pinky promise - jamie tartt

‟ LET YOU JOIN ME „

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"Another one! Dead last!"

Tate jumped at Isaac's shout, twisting from where she sat in Sam's stall while he readied for training on the center platform. Groans emanated throughout the locker room, all clearly displeased with Isaac's declaration.

Richmond was going to finish last in the rankings, according to everyone's speculations about the season that hadn't even started.

"Dead last?" Sam asked, offended. "Who wrote that?"

"Fucking everybody, bruv!" Isaac shouted, staring at his phone as he stood from his stall. Tate kept silent, frown set on her face, because she had seen nothing but tweets declaring that Richmond would get relegated again. "Glenn Huddle, Graeme Souness, Jermaine Jenas—"

"Maybe they're trying to motivate us," Dani suggested, looking over Isaac's shoulder to read the article on his phone.

"Love the optimism, Dani," Tate winced, hand set over her heart. Dani grinned at her, though the rest of the locker room wasn't sharing his excitement.

"I had a woman accost me on the street, telling me I should fake an injury this season so I wouldn't have to deal with the misery." Colin explained, and Tate bit the inside of her cheek to keep her grin at bay. Colin had FaceTimed her the moment the interaction had occurred, and she hadn't been able to keep her giggles contained then.

"Did you tell her to piss off?" Bumbercatch asked, and Tate snorted, recalling what key detail he was missing from Colin's story.

"No, she was a nun."

"Oh,"

Dani and Richard signed a cross over their chests.

"They must get Sky Sports in the monasteries."

"Hey, hey, lads," Jamie interceded, standing from his stall and shoving his phone into his bag. "We ain't gonna get relegated 'cause we're together. And together, we got me."

"Always humble, Jamie," Tate taunted as the rest of the locker room chuckled at him. Jamie grinned at her, winking in a way that was wholly not subtle, and she felt her cheeks flush.

"Statistically speaking," Jan Maas spoke up, taking attention off of her and Jamie, and Tate was grateful for it. Though, she knew whatever Jan was about to say might not be entirely inspiring. "Most teams who get promoted are relegated the very next year."

The boos were instant, and the Dutchman was even victim to getting various items of clothing tossed at him in reprimand for his words. Tate shook her head, though the corners of her lips curved upwards as Isaac told him to shut the fuck up.

"It's the Premier League. It's just statistics, man."

"Y'know, one day I'll teach you how to read a room, Jan," Tate grinned, jumping to her feet from Sam's stall. "Sometimes it's best to not say whatever the truth may be."

"But what is the point in that?" Jan's brows were knitted together in confusion, and she shook her head in amusement, not ready to explain the complexities of white lies to the Dutchman.

"You'd probably get told to shut the fuck up a lot less, mate." Jamie added, and Tate grinned wider at him, unable to keep herself from squeezing his arm as she walked past him and towards the exit of the locker room. "Hey, where you goin', babe?"

"I've got to check the time of a meeting this afternoon, but I promise I'll meet you boys out on the pitch,"

Her answer was satisfactory, apparently, because Jamie and the rest of the locker room returned to whatever they had previous been doing, accepting that she wasn't bailing on their new tradition of having her on the pitch for as many training sessions as possible.