pinky promise - jamie tartt

‟ C'MON, GHOSTBUSTERS „

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

"But last night was definitely a win." 

Tate watched, proud, as Ted answered the questions in the press conference smoothly. His American charm working overtime. 

She barely noticed the door to the conference room beside her open, until the person who entered stood just a tad closer to her than a stranger would. 

Jamie. 

Brows knitted in confusion, she shot him a silent question. He shrugged his shoulders, sparing her little more than a glance. Tate caught her bottom lip between her teeth and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning backwards against the wall beside him. 

"You know what you do when you assume, you make an arse out of you and me." Ted quipped to Trent Crimm, who was selected for the next question. Tate rolled her eyes with a grin at the American saying that didn't translate well with the different slang.

"You're really going to keep your best player off the pitch?" Trent asked baldly, and Tate felt Jamie stand a little taller beside her. Her fingers twitched with the urge to reach out to him, to offer comfort or support the way she would for the rest of the team. 

But he was Jamie fucking Tartt.

"That depends on Jamie." Ted said honestly, his gaze trained on the star player in question while Tate balled her hands into fists. "He knows what he needs to do." 

Jamie scoffed, pushing himself off the wall. Tate shot him an irritated look, but didn't move to stop him. 

He was gone before the next question was asked. 

「☺ ☺ ☺」

Tate knew she missed the start of training, but she hoped the new player hadn't gone onto the pitch yet. She wanted to see his first introduction to Nelson Road Stadium, how he would respond to being a new addition. 

"Hey, Coach." Tate greeted Ted brightly as she pulled her coat tighter around herself and stepped onto the pitch. She nodded her head at Beard, then at the kit man. "Coach, and Nate." 

"Glad you could join us, Tater Tot. We're happy to have you here." Ted's voice was strained, though she could tell he was genuinely glad she had shown up. 

"Where is he?" She scrunched her face up, scanning the pitch for the player she had been brought in to try and convince that selflessness was actually a good quality to have. 

"On the sidelines," Nate explained, rocking back and forth a little too giddily. Her brows knitted in confusion as she looked to Beard, since Ted was clearly doing his best to avoid looking in Jamie's direction.

"Hurt," Beard said curtly. "Apparently, he can't train." 

"Uh-huh." Tate dragged out the sound, glaring in the direction Jamie stood. He hadn't mentioned anything about being injured during the ride to the club that morning—she was going to ream him out. "We'll see about that." 

She smiled at the coaches and kit man once more before turning her attention towards where Jamie stood with several of the reserves. He hadn't seen her yet, but she was just waiting for him to turn his head, to see the glare she was leveling at him. 

"Tate!" Sam called excitedly from the pitch, finally having spotted her on the sidelines. He was waving excitedly, with both arms, trying to get her attention. And though she was annoyed at Jamie, she waved back to Sam eagerly. 

"Mon cherie!" Richard shouted, blowing her a kiss. Tate rolled her eyes, waving at him as well. More and more of the boys noticed her, waving and calling out her name as if they hadn't seen her in weeks—and not just the night before.