning on his features. “You think I say that because I think you will?”
Jamie mumbled some not-words under his breath and Roy cursed. “Prick. I say it because you deserve good things, dickhead. And you should let them come to you when they do.”
Good things, Jamie thinks after one of his passes gives Dani the first goal of the night. The younger man jumps into his arms while hugging him tight and laughing into his ear, their teammates joining their embrace less than a second later.
He looks towards the general area of the VIP seats where he knows (Y/N) and the rest of the band are cheering them on. He pictures her screaming at the top of her lungs, arms in the air, and being happy for him like she’s known him for all his life.
She might be the best thing. Whether he deserves her or not, Jamie wants her. Wants to be with her, watch romantic comedies until they both cry and spend his free afternoons watching her play the piano while he plays FIFA in the living room. He wants songs written about him that have him blushing whenever he hears them in public and for her to come to his games and be able to dedicate every goal to her he ever scores.
Good things. Yeah, Jamie can get down on that.
“You fucking asshole!” she jumps into his arms the second she finds him on the pitch after the game, a medal hanging from his neck and sweat sticking to his skin. (Y/N) doesn’t seem to care as she lets him lift her in the air, holding onto each other tight. “You did it! You fucking did it!”
“I missed your show,” he replies instead, only a little bummed. He’s seen her play live before but there was an itch under his skin the entire half-time, knowing how close she was and being unable to get to her. Jamie grins. “And stole it, too.”
“There he is,” she teases gleefully. “For a second there I thought you were gonna be humble about this.”
“I don’t even know what that word means,” he says cockily.
“And how’s Mr. Man of the Match gonna celebrate, huh?” she wonders, hitting him lightly on the chest now that he’s put her back on the ground. “A fancy club? Getting shitfaced with the boys? A date with your left hand?”
Jamie puts his hand on hers at the last second, stopping her from pulling away. She sways into him, all traces of joking vanishing from her expression. He forces himself to stay on her face, the urge to look away defeated by how she’s looking at him. In wonder, open, hopeful.
She deserves good things, too. Jamie is determined to be the one to give them to her.
“I was thinking dinner?” he asks, fidgeting a little on his feet. “Maybe a movie? Thought I could see what While You Were Sleeping’s all about.”
(Y/N)’s mouth is fighting against a smile, somewhat hesitant still. Jamie doesn’t blame her, he’s been beating around this bush the entire time they’ve known each other.
“You want any company?” she wonders.
“Well, what kind of date would it be if it was just me?” he forces his features into faux confusion, watching her finally lose the battle and beam like a kid on Christmas. Her fingers twitch where he’s holding onto her hand.
“Not a great one,” she concedes, looking like all of Jamie’s dreams. “How do you feel about Mexican?”
Awful. Jamie feels awful about Mexican. He’s a white sexy boy in all the ways that matter and his taste buds punish him for eating spicy food no matter how much he likes it. But he can compromise. He’s starting to realize there’s very little he wouldn’t do for (Y/N) (Y/L/N).
“I feel fantastic about anything you like,” he answers truthfully. “I’m sure me tongue will forgive me eventually.”
(Y/N) laughs, fingers in Jamie’s hold shifting so she can hold his hand. “I think there’s a good lyric somewhere in there.”
“You plannin’ on writing me a song?”
She smirks. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t yet.”
Jamie squeezes her hand, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
“Can’t wait to hear it, love.”
___
there’s an ache in my bones to make a series out of this fic omg
i can’t believe the show’s over (is it tho????) so here’s some jamie fluff to heal our tender, mourning hearts. as always you’re welcome to tell me what you think and chat jamie and ted lasso as much as you’d like! thank u for reading AND for all the love on my last jamie piece that you can read here!
<3
masterlist / ao3 / ko-fi
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