She's the Man / Roy Kent

Chapter twenty.

   Unfortunately, whilst her stance was comfortable, the topic of this morning's discussion was headache inducing.

"I can't believe it's happening," Keeley murmured under her breath, a heady mixture of awe and incredulity layering her words. "The whole idea of it has got me going like. . . blaaa!" The blonde started shrieking and shaking to personify her state of complete and utter disbelief.

   The movement caused Ada's resting head to jostle rather aggressively.

   And it made Rebecca, who was sitting beside them with Ada's legs stretched out across her own, let out a laugh. "Oh, stop! You getting all. . . blaaa!" The woman mimicked the shrieking routine. "Is just fear getting in the way of what you deserve."

    Keeley frowned. "Are you making fun of me with my. . . blaaa?"

    Ada jolted once more.

   "Of course not," Rebecca assured, absentmindedly patting the long legs strewn across her lap. "It's just that, well, you went. . . blaaa!" More shrieking. "And I thought I can't improve on that. I'm just gonna have to replicate it."

    "Aw, thank you." Keeley blushed.

    Ada rolled her eyes. "I'm not getting enough attention right now. How about you thank me?"

    Keeley's green eyes immediately flickered downwards, and the gratitude shining within them was a blinding thing.

   "Thank you," The young blonde expressed before leaning down and pecking her lips. "I know this is gonna feel like hell for you--"

   "Definitely." Ada nodded, shooting Keeley a teasing smile. "But it won't be too bad. I get to talk about football this time, innit?"

   That was the only consolation, really.

   The fact that the answers would be hers.

   The fact that the topic meant something.

Rebecca watched them with a fond smile, one which brightened significantly as Ted Lasso made his grand entrance.

"Bing-bong, you ding-dongs!" The American boisterously greeted, a pink box of shortbread in his hand and a wide grin on his face.

"Man." Ada pointed at him.

He pointed back. "Little lady."

Rebecca shook her head. "Ted--"

He pointed again. "Rebecca."

    "Ted," She repeated in exasperated amusement. "Guess who's going to be mentioned in Vanity Fair as a female publicist on the rise?"

    "I finally got it?" Ted's eyes widened. "This is incredible! I can't--"

    Ada snorted under her breath and sat up on the plush, velvet sofa.

    "Ted." Rebecca snipped, not unkindly. "Not you, obviously. It's Keeley."

     "Oh, well, that makes more sense." He nodded. "Hey, congrats, Keeley. That's going to be a Vanity Fair to remember."

    Keeley blushed for the hundredth time that morning. "Thank you, Ted." And then she wrapped an arm around Ada. "I owe it all to the best best friend a girl can have."

    Ted tilted his head.

   Rebecca noticed his confusion and took the liberty of explaining. "Keeley Jones is being acknowledged in the credits of Vanity Fair's sports issue because she managed to get the most unattainable woman to agree to both an interview and a cover shoot."