pinky promise - jamie tartt

‟ THAT'S MY COACH „

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

"Why the fuck are you makin' me drive you here?"

"I'm not making you drive me anywhere." Tate rolled her eyes, glancing only briefly at Jamie as she continued to watch the way too expensive houses pass by. "I'm perfectly fine taking a cab."

"Are you tryin' to get kidnapped?" Jamie's tone was incredulous, and Tate couldn't help but snort at the honest concern he showed for her safety.

"How common do you think kidnapping is?" She grinned, twisting her body to face him as Jamie slowed his car down to a stop. He shrugged, face pinched in thought about his answer.

"Probably a lot, 'else Liam Neeson wouldn't have made all those movies, would he?" He decided, acting as if he had won the argument. Tate snorted, pinching his cheek playfully as she opened the car door and climbed out.

"Are you coming or are you going to pout in the car?"

"I don't pout." He rolled his eyes, unbuckling his seatbelt. She grinned, not waiting for him to catch up as she made her way up the familiar path to the front door. She heard Jamie grumbling behind her, but she ignored him, and instead opted to knock.

"You totally pout," She taunted the moment the door swung open, not giving Jamie the opportunity to defend himself, though he twisted to look at her, face pulled in disbelief at her words.

"Fuck off," Roy Kent, the owner of the expensive house, exclaimed the moment he realized just who stood on his doorstep, though he didn't shut the door in her face, which she knew was a good sign.

"Hi, Uncle Roy." Tate beamed, hands shoved in her pockets as the cold bit into her skin the longer she remained outside. "Can we come in?"

"You can," Roy nodded at her, then pointed at Jamie with his thumb without looking at him. "But your stray dog needs to be tied up outside."

"Funny," Jamie countered, his tone flat.

"That actually was kinda funny," Tate grinned, slipping past Roy into the house in search of warmth. Jamie let out an offended noise, clearly unhappy at her leaving him outside. "C'mon, Jamie, Roy won't actually bite."

"I might,"

"No, you won't," She rolled her eyes, hiding her amusement at the cautious look Jamie was appraising Roy with. When he didn't make a move to step over the threshold, she groaned in annoyance and reached out to grab his hand, physically tugging him inside and past Roy.

"I don't want him in my fucking house." Roy declared, as if it wasn't already obvious. Tate dropped Jamie's hand the second he was inside, blaming the color on her cheeks due to the time spent outside in the cold.

"It'll only be for a few minutes," Tate clasped her hands together, pleadingly, her bottom lip stuck out dramatically—if Roy was going to be a child about it, so could she. "Please?"

"You try telling her no, mate," Jamie attempted to argue his case, earning what could only be described as a Roy Kent growl from his former captain. "It's not possible."

"Fucking fine!" Roy yelled, shutting his front door and retreating further into the house, not bothering to turn and see if they were following him. "But he's not allowed on the couch."

"Deal," Tate agreed, quickly tracing Roy's steps and ignoring Jamie's offended stare for the second time since they had gotten out of the car. "I need to ask a favor from you."

"Be quick about it; I have to pick up Phoebe from school in twenty minutes." Roy grumbled, halting his retreat in the kitchen. Tate nodded, leaning against the island table while Jamie stood half a step behind her, clearly uncomfortable with being in Roy's house.