OVERKILL ★ CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
(Lavender Latte Review, Pt. 2.)

"NO ONE COULD'VE PULLED THIS off like Sam," says Keeley. "I mean, if I saw this cute little sunshine-y smile when passing a giant ad for Dubai Air, I'd purchase tickets immediately."

"He's probably the most perfect human," agrees Quinn. "Hey, when all of the posters go up in the tube, can we take a picture standing right by his giant head?"

"Are you fucking insane? It's already in my planner."

The two girls laugh. They're making their way to the locker room to show Sam the final, edited shots from his Dubai Air shoot. In the photo, he's sitting in a first class seat wearing his kit. Quinn thinks it's fucking cool. Her and Keeley (mostly Keeley since this is her strong suit) have been arranging the shoots and meetings to make it all happen, and she's so happy with the outcome. It's the first time she's helped assist such a high-profile ad, and to have Sam be the face of it makes it so much more rewarding to her.

"Knock, knock!" Keeley grins at the entrance.

Everyone choruses their greetings, halting their conversations in favor of seeing what the girls came in for.

Quinn smiles at all the players, taking a look around to notice that all the players—minus Jamie—are grouped into their own conversations by their lockers. Jamie, however, is sitting on his own by the corner near the door, looking visibly dejected by the clear divide between him and everyone else. Quinn didn't expect for his transition to be easy at all, but seeing it firsthand makes it a little harder to stomach. She tosses him a quick, apologetic smile.

"Sam," Keeley smiles cheekily, "I think we have something you might want to see."

Sam's smile flashes confusingly. "Okay?"

"You wanna look at your photos from the Dubai Air Shoot!"

His mouth turns up into a full-fledged grin. "Yes, please—Oh God, wait. I'm very nervous. But I'm also very excited. Similar to whenever Colin drives me somewhere in his Lamborghini."

"Those aren't nerves," says Quinn, "they're horrific chills."

"Aye, it's true. It's way too much car for me," Colin frowns from his spot by his locker. "But I wouldn't go as far to say 'horrific chills,' you bully."

Quinn playfully rolls her eyes. "Whatever. But look!" She motions down at Keeley's tablet for Sam to see.

He looks down in awe at the tablet as Keeley sings him praises.

"Look at you!" she says. "I mean, come on, you're a mood. You're a moment. You're a mantra!"

Quinn nods. "The gates of heaven opened the second we got the email."

"Those sound like compliments," Sam laughs. "Thank you."

Quinn smiles, because she's happy whenever Sam is happy. And he looks absolutely elated. She feels someone come up from behind her, and she inclines her head to see Zoreaux wrapping his arm around her shoulders to peer over at the tablet.

"Oh wait," he says with a mocking expression, turning up to look up at Jan Maas. "You're not jealous, are you?"

"Thierry Zoreaux, I will cut your arm off," threatens Quinn. She gives Jan Maas an apologetic expression, and he waves off the joke in return.

Zoreaux turns back to the rest of the group, reaching the arm around Quinn's shoulder to swipe the tablet from Sam's hands. "Bro, I'm confused. Is this an ad for ugly people?"

"Congratulations, amigo!" says Dani, being the next one to take the tablet. "I can't wait to see these up in a tube station!"

Quinn and Keeley share a look, already knowing that they're gonna take photos of it hung up there.

"Yeah, so I can draw a dick on his face," says Isaac, causing everyone to laugh.

"Bro, why you wearing your kit on the plane?"

"—'Cause it's the only way they'll know he's a footballer."

The laughs from Bumbercatch's joke dies down, everyone turning to look at Jamie with a straight face. The players awkwardly go back to their own conversations, no longer wanting to tease Sam if Jamie is going to insert himself in it.

Keeley turns back to Sam, reaching out to squeeze Quinn's arm as if to say, it's time to go. "The pictures are so great, Sam. You look amazing."

Sam presses his hands together in gratitude. "Thank you both so much."

"We're so proud of you! We'll see you later, yeah?"

They bid their goodbyes to Sam and everyone else in the locker room. And discreetly, they give Jamie a small wave.

Quinn even manages to lightly nudge her leg with his, an encouraging look in her eye. He frowns back at her.

"Oh, boys!" Keeley says before exiting.

Quinn looks up, remaining at Jamie's side to hear what Keeley has to say.

"Will you remember to sign up for that new dating app I emailed you all about? It would really help draw some traction if there were some young, hot footballers on there," her voice is suggestive, raising her eyebrows at the group in front of her.

Oh. And there's that. In between planning the Dubai Air campaign, Keeley also accepted a freelance job to help a company promote their new dating app: Bantr. The whole concept is around not putting any photos to your profile, and instead connecting with people anonymously. Quinn thinks it's good in theory . . . until you find out someone has fabricated their entire personality and not only is a dick, but looks like a wrinkly, unappealing one as well.

Yeah, Quinn's not going to join that app anytime soon. She wishes the boys luck, though!

"What was the name again?" asks Richard.

"Bantr, that's B-A-N-T-R."

"Oh, like Grindr," says Colin.

Everybody stares at him.

Quinn throws a questioning glance to Jamie, who only shrugs in response. He shifts closer to her. 

But Keeley's already halfway out the door and Quinn's too focused on catching up with her to fully notice. She gives him one last wave before following Keeley out the door.

"That was fucking awkward," whispers Keeley once they're alone in the hallway.

Quinn nods. "The tension felt thicker than Colin's body spray." They turn to the corner to make their way to their offices.

"But what was that thing Zoreaux was talking about? With Jan Maas?"

"Oh—" Quinn begins to recount the story to Keeley, starting with how odd the boys were being, to the "lost car," to Jan Maas asking if he could give her a ride home. Keeley's facial range becomes an alternating mixture of confused, surprised, and impressed.

"Quite awkward for him, innit? But Christ, babe, do you sweat pheromones or something? You get everybody! You even almost got me in Liverpool."

"Shut up," Quinn grins.

"Well, in case you didn't notice, Jamie went from confused to pissed in three seconds at that whole show."

"Keeley. Don't say that . . . your delusions are getting my hopes up."

"These aren't delusions, you imbecile."

"Whatever. Let's please change the subject."

"Oh, alright. Oh—okay. So, I need your advice."

Quinn smiles, happy that she can provide assistance to something in Keeley's life. "Hit me."

"Am I . . . am I a bad girlfriend if I keep coaxing Roy to do that Sky Sports pundit gig?"

Quinn begins to recall the pundit position that Keeley had mentioned before. Sky Sports had reached out to Roy to be a panelist for their Soccer Saturday series. But not only does Roy despise pundits, he also hates Jeff Stelling and Richmond's old coach—who he'll have to work alongside with.

"Keeley, if you're a bad girlfriend, then the sky is purple."

"Hey! It's purple sometimes during sunsets."

"You know what I mean."

"Okay. Well anyway, I just keep thinking about Roy on the field, and Roy during training, and Roy in his retirement speech—especially the retirement speech!"

The infamous retirement speech where the media witnessed, for the first time ever, Roy reduce himself to tears and snot. It had been emotional for everyone. Even for Quinn.

(But the emotions died down quickly for her, and now she has it saved in her camera roll for whenever she needs a quick pick-me-up.)

"All these things have one thing in common: Roy's passion. So much passion. It really gets me going, Quinn, and I fucking miss it."

Quinn's face goes sour. "I don't wanna know the extent of where that 'passion' goes, but I think I get you. But I thought he was really enjoying coaching Phoebe's football team?"

"He is, but I think he mostly enjoys it because he's around Phoebe. Other than that, his passion's gone! It's not like he can curse when a goal is offside—they're children!"

"Well, if he's not even fully immersing himself in it, then where's the fault in pushing him to do something he could really enjoy doing? And benefiting yourself in the process."

"Right! That's what I've been thinking! I just needed the confirmation. See, this is why I love you." She throws her arm around Quinn's shoulders, pulling her close. "Come on, this talk deserves a coffee break, don't you think?"

"Perfect."

"Shall we invite Rebecca?"

"Yes, please—oh wait, no. Remember she took the day off to spend it with her goddaughter?"

"Oh, yeah! We still need to meet that little girl. See if she's anything like Sassy . . . and then celebrate when she is!"

★

"They all fucking hate me!"

Quinn yelps. She was just looking at a recipe for chai sugar cookies when Jamie stormed through the open door of her office. He throws himself back onto her sofa, taking one of the pillows and huffing. She raises an eyebrow at his mini-tantrum, closing her laptop before giving him her undivided attention. "Practice went well, then?"

"Yeah, amazing," he says sarcastically. "Got intercepted by Sam, ruined me hair, and got called a worm! By Colin!"

"That isn't nice at all."

"No, it isn't! . . . Why do I feel like you're mocking me?"

"Hm," Quinn hums. "I'm definitely not trying to. Simultaneously, I feel like these are all things the boys have said you've done to them before. Didn't you actually call Colin a 'jaundiced worm'?" She recalls Colin telling her that story one day when they got lunch after training. It was also the day Quinn saw her life flash before her eyes while being driven around in his Lamborghini.

"I said sorry!" Jamie groans.

Quinn frowns. "They're not going to accept your apology and treat you like you're family as quickly as you want, Jamie. You're gonna have to earn their trust back gradually. Sometimes, it's not just about saying sorry. It's about the intent. Do you intend to do better? And then you gotta prove it."

". . . but that's a lot of work."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "That's the whole point."

"My brain just feels so crispy. Like a fucking McDonald's fry. I need to destress."

Quinn picks up the yellow rabbit from her desk. "Wanna hold Mrs. Sunny Bunny?"

Jamie glares at her before sighing. "Give me the damn bunny."

She grins, tossing Mrs. Sunny Bunny to a laid-down Jamie. He catches her and holds the bunny to his chest, still pouting. Quinn's heart constricts at the sight.

"So . . . what have you got to do for the rest of the day?"

Quinn begins to think. "Well, normally I'd have more work, but since Keeley and I finished all the hard stuff for the Dubai Air campaign, there isn't much left for us to do. There was this meeting on budgeting with the finance department, but it got pushed to tomorrow. So I guess I'm just waiting for Nate so we can leave."

"Wait for Nate?"

Quinn nods. "He's my ride home. And my ride to work. And my ride everywhere . . . do you think I should pay him for gas?"

Jamie laughs. "With his coaching salary? No."

"I suppose you're right."

"Uh—but I think all the coaches are still busy right now . . . If you wanna go and get coffee or some shit."

Quinn's eyes shift to the trash can beside her desk. Inside resides the large cup she'd finished not long ago from when her and Keeley went out.

She looks back up at Jamie. "Sure."

Jamie looks up, like he's surprised that she'd agreed. "Really?"

"Yeah," Quinn nods. "Now, right?"

"Yeah," he sits up. "Yeah, now is great."

She picks up her bag from the floor, checking to see that it has everything before hoisting it on her shoulders and putting on her jacket. Jamie gets up from his spot on the sofa and places Mrs. Sunny Bunny back in her sitting position on the desk. Quinn smiles as he makes sure the toy's ears are symmetrical instead of one being flapped in the opposite direction. He's too immersed in the attention to detail to look up and notice the fondness in her eyes (at least, she hopes).

They're both about to make their way to the stairwell before Quinn gets the idea to bring Keeley along. Conversation might be able to flow better that way. She takes his arm and leads them in the direction of Keeley's office.

Quinn peeks her head into the girl's office, seeing her on her laptop. There's no doubt in her mind that Keeley's also searching up baking recipes instead of doing actual work. "Hey, Keel. We're getting coffee, wanna join?"

Keeley smiles. "Hey, guys!" Her eyes shift up to Jamie and they stay there for a split second longer than normal. "I'm swamped, actually. I'll stay back this time, sorry."

"Fine by me," Jamie says from behind Quinn. He says goodbye and makes his way back to the stairwell.

Quinn follows, but not before catching the wink Keeley sends her way. Sneaky bitch.

"Do you have a place you usually go?" asks Jamie once they're outside. He's covered his head with his jacket hood and stuffed his hands in his pockets before they even made it out the door. His return to Richmond has the media buzzing, and there's no doubt multiple people will stop him on the streets if he doesn't conceal himself properly.

"Keeley and I go to Basil's in the morning, do you know that one?" Basil's is close and convenient, despite it being far more overpriced than a typical coffee shop. And they don't make lavender lattes . . . but whatever. Their coffee is decent enough. Still, Quinn quickly adds, "I know it's been months, but you were in Richmond much longer than I have so far. We can go anywhere you like."

"I know this one place. Not sure if it's still open, though. I was pretty much keeping the place afloat."

"You think very highly of yourself."

"I'm serious! The place is old as shit. Probably older than Roy. How is that bloke doing anyway?" He motions his head the opposite direction of Basil's, and Quinn follows.

"He's—" Quinn thinks back to what Keeley and her were talking about earlier. How Roy seems very passion-less. But that's probably not something she should let slip to Jamie, or anyone. "—alright. From what I've heard. He's helping coach his niece's football team, and Keeley says he's leading the girls into aggression instead of victory."

Jamie scoffs. "You sure it's not his grandchild instead of niece? Turn here."

"Hey," she snaps, but lets out a laugh nonetheless while following his directions. "It's his niece. And she's wonderful." She's yet to have the pleasure of meeting the little girl, but Keeley loves to show her photos of their outings and tell her all kinds of stories of the infamous Phoebe O'Sullivan. She's waiting for the day they can meet.

Jamie continues to guide Quinn past a few more blocks, with multiple turns that would have her huffing for breath if they weren't going at a snail's pace.

"Jesus Christ, how far is this place?"

"Almost there. It's usually shorter when I drive."

"Why didn't we take your car, then?"

"Because," stutters Jamie, "because I don't fucking know. Didn't think of it. We'll take it next time."

Next time.

Quinn remains quiet for the remainder of the walk, letting Jamie's words linger in the air. It doesn't take long after that for him to pull Quinn into a small door on the middle of the nearly-deserted street they're in. She didn't even get a chance to read the sign.

"Here we are!" The place is a small, hole-in-the-wall type shop. The small room is rectangular, with brick walls lining the whole place. There are a few, small dark green tables scattered among the area, with the counter at the very back to place an order. It doesn't look like a place Jamie would choose to spend his time in, but Quinn also knows that there's always been more to Jamie than meets the eye.

He strides to the counter in the back and taps the little call bell, the sound of it ringing filling the whole room. An old woman peaks her head out from the back door that leads to what Quinn assumes is the kitchen.

"Jamie?"

"Alba!" he grins. "I'm back!"

She fully comes out of the door, her eyes squinting. She wipes her hands on her gingham apron. "Since fucking when?"

"Very recently, I'd say."

"You fucking plonker. Almost went out of business without your fucking orders."

Jamie raises his hands in surrender. "I'm back now. To stay . . . probably."

"About time." The woman, Alba, opens the door again and shouts at someone to come out and take their orders. "Can't read the fucking register anymore," she mutters to them.

A teenage boy, looking no older than sixteen or seventeen, walks out. His curly, jet black hair falls over his eyes before he pushes them back and adjusts his glasses. "Jamie!" His eyes zone in on Quinn, his pupils dilating slightly. "And a girl."

"Yeah, it's me," says Jamie. "Quinn, I want you to meet Alba and her grandson, Frankie. They run the whole fucking thing."

Quinn raises both her eyebrows in shock. "Just you two?"

"We don't get a lot of customers," says Frankie. "Gran does the pastries, I do the drinks. She says I'm very proficient.

Quinn nods. "You must be."

"Anyway, what would you guys like?" He pulls out a pad of paper and a pen from behind the counter.

"You remember my usual?" asks Jamie.

Frankie nods, not even bothering to write it down on the pad in his hand. He looks at Quinn. "And you?"

"Uh," Quinn's eyes scan the menu. She's hesitant to order anything that could be a hassle to make. The shop is run by the most vulnerable: an old person and a child (she doesn't want to inconvenience them). "I'll have whatever Jamie's got."

"No, no." Jamie shakes his head. "What's that drink you like? That lavender shit?"

Franke looks up pointedly. "The latte?"

Quinn raises her eyebrows, shocked that Jamie even remembers that. He'd bought her that drink months ago, and she didn't even think he knew what he was paying for. "It's okay if you don't have it," she says eventually.

Frankie shakes his head, writing it down on his pad. "No, I drink that, too. I know how to make one just fine."

"Perfect!" Jamie grins, reaching into his pocket. "You still only take cash?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Oldies," mutters Jamie, but his voice is light. He pulls what looks to equal £50, and tosses it onto the counter. "From both of us."

"Jamie," warns Quinn. She reaches into her bag for her wallet. "I can pay half." She knows she has enough money to give back for what Jamie had put down for tip.

He shakes his head. "My treat. Come on." He guides her to a seat by the left corner. She grumpily drops her wallet back in her tote.

"How'd you find this place?" asks Quinn once they're sat down across from each other.

"Was hiding from paps, and stumbled in here. Frankie's a big fan, but Alba doesn't know shit about football. And I figured one fan and a grumpy old lady is better than a dozen blokes who want to catch me on a bad day."

"That's sweet—you meeting them, not the paparazzi part."

Jamie shrugs. "It's nice. And only locals ever come in here anyway."

"Nice."

He goes on to explain the various encounters he's had with the pair over the course of months when he first played for Richmond. There's a small cemented yard in the back, he says, in between this building and the next where him and Frankie played football together. Jamie began to push himself harder in training because Frankie favorite player of all time was "Roy fucking Kent" and Jamie just can't have that, can he? And he used to go back in the kitchen to hide when there would be more people in than usual. He'd annoy Alba whenever she baked on those days. And then she'd whack him with a dish towel.

Quinn listens intently, interested in hearing about a side of Jamie that he doesn't show often. It's clear he cares deeply for the two family members that run this shop. She can't imagine Jamie from the previous season; tormenting his teammates, and then going onto playing football with a teenager and helping an old woman bake on the very same day.

"Were you upset when you couldn't come here after being transferred?"

"Was fucking pissed," says Jamie. "But I have Frankie's number, and I visited when Man City played West Ham. And again before we played Richmond."

Quinn's mind goes back to that night. Richmond losing, Jamie dodging all Richmond players before passing the ball, the hug. Jamie crying. She wants to ask him about it, and the look on Jamie's face right now shows that he can tell.

"Here we are."

Both of them snap out of their trance, looking up to see Frankie hovering over their table while balancing two coffee mugs and a small plate, holding a slice of a pastry with strawberries and blueberries placed delicately on the top. He places a white mug in front of Quinn before giving the remaining two things in his hands to Jamie.

"Try it," Frankie says to Quinn, motioning towards the latte in her mug. It's a light brown mix, topped with cream and small, lavender petals. She thinks the presentation of the drink is the cutest thing she's ever seen.

She picks up the mug, blowing lightly on the top before pressing her lips to the rim. Jamie and Frankie look at her intently. She sips.

And it's fucking good.

"It's fucking good."

Frankie claps his hand, cheering, while Jamie raises his fist in the air.

"Fuck yeah!" says Jamie. "Better than what the bloke in Manchester made, I bet."

"Yeah, maybe Frankie made it well because you were nice to him. Unlike how you were to that "bloke" in Manchester."

Jamie rolls his eyes, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "He deserved it."

Frankie leaves them at their table, but not without Jamie slipping him a few extra pounds for "acing the latte." And they're alone again, Frankie slipping through the kitchen door. Quinn happily takes another sip of her latte before motioning to the slice on Jamie's plate. "So, what's that?"

Jamie smirks. "Guess."

"It looks like a piece of fruit cake."

He shakes his head. "No. It's . . . Jamie's Tart."

Quinn covers her mouth, a loud giggle escaping her. "Shut the fuck up. Did you make them name it that?"

"What if I did?"

"Then you're a narcissistic weirdo."

"A narcissistic weirdo with a delicious fucking fruit tart named after him."

Quinn laughs harder.

The conversation flows east from there. Jamie points out how most of their conversations were either deeply serious, or extremely fleeting, so he demands to know more about her (minus the family situation and daddy issues). She tells him the basics, like how her favorite color is dark green ("like this table"), her favorite holiday is Christmas, she hates cantaloupe, and listens to Taylor Swift whenever she has to take the tube to work. She hates long plane rides because they make her fidgety (which proved to be a serious problem when she first flew to London). She still lives with her sister and her fiancé because she likes their cooking and doesn't want to look for an apartment right now. Keeley has quickly become her best friend . . . along with Rebecca, Nate, Sam, Colin, Isaac, Dani, Zoreaux, and every single Richmond player—

"Even me?" asks Jamie, a playful smile on his lips.

"We'll see."

—but her favorite people ever working in Nelson Road are still Beard and Ted.

"I don't know how to even talk to your godfather. He's a fucking brick wall to me."

Quinn waves the comment off. "He's like that to everyone at first."

"No, but I really think he has a vendetta against me."

"Is that shocking to you?" she asks, sipping the final bit of her drink.

"I guess not," he grumbles. "But still."

Quinn shifts the conversation, asking Jamie to say things about himself now (minus the daddy issues). He tells her that he doesn't have a favorite color because he looks good in all of them. His favorite holiday is any holiday he gets to be home for because his stepdad, Simon, is the best cook in all of England . . . but he also likes Christmas. He hates scones, but he'll tolerate ones Alba bakes sometimes. He doesn't mind long plane rides because he only flies first class. He doesn't listen to Taylor Swift, but his mum loves her. He states very clearly that his mum is his favorite person on Earth, and then also Simon, Alba, Frankie, and . . .

"—maybe you, too, if you stay on my good side."

Quinn scoffs. "And how will I maintain that?"

"Tell me I'm amazing and the best footballer, let me complain, promise not to hate me even when everyone else does."

"I will do two of those things: let you complain and not hate you. I never hated you."

"Yeah?"

"Swear it. You're really annoying, though," she says.

Jamie manages to get her to try his tart, saying she'd be disrespecting the baker if she didn't. Quinn rolls her eyes, but takes the last bite and admits that it's okay.

(It was fucking amazing.)

She's wiping the crumbs from her lips when her phone buzzes from her jacket. She pulls it out to read the message. "Nate's ready to leave. Should I give him the address so he can get me?"

"And let people on the team know about this place?" Jamie scoffs. "Fuck no. Let's walk back."

The two say their goodbyes to Alba and Frankie, Quinn promising she'll definitely be back now they she knows that Frankie makes the best lavender lattes in all of England.

Jamie guides her through the winding streets, back to Nelson Road. He asks her about what her other rankings are of places that have her favorite drink. She tells him how there's a small shop down the block from where her flat is, and they make the lattes pretty good. A few more places near where she lives makes ones them okay. The one in Manchester has to be one of the lower-ranked ones. But she meant it when she said that the one Frankie made was the best one she's tasted. She thinks back that one saying, about how "love is the most special ingredient," or something. Maybe that's why Frankie's tasted so good. He really wanted to please her with the drink.

The walk back feels much shorter than their walk there, but it might be because Quinn is too preoccupied with talking. Jamie listens intently, which she appreciates because she doesn't even realize how long she's been speaking for. He never stopped her once.

He ends their walk at the staff parking lot, where she sees Nate's car parked by the entrance.

"Thank you for taking me out. And for paying, that was very nice."

Jamie shrugs. "It's nothing. We're gonna do this again, right?"

"Sure." Definitely. "If you want to." I'm going to be impatiently waiting until you ask again because I'm too scared to be the one to do it.

"I do want to. Get home safely, yeah?"

"I will. Nate doesn't drive like Colin."

Jamie stands outside, waiting for Quinn to enter the car before making his way back into the stadium. He gives her and Nate a wave.

"What were you doing with him?" asks Nate, staring Jamie down when his back is turned.

"We just got coffee."

Quinn is too busy thinking about Jamie, and everything that makes him up, to notice the look of disdain on Nate's face as he pulls out of the parking spot.

★

A/N: making quinn a swiftie is purely self indulgent on my part i'm sorry.... also it'll make the taylor lyric references i wanna sprinkle in more fun.

i imagine frankie to be played by aryan simhadri!!! and then alba will just go without an official faceclaim rn, but she's in her late 70s if that helps visualize her more

thank u for reading!!!!!