Chapter Text
Jamie could hardly believe it when he got the DM from A.F.C. Richmond’s social media intern letting him know he’d won a ticket to their Tenth Annual Benefit for Underprivileged Children. He’d entered the contest, which simply entailed liking one of the club’s Instagram posts and tagging a friend in the comments, with less than zero hope or expectation of actually winning. He probably wouldn’t have even bothered; only the photo carousel included a photo of Roy Kent looking fit as fuck in a black suit, shirt, and tie at the previous year’s gala. Jamie reckoned he didn’t have anything to lose by giving it a shot.
By the time Jamie found out he was the lucky winner, the gala was only a few weeks away, which is not as much time as he’d normally like to decide on an outfit for a special occasion. Fortunately, Jamie has a velvet dinner jacket and coordinating suit trousers that he got for a steal at a consignment store to wear to Georgie and Simon’s wedding a couple of years ago, and both pieces still fit like a glove, so he doesn’t have to scramble to find something appropriate to wear.
With no need to go shopping for a new outfit, there’s nothing else for Jamie to do to prepare but get his hair trimmed, which he does about two weeks prior to the event to ensure his hair will be at the perfect length the day of. Jamie stays so busy with school and work that he barely has time to even think about the gala, which is probably for the best, since it also means he has no time to overthink it He’s a bit nervous and a lot excited about being at the same party as Roy Kent, though of course he’s under no illusion that he'll actually get to meet Roy. He just hopes he’ll get close enough to get a good look at him.
Before he knows it, the day of the gala has arrived. Jamie has class until mid-afternoon, and then he races home to get ready. He takes a shower, does his skincare routine, and styles his hair carefully. He even puts in a pair of daily disposable contacts in lieu of wearing his glasses. He can’t even recall the last time he did that, but thankfully, the lenses aren’t expired.
Once he finishes up in the bathroom, he heads to his closet, where his outfit–a burgundy velvet dinner jacket, white button-down shirt, and black trousers–is hanging up, already pressed and ready to wear. He dresses methodically, making sure everything is lying just right, then puts on his watch and rings. Last but not least, he carefully ties his bow tie, sending a mental thank you to Simon for teaching him how years ago. Finally, he checks his reflection in the full-length mirror he keeps propped against his bedroom wall, and is pleased with what he sees. Thankfully, he’s gotten plenty of sleep this week and doesn’t have the dark circles under his eyes he’s prone to getting when that’s not the case.
He checks the time and realizes that the car that’s being sent to pick him up will arrive in about 15 minutes. He puts on his dress shoes and makes sure he has his wallet, phone, and keys. Then, there’s nothing to do but wait.
He bounces up and down while giving his arms and hands a quick shake. Shaking his sillies out, Mummy always used to call it. It helps with his nerves and makes him feel more grounded in his body. Then, he takes a quick mirror selfie and flops down on his sofa to wait for his driver for the evening to message him letting him know he’s arrived. He sends the photo to Mummy along with a text that says, “Wish me luck tonight!”
Mummy replies immediately with, “Have so much fun tonight, baby! I can’t wait to hear all about it soon. Keeping my fingers crossed for a Roy Kent encounter for you!!!” followed by a string of emojis (praying hands, fingers crossed, candle, and sparkles.)
It’s less than five minutes later when his phone vibrates with a message from his driver letting him know he’s parked on the street in front of Jamie’s building. Jamie timed getting ready just right, and thank goodness the club arranged transportation for him. He would have really had to rush if he had to factor in time to take the Tube or a rideshare to the venue.
His driver is a friendly, chatty bloke, so the half hour ride passes quickly enough. Someone named Higgins from A.F.C. Richmond meets him at the curb where he’s dropped off, a short walk from the building. Higgins seems nice enough, though he’s emanating a bit of nervous energy, talking fast as he welcomes Jamie on behalf of the club and leads him towards the entrance.
They walk right past the red carpet on their way, but don’t actually go on it, since they aren’t the VIPs here. But a stroke of good luck has them passing by just as Roy speed walks across the carpet, flipping off the photographers who’ve gathered to take photos of the players and their dates as he tells them, “No. No. Fuck off. Fuck you. No. No.” Roy looks so fucking sexy in his black suit, shirt, and tie. Even if this is as close as he gets to Roy all night, Jamie will consider this evening well worth it.
Once Higgins ushers him inside, it’s a whirlwind of being introduced to Ms. Welton, the owner of the team, and the new Manager, Ted Lasso. Ms. Welton is even more gorgeous in person than on TV and in photographs, and she’s polite to Jamie, if not especially warm. Coach Lasso, on the other hand, is very warm, but Jamie feels like he only understands maybe a third of what he says between his accent, fast talking, and liberal use of metaphors and pop culture references. He even gets to meet a few players, including Sam Obisanya, who Jamie immediately likes. He’s exceedingly kind, but it feels like the most genuine interaction he’s had all night. Jamie hopes he’ll find his footing in the Premier League. He strongly suspects Sam is a far better player than he’s shown thus far.
Then there’s dinner, and drinks. Jamie is shown to a seat at table four, and it’s a bit awkward not knowing anyone. He says hello and introduces himself, but only gets a few perfunctory nods and forced smiles in response. No one really tries to talk to him, and the conversations happening in the seats on either side of him aren’t particularly interesting to listen in on, either. Jamie strongly suspects that as one of the least important guests in attendance, he’s been seated at The Boring Table.
What the table lacks in engaging conversation, it makes up for in proximity to Roy Kent’s table. Roy’s at table nine, which is diagonal to Jamie’s table, and one row closer to the stage. Jamie’s seat faces the stage, while Roy is seated at the side of his table, giving Jamie a pretty good view of Roy’s profile. Also seated at Roy’s table are Lasso, who’s sitting next to a man whose name Jamie does not know, but who he’s pretty sure is Richmond’s kitman. The rest of the group is rounded out by Jeff Goodman, Richard Montlaur, and Keeley Jones, who appears to be Richard’s date. Good for him.
Once the party is in full swing, Rupert Mannion takes the stage to start the auction and turns on the charm, or tries to, at any rate. Something about the man gives Jamie the ick, but he applauds politely whenever the rest of the audience does. The first team players get called up one by one, and Jamie is shocked by how much some of the players go for. He can’t imagine being able to pay anywhere between five thousand and twenty thousand pounds for a single date without so much as batting an eye, but that’s exactly what these rich people are doing.
Finally, it’s Roy’s turn to be auctioned off, and Jamie reckons he’ll go for the highest amount of the night. He’s Roy Fucking Kent, after all. The fittest player on the team and a football legend to boot. No one else on this mediocre, mid-table team can hold a candle to Roy.
The room applauds for Roy as he takes the stage, and then Mannion introduces him: “And now, the only former Champions League winner on the menu, say hello to Roy Kent.”
More applause follows, and then Mannion continues, “And the highest bidder gets to spend a day at a swanky hotel by the pool drinking frozen daiquiris and soaking up the rays…”
Roy grabs the microphone to interrupt, “No, we said there's no daiquiris and no rays,” which gets a laugh from most of the guests.
But not from Rupert, who responds with an “Um…”
Roy takes advantage of the pause to add, “There's not gonna be a fսcking pool either. We're not leaving SW14.”
Rupert carries on, asking, “Well, can we have one hundred quid for what's turning out to be a very boring date?”
A gorgeous dark-haired woman seated at the table next to Jamie’s raises her paddle and says, “One hundred pounds!”
A few seconds pass, and no one else speaks up. So Jamie raises his paddle. “250,” he counters.
The woman who started off the bidding comes back with 300. Jamie goes up to 350. They go back and forth that way, each slowly increasing their bids until they pass the thousand-pound mark. Jamie has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. He’s not likely to win, can’t afford to even if he does, but it’s like he’s outside his body and watching himself continually raise his paddle and increase his bid in an attempt to win the date with Roy.
The gorgeous woman bids 1,500 pounds. Jamie bids 1,750. She bids 1,800, so he bids 1,900. She comes back with 1,995.
“Any advance on 1,995 pounds?” Rupert asks bemusedly. Jamie’s competitor catches his eye and winks at him. He’s not sure what to make of being winked at by the person he’s trying to outbid for a date with Roy Kent, but he decides in that moment to come back with his best and highest offer, and to admit defeat if he’s outbid. He takes a breath, raises his paddle one more time, and says, “2,500 pounds!” with a confidence he doesn’t feel.
But for the first time, his bid is met with silence. After a few seconds, Mannion says, “Going once? Going twice? Okay, sold to…” Rupert pauses, clearly realizing that this is the first winner he doesn’t know by name. Someone comes over from the side of the stage to whisper in his ear, then Rupert nods, and continues, “...Jamie Tartt, who, in addition to winning a date with our Captain Roy Kent, also won the club’s social media contest to be A.F.C. Richmond’s special guest at tonight’s benefit!”
The crowd applauds, and the next player is called up to the stage. Jamie is in a state of shock for the remainder of the gala. The rest of the auction and the musical entertainment that follows pass him by in a blur. He never expected to actually outbid the woman at table six, but it was fucking Roy. He had to try. Somewhere underneath the shock, Jamie’s probably also very excited, but when his driver comes to collect him and drive him back to his crappy flat he can barely afford, the reality of what he’s just done sets in. He really hopes this date with Roy is worth living off ramen and beans on toast for the foreseeable future.