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“Oi. Jamie.” Keeley snaps her fingers twice under his nose and Jamie’s head flies up.
“What?” He hasn’t been listening to a word she says, but that’s nothing new, and it’s never seemed to bother her before. She doesn’t look bothered now, actually. She looks amused, which in Jamie’s experience is rarely a good sign.
“What are you smiling at?” Oh, shit. Was he smiling? To Jamie’s credit, he was trying to look like he was listening. While he searches for an answer, his eyes flick back down to the phone in his lap, still open to the most recent notification.
LAG152: Crazy day at work today, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Maybe we should meet…
“Nothing,” he says. It sounds stupid, but he plasters on a smile, hoping to ease past this awkwardness. Keeley raises an eyebrow, and when he doesn’t go on, bursts out laughing.
“You’re a terrible liar.” His smile drops into a scowl, which only makes her laugh harder. “Come on, seriously.” The howling laughter ceases and she wipes a tear from the corner of her eye.
“I’ve never seen you so secretive about something before. Not even when you cheated on me. Out with it.” Jamie glances down at his phone and back up at Keeley. He sighs and extends the phone across Keeley’s desk to hand it to her. She grabs it eagerly, like a child on Christmas.
“It’s this girl,” mumbles Jamie as she reads. “We matched up about two weeks ago, and I haven’t been able to stop talking with her since. It’s just…” His hands fidget in his lap. “She thinks I’m funny, right? And nice, and cool, and maybe even a little smart, or at least not stupid. She thinks I’m all those things and she doesn’t even know I’m me.”
“That’s because you are all of those things, Jamie.” Keeley smiles softly, her face illuminated by the glowing screen. As she scrolls, the smile grows wider. “When you’re not trying so hard to be a dickhead, you are all those things.” Now it’s Jamie’s turn to smile. He wasn’t sure what things would be like with her, after all the missteps they took in their relationship. He likes this better than when they were dating. It’s easier. The talking was the part he liked the most, no matter how fantastic the sex was, and it’s better now that he’s not quite the same Jamie Tartt he was when they dated. Whatever her new boyfriend might have to say.
“So.” Keeley places the phone back in front of him. “What do you think? Are you going to meet them?”
“I dunno.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You said you haven’t been able to stop talking to them.”
“Yeah, exactly. What if we meet, and she’s not the same in person that she is online? What if… well, I mean, what if I’m not… what if I’m not the same person I am online?” His eyes focus on that last message. “What if all those things she thinks I am go away once she realizes I am me?”
“Jamie.” Keeley reaches her hands out across the desk, and Jamie warily places each of his on top of hers. “I say this with all the love and faith in the world in you: get a grip.” Jamie’s brow furrows.
“You don’t have to be rude about it, you know-”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m just saying… you’ve got to stop thinking of yourself that way. You can’t just see yourself as Jamie the football star, or Jamie the arsehole.”
“But I-”
“Yes, Jamie. I know you are a football star, and I know you were-” She glares pointedly. “-an arsehole. But for the purposes of meeting this person, you’ve got to see yourself the way she does. Just a guy. A smart, funny, cool guy, but just a guy nonetheless.”
“Just a guy,” Jamie repeats. As far as he can remember, he’s never been ‘just a guy’. He’s Jamie Tartt (doo-dooooo-doo-doo) and he’s a footballer for the ages. He’s Jamie Tartt, and he’s the asshole who Man City wouldn’t take back. He’s Jamie Tartt, and he’s an imposter to this girl who doesn’t know about Man City or the way he treated Sam and Nate or Lust Conquers All and therefore likes him much more than she should.
But it is also very possible that Keeley, as she always has been, is right. It’s very possible that Jamie has spent too long avoiding normalcy to return to it. And it is more than possible, it is certain, it is fact, that Jamie likes this girl so much more than he ever thought he could like someone, especially without ever seeing their face. And that means more than Man City and his former antics and Lust Conquers All combined.
“Alright,” he says at last, but makes no move. His expression turns quizzical as he looks back down at his phone. “But what do I say?”
“Haven’t you ever been asked out on a date before?”
“Duh. But that was mostly just girls askin’ me to sign their-” He gestures vaguely at his chest. “-and then us going back to her place. Or my place. Or a hotel. Or, one time, a yurt on this commune-”
“Jamie.”
“Sorry. Point is, I’m no good at this. Help me?” Keeley sighs and holds out her hand for the phone, which Jamie hands over eagerly.
“ ‘Sounds great,’ ” she narrates as she types, her long and sparkly fingernails clacking loudly on the screen. “ ‘Pick a time and a place, and I’ll meet you there.’ ” There is a low whoosh as her message sends. “There. Now all you have to do is wait, and they’ll handle the rest. You’ve got the easy part. You’ve just got to show up.”
You’ve got the easy part. You’ve just got to show up.
“Horseshit,” Jamie says out loud to himself, staring through the rain-soaked windshield at the restaurant whose address he had never seen before it popped up on his phone. It had only taken LAG152 maybe two minutes to reply to the message Keeley sent, ten times the amount of time Jamie has spent sitting in this cab, debating whether or not to go in. His view is so blurred by the rain he can’t see anyone inside, just vague shapes silhouetted by the lights inside. For right now, that is all she is, a blurry form separated from him by two panes of glass and a heavy downpour. He imagines her sipping a glass of wine at the bar, glancing down at her phone every few minutes to see if Jamie has messaged her again, or bothered to explain why he’s running so late. She hasn’t messaged him yet, and his stomach wraps itself in a knot. Maybe she’s given up already, decided that twenty minutes was long enough to wait and he isn’t worth any more of her time. Jamie looks down at his suit, at the wrinkles that have begun to form from sitting in one place so long. He is helpless to move, however, and so he does not brush them away. His phone pings.
KEELEY: Go inside.
Jamie glances around, as if she might be staring over his shoulder.
JAMIE: Are you stalking me?
KEELEY: I know you. Go inside.
It’s as if a switch has been flipped in his brain.
“Thanks, mate,” he says, and hands the cabbie his fare, plus an extra tip for idling outside the restaurant for so long. Outside the car, the rain is freezing, and even though he runs from the car park to the door, he’s sure his hair is a mess. But he’s done it, and that’s what matters, he’s gotten out of the car and-
That’s odd.
As he scans the restaurant, there are people scattered at a few tables, but no women by themselves. None at the bar, either, or waiting around by the entrance. No women who could be the one that Jamie’s supposed to be meeting. His face falls into the scowl that became his trademark a long time ago.
“Sir?” The hostess approaches him. “Do you have a reservation?”
“I-” And he realizes the answer is no, he doesn’t. He doesn’t have a reservation, because she made it, and he doesn’t even know her name to ask if she’s arrived. “No,” he says at last, and forces a thin smile. “I’m just going to the bar.” He skirts her as quickly as he can, and cringes as soon as he’s out of view. He shouldn’t have been so short, it’s not her fault that his date is even later than he is. He just wants to go, but to walk out as soon as he walks in would be giving up. Not to mention that it’s very possible she just also happens to be running late. Or sitting in her car debating whether or not to come in. Before, he might have walked out with his head up. Nobody makes Jamie Tartt wait, he might have said. But he’s not that guy anymore, he must remind himself. He’ll wait for this girl. But that hostess doesn’t have to know he’s waiting, nor does anyone else in this silly restaurant, where Jamie is suddenly beginning to feel overdressed, and he’s not even wearing a tie. Self-consciously, he sheds his suit coat and drapes it over his arm. Yes. This is good. People do this, he reassures himself. He orders a beer and leans against the bar, every so often glancing furtively over his shoulder at the door. It does not open again, except to let in an elderly couple that reminds Jamie of his paternal grandparents, who he hates. There is no young woman sitting by herself anywhere, no one at all by themselves, only Jamie at the bar, nursing a beer and acting like he means to be here alone.
He waits five minutes, then ten. Maybe more. His beer disappears quickly and is replaced by another. Jamie watches, he watches the entire restaurant. Could that be her? No, that’s a young mother, here with her children. What about the one by the window? Could that be her? No, that’s a man with long, rather beautiful hair. With every passing moment, with rationalization he attempts to make, it becomes more and more obvious: she isn’t here, and she isn’t coming.
And then the door to the men’s loo swings open, and Sam Obisanya walks out.
Jamie doesn’t register anything odd about the situation, all he registers is a friendly face. He is about to call out to Sam when he reconsiders. Sam is most likely not here by himself. Few people come to a restaurant this nice to eat by themselves. Their friendship is still so fragile, and Jamie doesn’t want to risk splintering it by interrupting Sam on his night out. But Sam is making a beeline for the bar, so Jamie turns his back to him and hopes he just passes by. It’s more about the embarrassment of being stood up and staying anyways than it is about bothering Sam, but at least Jamie can pretend it’s the latter.
“Can I have another martini, please?” Sam asks behind him, and Jamie cannot help but let out a quiet snicker. It’s just that he’d never met a footballer this damn polite before Sam, and he can’t believe that quality has stuck around so long, when it abandons most players by the end of their first season. Unfortunately, his laughter gives him away, and he feels a tap on his shoulder.
“Jamie?” Well, shit.
“Sam?” Jamie whirls around and tries to look surprised. He’s doing a bloody terrible job, he can just feel it, but he’s committed to the bit now. “Hey, mate.” Sam’s brow furrows, but he’s still smiling, like always.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, and it’s truly just a question, not an interrogation.
“Oh, you know.” Jamie plasters on a grin of his own and holds up his beer. “Just getting a drink.”
“Ah.”
“You?” Sam picks his martini up off the bar and grimaces.
“I was supposed to meet a friend, but they never came.” Jamie nods sympathetically. It does make him feel better, though. If someone could stand a guy like Sam up, of course they could stand him up too.
“Can I tell you a secret?” He lowers his voice and leans in conspiratorially. “I was supposed to have a date tonight, but I got stood up too.” Sam smiles even wider.
“Why did you lie?” He settles onto a stool, and nudges the one next to him. Jamie sits there.
“I dunno. Just didn’t want to seem lame, I guess.” Sam shakes his head.
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Act like everything’s fine. Refuse to be not-okay. I’ll tell you what: you can be not-okay with me. I don’t mind.” Sam’s teasing him, but he means it. That’s the odd thing about him. Even when he’s joking, he’s not. It’s disconcerting, but kind. A lot kinder than Jamie deserves.
“Thanks, mate.” He holds up his beer. “To being a little not-okay.”
“Together.”
“Together,” Jamie repeats. Sam clinks the edge of his glass against Jamie’s bottle and takes a sip. He smiles behind the rim of his glass. “What?”
“Nothing. I just cannot imagine what I would have thought a year ago about us doing this. Having a drink together. Being friends.” The corners of Jamie’s mouth twitch up in a grin, but it’s more contrite than convivial. He doesn’t have enough distance from his old self to be amused by who he used to be.
“Yeah, well. I don’t know what old Jamie would have said about it either,” he murmurs, only half-meaning to say it out loud.
“It doesn’t matter.” Sam pats his shoulder. “Old Jamie is long gone. And for the record, I like new Jamie much better.”
“So do I.” The last few drops of beer disappear down Jamie’s throat. “So do I,” he repeats. Both of them fall silent, but not uncomfortably so. A Chelsea match plays on the TV over the bar and they watch it briefly. An idea strikes Jamie, but a moment of peace like this is so rare he is hardly inclined to interrupt it, until the barman switches the channel to the nightly news.
Jamie blurts out, “Do you wanna-” at the same moment that Sam asks, “Should we-”
They stare at each other, then dissolve into laughter. “You first,” Jamie says. He’s taken to following Sam’s lead, and it’s worked well enough for him so far. Anything to avoid walking all over him again.
“Should we ask the hostess for a table? I don’t think our companions are planning on joining us, and I would like to eat.” As if on cue, Jamie’s stomach rumbles.
“That is… exactly what I was going to say.” How is it possible that someone who couldn’t have hated him more six months ago can now read his mind?
“Excellent. Don’t go away, I will be right back.” Sam slides off his barstool and leaves Jamie there, along with his empty martini glass and his cell phone, face down on the bar. Jamie thinks of LAG152 for the first time since sitting down with Sam. He still wishes she’d come, but somehow, the embarrassment of being stood up by someone who was supposed to like him is lessened by Sam’s being here. Maybe it’s that it feels even better to have someone who never liked him change their mind than someone who doesn’t know him. Because Sam, Sam knows everything about him. He saw the terrible things about Jamie long before he ever saw the good, and still found a way to be Jamie’s friend. LAG152, whoever she is, knows only the person Jamie is now, and even then, only the things he’s felt like sharing. This isn’t better, necessarily, because Jamie can’t help but feel a little rattled by LAG152’s wordless disappearance. He opens his phone and scrolls back to their last conversation.
STR1KER: I’ve got work until 6. 7 then?
(Jamie has to admit that his username is not particularly clever, but he was never really intending to use it. He only even made the account because Keeley asked him to.)
LAG152: 7 is perfect.
STR1KER: Awesome. Can’t wait.
LAG152: Me neither. I haven’t been this excited to meet someone in a long time.
STR1KER: Hope I don’t disappoint
LAG152: Not possible! I feel silly saying this, but I think it’s very likely you’re exactly what I’ve been waiting for for a long time :)
How is that something you could say to someone you’re planning on standing up? Why get his hopes up? Just for the sake of needless cruelty? It still doesn’t make any sense to Jamie, who is painfully familiar with the concept of needless cruelty. He hesitates, hovering his thumb over the keyboard, then begins typing. The words just flow out. Jamie doesn’t know if it’s the two beers swimming in his empty stomach or Sam’s insistence that it’s okay if he’s not-okay bouncing around his head, but once he’s started, he can’t stop.
STR1KER: I’m at the restaurant. If you’re here, you must be invisible, because I’ve been here half an hour and haven’t seen you. I don’t deserve to be stood up, and you don’t deserve any more of my time. Fuck you.
He pauses with his finger halfway to the send button. What good does it do him to send this now? Just to make her feel bad? When he’s slowly beginning to be more and more glad she never showed? He shuts off his phone with his rant still sitting in the text box, unsent, just as Sam returns.
“You’ve got to be more careful about leaving your phone out in the open, mate,” Jamie says, and hands Sam’s phone to him. “Any old wanker could sneak a peek.” Sam’s grin drops for a split-second then reappears.
“Very true, Jamie. Thank you. Anyway, our table is ready.”
“Lead the way.” There it is again. Jamie letting Sam take the reins and following where he leads. He’s comforted by the idea of letting someone else take charge, for once. He isn’t in control, but he isn’t out of control either, and up until a few months ago, he had no idea there even was another option. Sam leads the way to their table in the corner, and Jamie understands that it isn’t just him who’s changed. Sam is a new person too, much bolder and somehow even kinder. He seems bigger, even though he’s a grown man and hasn’t actually changed size. It’s something about the way he carries himself that makes him take up more space in a room than he used to. Even now, as he walks through the restaurant, eyes turn to him. People recognize him. People whisper and stare at them as they walk past, and for the first time in a while, Jamie is fully aware he is not the object of their attention. For the first time in a while, too, he doesn’t mind. He’s watching Sam right along with the rest of them.
“Now, listen-” An hour later, Jamie’s sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and an empty plate smeared with tomato sauce sits in front of him beside a half-empty beer. “-I’m not saying that I could kick your arse at Mario Kart. Except that I totally am, and you’re goin’ down.” Sam throws his head back and laughs loudly, the sound filling the nearly-empty restaurant and reverberating in Jamie’s chest.
“Yes, but what you have failed to consider is how good I am at Mario Kart. See, when I first came to England, I didn’t have any friends outside the team, so all I did was sit in my apartment and play video games. Trust me,” Sam says, and leans forward to rest his chin in his hand. “I would destroy you.”
“Let’s put it to the test, shall we?” Jamie grins wickedly. “I’ve got a Wii at mine. You up for a little-”
“Yes,” Sam replies eagerly. “I am.”
“Sick. Let me get the check, and then-”
“Oh, no. I’ve got it.” Jamie frowns.
“You’re not buyin’ me dinner, Sam.”
“Yes, I am. You were stood up tonight. You deserve it.” Jamie allows Sam to wave over their waiter without protest. He should continue to protest, because both of them have been stood up tonight, but he forgets that for a moment. Because up until now, he’s been so caught up in having one of the best nights of his life that he forgot he was stood up at all. He feels his expression sour, and Sam’s brow furrows.
“What?”
“Nothin’. Just… I dunno. I guess I still can’t tell why she decided not to come.” He’s moping, and he hates moping, but he can’t help it. He just wants an answer, that’s all.
“Jamie.” Sam’s voice turns solemn. “It is not your fault that she decided not to come. It does not mean there is anything wrong with you. You are a good man, and a good friend, and if she cannot see that, she doesn’t deserve you anyway.” The waiter places the check on the table in front of Sam, and once he’s paid, he rises from his seat. “I’m going to go wash my hands. I’ll be right back.” Once again, he leaves Jamie sitting by himself to think. Jamie pulls out his phone and stares at it. His angry words are still up when he opens it, and he considers them for a long few minutes. His anger won’t change anything. It won’t make her be here. It won’t turn back time. All it will do is make her feel bad. But at the same time, Jamie can’t remember being so honest with someone about the way they make him feel. He always thought when he would eventually open up to LAG152, it would be about how much he liked her. Doctor Sharon told him when he went in earlier in the week that anger is a poor substitute for other emotions. She told him that anger should only be felt in its own right, and that being angry because there’s nothing else to feel won’t help anything. This case is different, however, because anger isn’t the only thing he feels. He also feels an overwhelming amount towards Sam—gratitude, friendship, admiration, plus a boatload of other things that he can’t quite name. The anger is second to all of that, so small by comparison that once it’s gone, it will just be gone. The idea of all of his rage finally being gone, finally being secondary to something else, is deeply comforting. Surfing on a wave of joy and camaraderie, Jamie lowers his thumb and presses send.
Across the table, Sam’s phone pings.
For a moment, the world freezes. Nothing and no one moves. Everything, even Jamie’s breathing and blinking and basic function, stops. In the sea of possible options, his mind swims to the furthest corners, avoiding the massive continent of the obvious in the middle.
It’s a coincidence.
I sent that message to the wrong person.
Sam’s catfishing me and it’s all an elaborate prank to get back at me for being such a raging jackass.
Jamie’s fingers itch to reach over and simply turn the phone face up. Just to see. Just to be sure. Because for so many reasons, the most obvious answer is also the least obvious. He can’t make any assumptions until he knows for certain, because their friendship is still teetering in the middle of a tightrope, ready to plummet to the ground at any given moment. No assumptions. Not yet.
It seems like hours until Sam returns. In that time, Jamie makes a list in his mind: every excuse for why Sam’s phone would ping at the same time that he sent a message to the anonymous woman (or person, as the case may be) who he thought stood him up. Who Sam insisted the whole night wasn’t worth his time. He thinks of every reason why it can’t be exactly what it has to be: Sam is LAG152.
“Hello.” Sam drops back into his seat, still grinning brilliantly. “Shall we go?” Jamie fidgets with his napkin and doesn’t speak. He doesn’t mean to be rude, exactly, but he can’t think of a way to bring it up that won’t sound like an accusation. Which, he supposes, it will be regardless of what it sounds like.
“Can I see your phone?” he asks. His voice sounds small.
“What?” The smile on Sam’s face does not budge, but his eyes darken slightly. Which is the only answer Jamie needs. He does what he’s been aching to do for minutes and snatches Sam’s phone up before Sam can stop him. The screen lights up and his own message hits him with all the force of a train he is powerless to stop. A chill races down his spine at the same time his dinner begins to come back up his throat, and he claps a hand over his mouth to stop from letting it go all over the pristine white tablecloth. It takes all of his effort to turn his eyes up from the phone to Sam, who is no longer smiling. He knows. No. He knew.
Silently, Jamie mouths words that do not come out. Why can’t he speak? Sam watches him, equally nervous and concerned, but does not interrupt or attempt to defend himself. Jamie cannot decide whether he appreciates that or not. It finally hits him that after all this time, Sam is the one he thought he could be falling for. Sam is the one who told him he was sweet and funny and smart. Did he know it was Jamie when he was saying all of those things? And Jamie, even now that he knows who he’s spent a dozen sleepless nights thinking about, can’t distance himself from everything he felt on those sleepless nights. They spoke until nearly three in the morning once. Jamie nearly dropped dead at practice. But Sam had been full of energy that day. He simply cannot reconcile the person in his phone with the person across the table, although it is now undeniable that they are one and the same.
The words still won’t come and so he gives up on them. On shaky legs, he rises, tosses Sam’s phone onto the table, and walks out the door. He does not meet Sam’s eyes once.
Outside, the rain pours down even harder, but he makes no effort to get out of it. He doesn’t have a car here, where is he even going? Everything in him wants to keep going, to walk through the car park to the street and then just keep walking, but he forces himself to stop. He needs a cab. He needs his phone to call one, but when he opens it, the first thing that pops up is Bantr, and so he turns it off and shoves it back in his pocket. His delay has allowed Sam enough time to follow him outside, but at least Sam has the good sense to stand under the awning. The tips of his shoes poke out into the rain, and he has to raise his voice to be heard over the din.
“Jamie!” he shouts. Jamie could pretend not to hear, but he’s had enough of either of them pretending tonight.
“How long?” Jamie shouts back. “How long did you know?” Sam sighs.
“Come back here!”
“No! No.” Jamie is glued to his spot. If Sam wants to explain himself, he can damn well do it in the rain. Sam doesn’t budge either. “Have you known the entire time? Was this just an elaborate prank? Am I on some stupid reality show?” Sam shakes his head aggressively.
“No! I didn’t know. I thought you were just…” He shrugs. “Someone I could talk to.”
“So when? Because I know you knew, so don’t even try to lie to me now.”
“It wasn’t until tonight. When I saw you here. I mean, I didn’t know for sure until you told me you had been stood up, but when I saw you… I just knew.” A grim smile breaks out across Sam’s face, and something in Jamie snaps. He feels stupid, which isn’t how he was supposed to feel tonight. He shoves his hands in his pockets and realizes his jacket is still inside. Whatever.
“Fuck you.” He spits the words out, and despite the low volume, they carry back to Sam. Or at least Sam can read his lips, because he sees Sam’s face fall. “You couldn’t tell me? Why? Was this all just you trying to get back at me? I know I’m an asshole, Sam, but this… I don’t deserve this.”
“I didn’t-” Sam looks up at the sky again, grimaces, and then takes a decisive step into the rain. “I did not mean to hurt you. It was not my intention.”
“Why, then?” Jamie feels his face settle into a scowl. It feels familiar, both in a good way and a bad way. “Why didn’t you tell me right away? Why let me convince myself I wasn’t good enough for her to show up?” Sam is moving slowly through the rain, as if he wants to be soaked by the time he finally reaches Jamie.
“I did not think you would stay, if you knew. I thought that things would change.”
“Why would they change?” Jamie is getting exasperated. He can’t keep talking in riddles. He just wants answers. “We’re friends now.” He knows that isn’t what Sam meant. He’s too tired to think about what he did mean.
“I know that. I do. And I like that we are friends. But if I’m honest…” Sam stops where he is, still a good few meters from Jamie. He squeezes his eyes shut, like he can’t bear to look. Or like not seeing Jamie means that Jamie isn’t there. “Ever since I realized it was you, I have been thinking about what it would be like if we were not friends.”
“If we still hated each other?” God, please, let it not be that. Jamie can’t ever go back to hating like that.
“No, not that. I cannot hate you ever again. You mean… you mean too much to me to hate. We are friends. But I cannot help but imagine what it would be like if we were more than friends. Not less.” There it is. The part that Jamie cannot bear to hear. The part that he has been waiting to hear. And he cannot think of anything else to say but—
“But I’m me. And you’re you. ”
“Yes.” Sam smiles. Why does he smile so much? Where does that seemingly endless well of joy come from? “I am me. And you are you.”
“But…” Jamie splutters, looking for the right words. It seems to be an inherent condition of his being that he cannot find the words for anything in the moment. “Do you not remember how I treated you? For so long? Am I the only one who remembers anymore? ‘Cause it’s just about all I think about. I know what you’ve said, but I feel like you’ve forgotten: I am not a good man, Sam.” Still, Sam smiles. He is close enough that neither of them has to shout anymore.
“Yes, you are. Whoever you are in your own mind is not the man I see. Let him go. You are not that man anymore, Jamie.”
“Yes, I am!” Jamie cries. “Why does everyone keep trying to tell me I’m not?”
And then Sam kisses him, and Jamie cannot remember the last time he has been kissed like this. Sam holds his face in both hands as if it is precious cargo, and if he squeezes too hard, it will simply shatter. Sam’s only a little taller than he is, but Jamie still has to tilt his head up to be kissed. It strikes him that he’s never had to do that before. Rain courses down, pounding their already-soaked heads and shoulders, and when lightning strikes, it does not register, because all Jamie can see behind his closed eyes are blinding lights. He forgets that he isn’t supposed to want this, not because he’s being kissed by a man, but because he’s being kissed by Sam, who he doesn’t deserve.
Where are his hands? What is he supposed to do with his hands? They’re still shoved in his pockets because he didn’t see this coming. How could he? Everything tonight—this kiss included—came out of nowhere.
He should not be kissed like this, but that’s irrelevant, because he is being kissed like this and-
Sam’s tongue grazes his lower lip and that’s it, all the self-loathing and self-doubt evaporates and Jamie knows exactly what to do with his hands. He grabs Sam’s hips and leans into the kiss, no longer a passive participant. And as soon as he does, it is as if a switch flips in his brain. Yes, this is Sam, who he terrorized for a season and who should have every right to hate him. But this is also the person who he spent two weeks thinking about nonstop, who does not hate him, who likes him far more than he should. All at once, Sam and LAG152 cease to be two separate entities and coalesce into one form, solid and strong under Jamie’s hands.
And then there is space between them once again, just a few inches as Sam pulls his face away. He breathes so heavily that his chest heaves up and down, like he’s just run a lap around the pitch. Jamie feels much the same way.
“Do you understand now?” Sam asks. His hands are scorching compared to the cool rain.
“Yeah,” answers Jamie breathlessly.
“Good. And I’m sorry. I should have told you. But I-” Jamie can’t take any more explanations, so he plants a kiss of his own on Sam, cutting him off.
“No more,” he whispers into Sam’s lips. “No more.” No more doubt, no more apologies, no more chaos or confusion. The answer burns bright in Jamie’s mind, seared in deeper than all of the pain and anger: Sam would not be kissing him if he did not deserve it. Sam would not be holding him like this if he did not deserve it. It isn’t up to Jamie to decide what he deserves, it never has been. When Sam hated him, it was earned, and now that Sam maybe-sort-of loves him, he’s earned that too.
Jamie doesn’t let go until he really can’t breathe anymore, and he lets his forehead fall against Sam’s, panting.
“So,” he says. “Mario Kart.” Sam laughs, quietly at first, then so loudly that it carries over the pouring rain.
“An excellent idea.”
Sam calls them a cab and once they’re on their way back to Jamie’s house, it is as if the kiss in the car park never happened. Anyone peeking in through the windows would only see two close friends on their way back from a night out. There is one moment, only one, where Sam reaches out for Jamie’s hand in the darkness. Jamie, out of instinct, flinches away, but Sam just nods and retracts his hand. He understands. The car park was an anomaly. It was beautiful, but also entirely spontaneous, which meant neither of them gave a second of thought to what would have happened had someone walked outside and seen them. That matters, as much as they both wish it didn’t. So in the backseat of this cab, and to the world whizzing past, they are friends. But the space between them cannot erase the memory of Sam’s mouth on Jamie’s, warm and soft, the taste of vodka just barely present on his lips. No matter how much they pretend, that will never go away.
Jamie pays the fare over Sam’s protests, and they stand side-by-side on the pavement, staring up at the house.
“It’s beautiful,” Sam says, and Jamie is inclined to agree. The two-story brown brick house was the first thing Jamie bought after his first season with Richmond, and every day that he gets to come home to his own place is a gift. He missed it for those months he was with Man City. No one else on the team has ever seen it, he realizes. Sam is the very first.
“Shall we?” Jamie asks, and fumbles for his keys, not waiting for an answer. He doesn’t need one. Sam is right behind him. The door swings open into a dark foyer, but Jamie doesn’t have time to hit the lights. The second the door is shut, Jamie’s back is pressed flat against it, and Sam is everywhere, on his lips and his chest and his waist. Any illusion of friendliness has been tossed to the wind, Jamie’s rationality along with it. His mind goes blank when his shirt rides up and Sam’s hand meets the small of his back, bare skin against bare skin. As Sam’s mouth moves to his jaw, then his neck, then the hollow of his throat, Jamie’s hand flies out and hits the wall with a smack as he fumbles for the light switch.
He mutters, “Where the fuck-“
“Huh?” Sam pulls away, leaving a cool spot in the place his lips formerly occupied.
“Nothing.” Jamie’s fingers find the switch and the lights come on. “There we go.” He grabs Sam by the lapel and swivels them around. And then it is a mad dash, Jamie stumbling blindly backwards and praying he knows the layout of his house as well as he thinks he does. He only runs Sam into one doorframe on the way to the bedroom.
“Jamie?”
“Hmm?” Jamie is only half-listening. He’s busy with the buttons of Sam’s shirt, which is soaking wet and sticks flat to his chest and stomach.
“Are you sure about this?” Sam takes a step back, pulling his extremely-chiseled stomach out of Jamie’s reach.
“Are you? ‘Cause if you don’t wanna do anything else, we don’t have to-“
“No, no. It’s not that. But… I did lie to you, and I know we’ve been over it, but I completely understand if you want to wait, or-“
“Not a chance.” Sam’s face lights up, but there’s a slightly wicked edge to it.
“That,” he says, and begins to undo the buttons on Jamie’s shirt. “Is exactly what I hoped you would say.” As he pulls Jamie’s shirt down over his shoulders and casts it onto the floor, Sam smiles.
And I can’t believe I never hoped it was you, Jamie thinks. I wish I had. I wish it had occurred to me to hope that you were the one on the other end of that screen, because now that I know it was, I
And then Sam’s hand wiggles beneath Jamie’s waistband, and his mind goes blank.
They are lying in Jamie’s bed, Sam’s head on Jamie’s shoulder. At first, Jamie thinks Sam’s asleep because of how still he is, but he looks down to see that Sam’s eyes are wide open. He’s just thinking. Jamie, on the other hand, is finding for the first time all night that he doesn’t have much to think about. In his unmade bed, with their clothes scattered across the floor, the world a mess around them, everything is suddenly so clear. It should have been clear from the moment he came back. Sam is it. Sam is everything. Without thinking, Jamie ducks his head to press a kiss to Sam’s temple.
“What was that for?” asks Sam. Jamie just shakes his head.
“We should’ve done this forever ago.” In response, Sam turns his head to kiss Jamie’s tattooed forearm. He’s practically a furnace in Jamie’s arms, which is quite alright by Jamie, who is always cold. He thinks about the last message Sam sent him on Bantr again. It doesn’t seem silly at all anymore, to think that they have been waiting for one another for a very long time. For the first time, all of the meaningless hookups and disastrous attempts at real relationships seem purposeful, because they were all leading to this. To Sam. And it wouldn’t have mattered if Jamie had walked out of that restaurant before he ever saw Sam, or if he never downloaded Bantr at all. All roads would have led him to Sam.
“What’s next?” The words are out before Jamie even thinks them. It’s a question he knows Sam can’t answer, but an important one to be asked nonetheless. Because there has to be something next, something after this, and whatever it is will involve them both. Sam only shrugs.
“I don’t know.” The house is silent, apart from the sound of rain splattering on the windows.
“Mario Kart?” Jamie asks at last.
“You’re on.” Sam leaps out of bed and Jamie follows him, pausing only to grab his boxers from the bedroom floor.
Jamie nearly runs Keeley down in the locker room the next morning. He’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes, having only managed a few hours of sleep on the sofa following a rowdy game of Mario Kart, and all of a sudden she’s right there in front of him, holding her little notebook, and only managing to leap out of the way at the last second with a high-pitched yelp.
“Sorry, Keeley,” he says.
“You’re okay.” Keeley looks him up and down, and then her eyes widen. “Hey! How was last night?” Honestly, Jamie hadn’t really considered what he would say when she asked. The truth isn’t an option yet. Maybe in a while. But not yet. So he settles for a half-truth, because she always knows when he’s lying.
“I got stood up.” Jamie considers trying to force a frown, but that would only be self-sabotage. Keeley’s right, he’s a terrible liar. Instead, he settles for looking exhausted.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Her eyes narrow. “You don’t look too broken up about that.” Jamie shrugs, and his eyes wander over to Sam, sitting on the bench and lacing up his boots. He catches Jamie’s eyes and gives him a wave too small to be seen by anyone not looking.
“I was. But, uh… I realized that I deserve someone who’s gonna show up for me.” It takes all his strength, but Jamie forces himself to look away. What was supposed to be just another in a series of long, lonely nights somehow became the best night he’s had since… he can’t remember having a night so nice. Even looking back on the chaos and deception.
“That’s very healthy, Jamie.” Keeley pats him on the shoulder, and then goes on rambling about some sponsorship or another she wants Jamie to do a photoshoot for. He’ll say yes, because it’ll make her happy, but he doesn’t really care what it’s for. He just thinks about what she said to him before he left last night.
She was right.
All he had to do was show up.