Chapter Text
ONE YEAR AGO
When Roy accepted the job offer as manager of AFC Richmond, he really thought that one of the perks was that when the annual auction rolled around, he wouldn’t have to participate.
It’s almost funny just how wrong he’d been – if your idea of funny involves standing on a stage like an idiot, in which case, Roy’s a fucking stand-up comedian. This is what he gets for being unable to say no to the unstoppable force that is Keeley Jones and Rebecca Welton.
Roy hates that he didn’t say no because he really hates this feeling.
The chatter and laughter from the audience continues no matter how much he glares, which is infuriating. Alcohol shouldn’t have the power to make him less scary, and yet, call him Bozo the Fucking Clown for how funny people think he is.
“Well, then.” Rebecca is enjoying this little cattle call a bit too much, in the process of charming the audience when a slip of paper is handed to her. “That’s very interesting.” She’s back beside him, towering in gorgeous heels – and Roy’s always envied how strong her Achilles are when his have abandoned him. “I think we have a winner.”
“How much is he worth?” Keeley shouts from the crowd, eyes manic with excitement.
Roy rolls his eyes fondly. They’re three months out from their last (and final) breakup, but she’s made sure to show Roy that she’s not going anywhere. That’s why she’s here tonight both as platonic date and shield for the press, so he doesn’t get inundated with a thousand ‘who are you sleeping with’ questions.
“Ten thousand pounds.”
No one in the room is laughing now. In fact, you could hear a pin drop.
“What the fuck?” Roy asks, when he finds his voice. It’s a reputable banquet hall, which is why there’s no actual cricket noises, but the shock on everyone’s faces is about equal to a couple invisible crickets. “Who?”
“I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information publicly.”
“Someone really wants a piece of you, Roy-o,” Keeley shouts from the front row, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
He points at her to silently ask: You?
The quick shake of her head puts that to rest, which is a bit of a relief. He’s glad they’re still friends, but he’s not sure he’s ten thousand pounds of a friend to her. Is anyone? He does a quick scan of the room, but even the rich old women who keep nipping at his heels look shocked enough that he’s worried about there being heart attacks.
“You’re fucking joking, right?” Roy mutters as he shoves the microphone aside, starting to feel a clawing sense of panic that he’s being humiliated in public.
Rebecca stares at her phone, exhaling with a shocked laugh. “Seeing as the transaction just went through, I am very much not.” Tucking the phone away, Rebecca lifts both hands to the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m afraid that’s it for Roy! It seems like we went through him rather quickly, but what an end to the night!”
Roy waits for someone to make a crack about his stamina – Tartt, probably – but there’s nothing from the crowd. If anything, they seem as shocked as Roy.
Ten thousand pounds. Fuck. Next time he talks to Dr. Sharon, he’s got a brand new topic to dive into when it comes to his self-worth.
He’s still swimming in his own seas of insecurity when some of the banquet hall staff escort him off the stage while Rebecca gives her big speech about the total amount raised. Not ready to face people yet, Roy heads to the back of house where it’ll be quiet enough for him to collect his thoughts and stop himself from fleeing the scene in a burst of ‘I’m not worth any of this’ panic where he runs before he can get hurt.
Roy doesn’t get a chance to track down Rebecca that night and demand to know who’s that much of an idiot with deep pockets. She’s escaped with Keeley for an ‘annual tradition’, which means that he has to wait.
That night, he gets a text from Tartt that just says: can’t wait to take you out, which Roy immediately deletes, rolling his eyes at Tartt’s inability to text the right person.
The next day, there’s another: r u ignoring me? fuck u. where do u want to go? That gets deleted too.
On Monday, three days after the auction, Tartt doesn’t settle for texts, but instead starts stalking after Roy for fuck knows what reason, seeing as Roy’s not the one who’s been misfiring texts all weekend and missing out on his fuckboy opportunities.
“Oi! Roy!”
“Not now, Tartt,” Roy growls, because he’s on a mission towards Rebecca’s office so he can finally find out who the fuck is apparently so loaded that they don’t have to think twice about blowing that much money on a sham date with an ex-footballer slash current gaffer.
Tartt doesn’t stop, though. He keeps pace with Roy, three steps behind like a ridiculous shadow, and when Roy stops, Tartt trips on his heels and collides with Roy, bracing himself with his hands on Roy’s hips like they’re biking in Amsterdam again.
There’s a shift of Tartt’s fingers, a soft press as he navigates his way out of the hold, and for just a second, Roy inhales a sharp breath of air and reminds himself that it’s just him missing physical contact – that’s all. It has nothing to do with the way Tartt is so careful and deft with his touch and how Roy doesn’t really mind it.
“Why’re you trying to set a land-speed walking record?” Tartt asks.
“Weren’t you there on Friday?” Tartt’s clueless look means that he missed the circus. “The auction? Some idiot bought me for ten thousand pounds.”
“Don’t think he’s an idiot, even if he could be brighter,” Tartt says with a furrow of his brow.
“...you know who won me?”
“Intimately,” Tartt replies with a cheeky smirk. “Say hello to your date, or at least, your date if you’d actually reply and tell me what you want to do.” He’s so fucking proud of himself with his little chin raise and Roy is ready to grab him and shove him away for taking the piss like this.
It figures that Tartt would see Roy freaking out and capitalise on it. “This isn’t the time, Tartt.”
“Uh, yeah, it is.” He hurries to get ahead of Roy, walking backwards so they’re face to face in this little conversation that keeps moving through the hallway. “I’m not joking. I’m the one who sent in the bid.”
“You’re not.”
Tartt presses his lips together, clearly fighting back the urge to be a prick. “You can’t canoe on the Nile river forever, Roy.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means,” he says pointedly, jamming his finger emphatically on his phone and turning it around so Roy can see the screen, “that I’m the one who bid on you so I could take you out on a date.”
He did, too. The screen has Tartt’s banking information on it, proving that he’s just wired ten thousand idiotic pounds to Rebecca Welton. In the notes section, it says: 4 roy kent ass
And here Roy had been thinking that Tartt’s been getting wiser with his age. Apparently that’s not the case, not if he just spent an obscene amount of money on Roy when they already spend time together three to four times a week.
“Why would you do that?” Roy demands, feeling very lost.
“Because I want to take you out on a date.”
“What, another night at the pub?”
“Maybe,” Tartt says with a shrug, and he’s only stopped walking because his back hit a wall and he and Roy both have nowhere to go. “Is that where you’d want to go on a first date?”
It’s all hitting Roy slowly, but now that they’ve stopped moving and there are no other distractions, Roy’s able to process what’s happened. “You’re serious,” he realises, staring at Tartt and his earnest puppy-dog eyes and the hopeful smile on his lips as he stares at Roy. “This isn’t a joke. You actually want to go out with me.”
“Have for two months,” Tartt confesses, reaching out to fix the collar of Roy’s black coach polo, still upturned from his frantic rush to get settled in and find Rebecca this morning. “Keeley and I figured that the timing worked out nicely for a grand gesture.”
“Ten thousand pounds worth of one?”
“There’s a tiny chance I ignored Keeley and went overboard,” Tartt says, though he doesn’t seem to mind. “Had to make sure that I didn’t lose you to the competition. Those old ladies want you carnally, you should’ve heard them talking about what they’d do to you.”
Roy’s not sure he wants to find out. His brain’s already in peril of going the way of his knee and breaking, especially since it’s also questioning what carnal things Tartt might want to do with him.
“Wait,” he says, as something else catches up with him. “Keeley?” he growls. “She knew about this?”
“Helped me plan it and all,” Tartt says proudly. “We had a really good talk about a month after you two broke up, and she helped me realise that maybe I could try. She’s always helped me be a better person. Now, I’m just hoping that maybe I’m good enough for you.”
Holy shit, Jamie Tartt is actually fucking serious. He wants to take Roy out on a date.
The truth is, he’s still not sure this isn’t some elaborate practical joke, but the earnest way Tartt talks about being a good man for Roy is enough to earn him a trial.
“Kebab place,” Roy says firmly. “Bring your kit, just in case I decide we’re gonna do some training.”
“On a date?” Tartt complains. “Are you actually that psychotic?”
“Just in case,” he grunts, head swimming with the reality that he’s actually saying yes to this weird fucking idea. He must be in some parallel universe, because Keeley helping her exes get together feels like the kind of thing that only happens when you step into an alternate universe where everyone’s got goatees and shit – and he’s including Keeley and Rebecca in that.
That doesn’t stop the thrilling rush that pulses through him at the idea of something new. He and Keeley just kept trying, always hitting the same end result.
Going out with Tartt is something he’s never done before and maybe that’s why Roy’s so willing to try. At least he doesn’t know how this story will end.
“This weekend,” Roy says, eyeing Jamie thoughtfully as he tries to imagine just what he’s getting into. “Pick me up at seven on Saturday. Yeah?”
Tartt’s smiling and it’s not his ‘I’m a huge fucking prick that needs the world to know it’. It’s softer. It’s almost sweet. It’s the smile Roy saw in Manchester when a little boy went home to his mother and got surrounded by nothing but love and pride.
Electric butterflies have apparently started moving into his stomach, shocking him with the nerves as he realises that he has absolutely no idea what’s coming next – but that he’s eager to find out.
“Seven,” Tartt agrees. “I’ll wear my kit and we’ll see how much you can make me sweat.”
Yup. There it is. Delayed, but finally present – the prick smirk.
Sadly, even that isn’t enough to dissuade Roy from going on a date with him. That’s when he should have figured out that he was a lost cause, but it’s not his fault that sometimes, he’s a little slow on the pitch.
He always gets there, and that’s all that matters.
NOW
Dani’s favourite night of the year is when they raise money for the children and give the community one wonderful date with each of the players and some of the staff. There are no losers, only beautiful love and that is what football is all about (when it’s not about life).
“Yet again, that is a stunning ten thousand pounds for Roy Kent, in what’s becoming a habit,” Rebecca announces to impressed applause, though much less shocked than last year. Dani is so proud that others are noticing just how incredible their coach is, which is why he’s whistling and clapping the loudest.
Roy doesn’t seem happy to walk off the stage and hand it over to Richard for his turn on the auction block. Not yet. He leans over to whisper something to Rebecca, which clearly delights her, from the sneaky and mysterious smile on her face.
“Don’t let me stop you.”
Then, the unthinkable happens.
Dani crosses himself as Roy Kent actively takes a microphone to willingly speak. He does it for the press, of course, but this is a banquet with people who have nothing to do with his career. Dani leans back to smack O’Brien and Bumbercatch to get their attention, nodding towards the stage.
Whatever is about to happen is clearly very important.
“Right,” Roy grunts. “Don’t know why we have to do it like this, but I figured you should all know who it is that’s bidding thousands of pounds on me, seeing as it’s pretty important to me.”
“We’re finally meeting Roy’s sugar mama,” Zoreaux announces with glee, rubbing his hands together.
There’s a long pause as Roy nods to someone in the crowd, and then reaches a hand down to pull them up on stage. Dani cranes his neck to see who it is, but it’s not a mystery for very long when the person turns and the spotlight illuminates him.
In a tight-fitting silver suit with a bright powder blue button-down, stands Jamie Tartt.
“Don’t let him convince you otherwise,” Jamie says into the microphone, leaning in. “He’s worth every note.”
When he straightens up, he cups Roy’s face with both hands and then leaves a lingering kiss to each of his cheeks before adjusting to stand on stage with him, a hand possessively on the small of his back. The microphone has fallen a bit to the side, but it catches just a bit of their conversation.
“...gonna have a repeat of last year?”
“Fuck last year. I want more than twenty minutes.”
“Maybe if you ask really nicely, I could start in the coat room.”
Roy doesn’t say a word, but everyone in the hall hears the little growl he gives in response, which is one that Dani doesn’t recognise – a strange thing, honestly. He thought he’d heard them all at training, but this one is new.
Jamie eases back from whispering in Roy’s ear, but his hand stays on Roy’s back as he pivots towards the audience. “This means hands off, and I’m looking at you, Helen,” Jamie says pointedly to one of the oldest donors in the room (who’d already won Colin, much to his panic). “Nobody’s touching Roy Kent these days but me.”
This is so perfect. This is wonderful. Dani clutches his hands over his heart.
“Even when Jamie’s moved on to play for Chelsea, they’re still the best of amigos!” he says, thrilled that Jamie’s heart is still where it belongs – with Richmond and its head coach. “Ten thousand pounds, Jamie is really making sure he’s taking care of the children.”
There’s a round of agreement and nods from the table.
Dani watches with shining pride as Jamie keeps possessively touching Roy, pleased with the prize he’s won. His hand goes to Roy’s hand, his neck, his arm, his hip, and then settles on the small of his back again as they linger on the stage while Richard prepares for his auction and Rebecca quickly updates the room on their goal.
“...thank you, Jamie, for raising the stakes yet again,” Rebecca is saying. Jamie’s barely listening, staring at Roy like he hung the moon.
Dani understands – the positive influence of someone so important in your life can make all the difference. He looks at some of the team like that sometimes, too, with hearts in his eyes and stars, too.
“Pleasure to finally claim what’s mine,” Jamie says with a cheeky smirk, all while Roy rolls his eyes behind him, cuffing him at the back of his neck and holding on. Jamie doesn’t seem to mind, leaning back into that hold. “Richard’s next, right? Let’s see someone outbid me,” he challenges. “I know it’s a bit of an ask, having to go on a date with a Frenchman, but it’s for the children, obviously.”
“For the children,” Roy grunts in agreement, scraping his nails at the back of Jamie’s neck, which makes him jump a little on stage as his head impulsively falls back.
The angle of where Dani’s sitting means he doesn’t get a good look at Jamie’s face when he whirls on Roy, but it’s all in good fun, yes? He can’t be that mad, Dani’s sure.
Then, they’re being nudged off the stage by Rebecca and Dani’s attention immediately moves on to Richard (and the very interesting bidding war happening in what looks like a very interesting recreation of the Hundred Years’ War, what with the beautiful French model and the English influencer fighting over him when there’s no need, because they can share, can’t they?)
Dani tells himself that he’ll find Jamie and Roy later to wish them the very best on their charity date and maybe even ask if they wouldn’t mind some company.
Or, at least, he means to.
The night sprints forward and soon the alcohol and the good times blur the dancing and the drinking and the friendship together and before he knows it, Dani’s waiting outside to get in a cab with Richard and Zoreaux.
“Come on, man, we’re gonna be late for the after-party,” Zoreaux complains, lunging towards Dani to yank on his hand. “There’s going to be aerialists there!”
“I wanted to say goodbye to Jamie and Roy!”
“No one’s seen them since after the auction,” Richard says, absently scrolling through his phone. “Maybe they’re settling the account with Rebecca.”
Dani frowns, casting one last look over his shoulder. It hasn’t been the same ever since Jamie left them, and he’d been hoping that tonight would be like old times, but instead, Jamie’s been acting like the entire world stops and starts with Roy Kent, and he’s forgotten about his old team.
It’s not that he’s jealous, he misses him, that’s all.
“Fine,” Dani relents, climbing into the cab. “I’m sure he’ll remember to spend time with us eventually.”
The whole team knows that Jamie’s always had a special place in his heart for Roy. Who are they to deny him that deep and loving friendship?
“Coach!”
When Sam had received the reservation list for tonight, he’d seen Roy’s name with a note from the hostess that he’s celebrating an anniversary, which only begs a dozen more questions, but Sam thinks he should start with the basics.
“How are you tonight?”
Roy grunts as he hands over his coat. “Be better if my date were here,” he says, eyeing the lobby.
So it’s a romantic anniversary and not a work one. It’s helpful information he files away, wondering how he missed the start of a new romantic relationship. Roy and Keeley have been very clear about their new platonic friendship, but Sam hasn’t noticed Roy with anyone. Maybe he missed something at the auction while he was doing interviews?
He feels like the team would have told him if a beautiful girlfriend suddenly turned up on Roy’s arm, though.
“Let me show you to your table,” Sam says, taking hold of a few menus.
“The private one?”
“Exactly as requested,” Sam agrees, and holds Roy’s chair out for him. “Can I get you anything?”
“Can you make someone appear out of thin air?”
That’s a talent Sam has, sadly, not mastered.
“Thought so,” Roy grunts, his eyes trained on the door. “I’ll take a bottle of red and one of your nicer champagnes. I’ve got a bit of grovelling left from the whole head trauma incident.” Sam’s about to walk away when Roy reaches out for his hand. “Make that two bottles.”
That’s more grovelling than Sam’s ever had to do, but at least Roy can afford it. He makes a quick detour to Roy’s waitress to put the order in and heads back to the front of the restaurant so he can greet his patrons.
It’s his absolute favourite thing to do and it means more to be able to do it with all the highs and lows that have come of making Ola’s an institution.
The city agrees, too, because business has been absolutely booming.
“Oi, Sam, looking full tonight.”
Sam turns to find Jamie behind the next couple at the host stand, wearing a very smart charcoal blazer on top of a pair of relaxed jeans. His button down is maybe two buttons undone too many, but that’s quickly outdone by the sheer black that’s almost see-through and is attention-grabbing in its own way.
He must have come from a date, looking like that.
“Jamie,” Sam greets him, ducking around the stand to give him a fond hug. “It’s been too long!” Ever since he finished his loan and completed his trade to Chelsea, they don’t see him enough unless it’s on the pitch. It’s unfortunate that Sam’s going to have to be the bearer of bad news. “I don’t have any seats for you, though,” he apologises. “We’re full tonight and the bar is already occupied.”
“Don’t worry about me, I see my seat right over there,” he promises, pointing inside towards the back of the restaurant to the private table Sam keeps for celebrities and people who want privacy.
Which is, of course, the table that’s currently seating Roy Kent and his anniversary date, who has yet to show up. The waitress has been back three times to refill water and offer bread, but every time Roy had patiently insisted that his date would show up, according to the gossip she’d told Sam.
It’s very nice of Jamie to come and be there for Roy when he’s been stood up.
“Can I take your jacket?” Sam offers, which is apparently the right thing to say.
Jamie clearly takes pleasure in shedding the jacket and standing there in his gauzy barely-a-fabric shirt, which does force Sam to avert his gaze before he sees more nipples from Jamie than he has in months. In a locker room, it’s different, but they’re in public.
“I know the way,” Jamie promises, clapping Sam on the back. “Don’t let me keep you from the rest of your patrons.” His eyes haven’t left Roy since Sam’s taken his jacket, and he makes a beeline for the back. “This seat taken?” he asks Roy – barely audible above the din in the restaurant, but Sam has a prime eavesdropping spot from the coat closet.
Roy grunts and though Sam can’t see him, he can imagine the glare. “It is for pricks who aren’t over fifteen minutes late.”
“Bet I can make it up to you.”
“Why? You got a time machine?”
“No, but I’ve got…”
“Sam!” Simi calls from the kitchen, preventing him from hearing Jamie’s full reply. “There’s an issue with table three! They want to meet world famous Sam Obisanya and they absolutely won’t take no for an answer.”
Sam turns back to the kitchen to shoot a chiding look to his staff. “We’ve talked about what constitutes an issue before. Yes?”
“Yes, Sam,” comes the chorus of agreement, though none of them look particularly chastened or upset.
It never gets old, being in this place where he can make his favourite food and serve it to the people of London. This is the dream he spent so long working towards and he’s grateful that he can have a night like this, where the dining room is full and people make Ola’s a part of their lives.
On his way out to greet his fans, Sam spares one last look at the private table, noticing that Roy’s ordered a second bottle of wine for him and Jamie and the two of them look relaxed and happy.
Sam’s grateful that even though Roy might not be on the anniversary date he expected, at least Jamie is there for him.
“Oh my god, you’re really Sam!” the woman at table three announces and suddenly, Sam doesn’t have time to focus on Roy’s love life.
That’s something he can deal with, tomorrow.
After the reservation incident, Sam’s been looking for an opportunity to get Roy alone to talk to him and offer his condolences about his date standing him up. Today, though, the locker room is abuzz with chaos and Roy is busy writing plays on the whiteboard, which means Sam won’t get a chance for some time. Until then, he lets the ebb and flow of the conversation wash over him.
“Did you see the news?” Dani asks excitedly.
“That’s not news,” Isaac says firmly. “No speculation in this locker room!”
“It is news! Lust Conquers All is doing a redemption season, bringing back old faces, familiar villains, and fan-favourites.” Dani’s exuberance catches quickly in the locker room as they rush around him to look at his phone.
The sound of a marker screeching on the whiteboard catches everyone’s attention.
“Coach?” Colin asks tentatively. “You okay?”
He grunts and doesn’t turn around, but he hasn’t started writing again. “They say who they wanted back on the redemption season?”
“Rheanna from the second season and Ashligh,” Dani reads. “I loved her so much, she was so kind to those ferrets in the topless challenge.” The room quickly agrees. “I think this is just a wishlist, though. Oh! And, look! Our number one amigo, Jamie Tartt!”
Sam watches as Roy grips the marker a little tighter. “Speculation isn’t fucking allowed,” he growls. “Unless that’s a reputable news site, no more talk about Tartt going back to get his dick wet in a hot tub.”
“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the hot tub getting it wet,” Colin says, even if the last bit of his sentence sort of fades away, what with Roy throwing a marker at his head, going wide by a few inches. “That could’ve hit me!”
“It was meant to,” Roy snaps. “Phones off, no more talk about Jamie’s dick in other women when I'm in the room. You ought to know better,” is his fierce growl.
There’s a resounding chorus of apologies that get more subdued and hushed as they continue, eventually drowning out to nothing as Beard and Nate enter the room.
“Do I want to know?” asks Beard.
“Gossip and rank speculation,” Roy says, eyeing each and every one of the players with a sharp look. Sam doesn’t blame him for being in a bad mood. He’s been stood up and now they’re talking about all the sex that Jamie might have if he goes back on television (though Sam can’t imagine he would make that mistake again).
Beard raises both brows. “Would that happen to be related to the article that popped up on my romantic reality show subreddit?”
“I will fucking fire you,” Roy warns.
“I’m not sure you can?” Nate pipes up, eyeing Beard warily. “You’re on reality television subreddits?”
“You’re not?”
Once, as a child, Sam spent an entire week scared of a fire demon because of a story another kid at school told. The demon had eyes of pure fiery hatred and could lash you to death with its tongue. In this moment, Sam realises that Roy Kent is scarier than any childhood monster, which Nate seems to agree with, given how he shrinks back.
“Odds are a hundred to one he goes back, I think you’re fine.”
Roy grabs another marker (while Colin braces with a towel for impact), but instead of throwing it, Roy very emphatically puts it down.
“We are all going to be very professional today,” he says. “We are going to train and we aren’t going to talk about Jamie, because that’s a conversation that I’m gonna have later, at my own discretion, and we’re gonna make those odds a million to one.”
Sam frowns as he wonders why Roy would have such an investment in Jamie returning to a reality show, but given all the hard work they’d put in over the last year and change, he can only imagine he doesn’t want to see Jamie throw it away.
“Everyone outside, now!” Roy commands, and no one is willing to disobey that order, not today.
Sam wants to linger behind and ask about what happened at the restaurant, but given Roy’s mood, he thinks that he shouldn’t tousle with the fire demon if he values his own life.
Only a day later, Sam is in luck – Roy is in a much better mood.
Though, despite the lightness on his face, his body is clearly suffering given the way he’s limping through the locker room. The hush that falls over the room is instantaneous, only dispelling when Roy turns the corner to go into the office.
“Think he’s okay?”
“By the look of his gait, his knee’s probably bothering him,” Jan says knowingly. “Maybe the pain is why he was so terrible yesterday. It’s probably his old age. Even training must take it out on him.”
“Oi,” Roy growls, making everyone in the locker room freeze.
Sam glances up warily, as guilty as the rest because they hadn’t thought that he’d still been in earshot.
“I’m not fucking broken from training.” Roy uses one of the markers to poke it emphatically towards every player in the room. “I’m still in the prime of my life and my knees may make more noises than a fucking New Year’s Eve party, but I’m not over the final hill yet.”
“Why are you limping then, Coach?” Bumbercatch asks.
Roy grunts, like he hadn’t thought that far ahead about having to answer. He mutters something under his breath that Sam doesn’t catch.
No one does, given the way they all lean in.
“I didn’t hear what you…”
“Sex, okay! There was a fight, then there was the make-up sex and we’d just had our anniversary. Things got a bit athletic, there were ropes involved, and my knee tweaked. Happy?”
Sam doesn’t think anyone is, given that now everyone has a horrified look on their faces, because they’ve now had to construct the mental image of Roy Kent having sex with bondage and various sexual positions involved.
“Ten minutes and if you’re not on the pitch, I’m tying up dicks,” Roy warns, storming off and clearly in a worse mood than he’d been when he arrived.
“So, do we really think he…?” Zoreaux whispers, once Roy’s out of the room.
The team exchanges looks. Twenty seconds pass as the last of the mental images clear from their minds.
Then: “Nah.”
“Nope.”
“He wishes.”
“Maybe if he were still with Keeley.”
“There was that one drill, though.”
Sam’s mind jumps back to the anniversary reservation in the restaurant’s books. Suddenly, Sam feels all the blood drain from his face as the epiphany hits him. His eyes follow where Roy’s made it to the coach’s office, accepting an ice pack from Beard and going red at something they’re saying.
All that time, he’d thought maybe it was just Jamie showing up for his old coach to support him. He hadn’t considered the obvious thing, but now that there are more clues, they finally piece together.
The auction when Jamie bought Roy, the anniversary dinner, and Roy’s reaction to Jamie potentially going back on a dating show – Sam doesn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that Roy Kent is dating Jamie Tartt.
The others have moved on to sharing their worst sex injuries, but Sam’s mind is still churning over the secret he’s just discovered. Clearly, it’s not something that they want to talk about, but Roy doesn’t need to worry about Sam saying a word.
His secret is safe with him.