Chapter Text
“Coach, how do you feel about datin’ apps?” Ted murmured one day, staring down at the little Bantr icon on his phone, downloaded but unopened. Coach Beard shrugged, leaning forward on his elbows as he thought of his answer.
“Depends on which one you’re on, Coach,” he said. “Some are a little more...dirty than others.”
“It’s that one Keeley was talkin’ about,” Ted said, passing his phone over. “Bantr.”
“Oh, you’d be good at that,” Beard said with a half-smile. “It’s all talking and no pictures, right?”
“Can’t tell if you just called me ugly or a good talker, but I’ll take it,” Ted said, taking his phone back. “I don’t know, Coach, it feels like no matter what I say on this app, I’m gonna stick out like a vegetarian at a barbecue.”
“So don’t get on the app.”
“But am I just closing myself off to all romantic possibilities?”
“So get on the app.”
“And what if I accidentally match with someone I know, who knows me? Wouldn’t that be mortifyin’?”
“So don’t get on the app.”
“You are not helpful, you know that?” he said, falling back in his chair.
Coach Beard shrugged. “Get on the app, Coach. And if you hate it, you can always delete it.”
***
“Knock knock,” Ted said, nudging the office door open with his foot. Rebecca waved him in, her phone plastered to her ear, a scowl on her face. She was wearing the light blue shirt that always caught his attention, sleeveless and billowy, fashionable and professional with no sleeves so he was always assaulted with the sight of her sculpted arms.
Maybe he really needed to get on this app. Take his mind off of other things.
“Well, he can sniff around all he wants, but there’s nothing for him to find,” Rebecca said firmly. “Everything I’ve done for this club since taking ownership has been above board, including the hiring of Nathan Shelley and Roy Kent.” She paused, pointing to the chair at the front of her desk, a clear invitation for Ted to take it.
He did, watching her pace around the room while deliberately trying not to watch her pace around the room. It was not professional to let his eyes wander. Be professional, Coach Lasso, he repeated to himself.
“Right, well, keep me updated,” she said before hanging up. “Sorry about that –”
“No, no, you’re the boss,” Ted said easily. “No need to apologize on my account.”
“It’s just…” she sighed, taking his offered box of biscuits with a happy sigh. “Thank you. It’s just Rupert, trying to put pressure on me to sell back to him now the team’s been relegated –”
“Well, that’s not happenin’,” Ted said easily. He was rewarded with a proud smile that made him feel a little bit like the schoolboy he’d been so long ago, when he crushed on his middle school language arts teacher. Tall, blonde, commanding.
“Right,” she said, satisfied. “But he’s demanded some kind of meeting, so he can try to convince me in person.”
“Just don’t go –”
“He’s whispering in the ears of the other minority owners,” she said, shaking her head. “If enough of them feel like my tenure here is shaky, they could sell to Bex, which would give him more power –”
“Okay,” he said thoughtfully. “Okay, so here’s what we do. You go to the meeting with Rupert. Take Keeley or Roy with you for backup. While you go to that meeting, we’ll invite the rest of the minority owners to a trainin’ here, how’s that? Let them feel like they’re part of the family, part of the process. Get ‘em away from Rupert.”
She paused, a piece of biscuit halfway to her mouth. “That’s…that’s a really great idea, Ted.”
He pursed his lips in an attempt to hide the smile that snuck through anyway. “Yeah?” he asked, a little shyly. “Well, alright then,” he tapped the armrest on his way up. “You get ‘em all down here and I’ll charm the pants off ‘em.” He paused, watching as Rebecca tilted her head at him. “I – that’s an American sayin’, I’m assumin’ y’all don’t say that around here – it just… I mean, it just means –”
“Don’t take their pants off, Ted.”
“Right you are, Boss,” he said, saluting before practically fleeing the room.
Yeah, he needed to get on that dating app and distract himself ASAP.
***
“Alright, Keels, what do I gotta do?” he asked, looking down at his phone in his hand, Keeley’s fruity perfume lingering over his shoulder like a ghost.
“It’s pretty simple, actually,” she explained. “Just pick a username and answer some open ended questions. Your answers will correlate with other users on the app and you’ll get matched with compatible people. And then you just chat.” She leaned back, crossing her arms. “You should be good at that part.”
“Dunno,” he said, fingers hovering over his keyboard, trying to think of a username. “I’ve been out of the game a long time.”
She dropped a sympathetic hand to his shoulder. “You’re a catch, Ted. The game isn’t hard to figure out, yeah? Just be yourself.” She patted his shoulder. “Maybe don’t make your username Wanker, though.”
“Well, shoot, there goes my one idea,” Ted joked.
He stared at it for a long time, the blank space and his keyboard, mocking him, mocking the idea that he was a good talker, that he could get back in the game. Finally, he settled for something easy.
LDN152.
He lived in London, cool. 152 – the number of his flat. That was inconspicuous enough, wasn’t it? He nodded to himself and set his phone down for the rest of the afternoon, attention diverted to training.
When he got back, his phone had three notifications.
You matched with Indepen-dance.
Set your gender preferences!
You matched with Bossgirl.
He stared at it for a long time before opening it. He’d skipped the question about gender preferences – he didn’t really have any – so he set the information to private and continued. He stared at Indepen-dance’s profile.
What is your favorite book? Indepen-dance had answered I don’t discriminate against any forms of literature, but Being and Nothingness spoke to me.
Ted wrinkled his nose, prepared to open the messaging app and reply directly to that choice – ain’t that a little depressing? – and then the app pinged, and a message popped up from Bossgirl.
It’s rare to find a man who enjoys musical theatre.
It certainly wasn’t a typical hello, but he smiled at it anyway.
“Well, Bossgirl,” he typed. “I’m a man of many interests.”
He watched the little three dots pop up while she replied. Name me another one, then.
He tried to ignore the little flush he felt at the demand and rushed to obey.
“Cooking.”
Now I’m absolutely sure you’re not real.
“What about you? What else do you like?”
A long pause, and then: Literature.
He grinned and cracked his knuckles. “How do you feel about Being and Nothingness?”
Oh, are you one of those who reads only depressing shit?
He laughed. “Nope. Just hoping you weren’t.”
Alright then, LDN152, name your favorite book.
“A Wrinkle in Time,” he said, shrugging even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “You?”
Persuasion.
“Oh, a romantic, huh?”
Is this when you tell me that you’ve read it?
“Coach,” Beard tapped on the edge of his desk. “Earth to Coach.”
He dropped his phone onto his desk, wincing at the sound it made. “Yeah, yep, what’s up?”
Rebecca was standing next to Beard, her eyebrows raised at him. “Something the matter, Ted?” she asked curiously. “You seem mighty distracted.”
“Nope, nope, everything’s great,” he said, shoving his phone in his pocket.
“You wanted to discuss the minority owners before their visit tomorrow?” Rebecca reminded him. She tucked her phone into the pocket of her slacks. “Unless, if you’re busy –”
“No,” Ted said, jumping up, almost banging his knee on his desk. “Nope, I’m good. Do you want to…should we go to your office, or –”
“I was actually thinking of taking a walk around the pitch,” she said with a smile. “Get some fresh air while we talk.”
“Right you are, Boss,” he said. “To the pitch it is.”
***
Something was going on with Ted, Rebecca was sure of it. Even his folksy aphorisms had been more indecipherable than usual. She surreptitiously watched him while they walked, her heels traded for trainers, his hands in his pockets.
“Are you alright, Ted?” she asked when they managed to make it a quarter of the way around the pitch without him offering to tell her a story that was so American she could only nod and pretend to understand.
“Huh?” he asked. “Yeah, yeah, I’m doin’ just fine, Boss. Just ponderin’.”
“Need help with it?” she asked.
“Nah, I’m here to help you,” he said. “So, tell me about these minority owners that I’m gonna be schmoozin’.”
“Well, I own about sixty percent of the club,” she said, rolling her eyes when Ted whistled. “You already know Bex, who owns 2.9 percent. Then there’s Oliver Atkinson, he owns about 12 percent. Quiet guy, a little surly in the face, but he’s always been kind to me.”
“Good, good, I like this guy,” Ted muttered, head bowed while he listened, like he was really trying to commit it to memory. It warmed her inside, seeing him concentrated and focused, like this favor he was doing for her was really important. And, in a way, she supposed it was.
“Fanny Brown – please don’t make a joke about her name –”
“Her name?” Ted asked, tilting his head. “Why would I make fun of her name?”
Sometimes she could almost forget that he had no knowledge of British slang. “No reason,” she said mildly. “Anyway, Fanny Brown inherited a ten percent share from her husband when he died. She’s a huge football fan, always has been. Doesn’t care much about the business side.”
“Well that’s great, because my knowledge of the business side is limited,” he said, chuckling.
“And Freddy Knowles,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
“What’s wrong with Mr. Freddy?” he asked gamely.
“He owns fifteen percent, the second largest share after mine,” she said. “And he likes to think that gives him some weight to throw around.”
“Does it?”
“Not after he propositioned me the day my divorce was announced,” she said flatly. “Freddy Knowles is a mini-Rupert, though, probably to his credit, he isn’t married.”
“Gross,” Ted offered.
“Gross indeed,” she said. “Keeley and I have planned a little…reception for them. Tea and biscuits and they get to watch training and chat with the players. All you have to do is be your usual charming self.”
“Aw, shucks, Boss,” he joked, bumping his shoulder against hers.
“Really, Ted, thank you for doing this for me,” she said. “It was a really good idea, and it’s a big help. You’ll have to let me treat you to dinner to make up for it.”
“Rebecca, helpin’ you is my job,” he reminded her. “Sort of. Besides, anything I can do to make your job a little easier is on the top of my list.”
She smiled, looking out at the pitch. The statement sounded a little bit like a promise, a little more devoted than just typical Ted Lasso fare. It felt different than if Higgins had offered to do something for her, probably because she was used to ordering him around. But Ted’s favors felt like he really wanted to please her, really wanted her to be happy.
When she looked back at him, he was looking at her, a thoughtful smile on his face.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked. “Do y’all do that here?”
She laughed. “Yes, we do. I was just thinking that we should head back in,” she said, offering Ted her arm to take. She settled her hand in the crook of his elbow and let him lead the way.
***
He picked up a copy of Persuasion on his way back to his flat. He supposed he was trying to actively take his mind off of Rebecca, off the way she held onto his arm the whole walk back, the way she bumped his shoulder companionably, the way her hair blew in the wind, barely touching his face.
So he distracted himself by reading instead, thinking of Bossgirl and whoever she might be. He curled up on his sofa after his shower and read for a while, seeing in Jane Austen what he enjoyed in movies – romance. And a little bit of comedy thrown in for good measure.
“I have a bad feeling about this Mr. Elliot guy,” he sent off to Bossgirl when he picked a place to stop for the night.
You’re reading it?
“I was curious,” he sent back, leaning back against his chair. “I hope things work out with Anne and this Wentworth guy.”
Don’t fish for spoilers, LDN152. I’m not budging.
He laughed, getting up from the couch for a swipe of peanut butter. Whoever she was, she was funny. He liked that.
***
The next afternoon, Rebecca knocked gently on the edge of Ted’s office door, peeking her head in. Ted had his head down on the desk, his visor toppled over like he’d been wearing it when he put his head down. She surveyed him for a moment, trying not to smile, before she sat down in Beard’s chair.
“Ted,” she prompted quietly, wrinkling her nose at him when he jolted upward, eyes bleary.
“Boss, hey, what brings you downstairs?” he asked.
He was remarkably adorable when he was sleepy. She pursed her lips to keep her smile at bay and put her elbows on the table. “I was coming by to see how your little reception with the minority owners went,” she reminded him. “I saw the social media posts, it all looked very successful.”
“Yeah, yeah, it was a hoot and a half,” he said, yawning. “I tell ya, that Fanny Brown is a firecracker. She got Isaac to teach her how to do some football move, I can’t tell ya what it’s called –”
“Right –”
“And that Oliver guy was real charmin’ too, he wanted me to tell you that Rupert is a,” he fumbled for a piece of paper and took it out of his pocket, “a knobhead, whatever that means.”
“Dickhead.”
He peered down at the paper again. “Oh, okay, dots connected.” She smiled fondly at him, looking away when he looked up at her.
“And Freddy?”
“Now that’s a wanker if I’ve ever seen one,” Ted said, his tone hardening a little. “Anyway, Fanny got me and Beard and Nate into a very amateur game versus her and Isaac and Sam, so I’m a little wiped out –”
“What did Freddy do?” she prompted.
He sighed, rubbing his hands down his face. “Just…played Rupert’s part. Made his little digs about the lineup, asked too many questions about you and your…looks, acted like he was the big dog, but you prolly know all about that attitude.”
“Yes, I do,” she said, choosing to ignore the urge to ask a follow up question. There was something cloudy in Ted’s gaze when he talked about Freddy. She didn’t want to push it too much, ruin his day. “So was it the game or the company that tired you out?”
“Oh, I ain’t tired, Boss,” he said, sitting up. “Need me to do somethin’ else? I’m at your disposal –”
“Ted, please,” she said, biting back a laugh. “As much as I appreciate you helping me out like this, you’ve done more than enough.”
“How was the meeting with Rupert?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from her. She watched him lean, hands clasped behind his head. “Did you rip him a new one, Boss?”
“The meeting was legally with Bex, not Rupert, even if he was sitting right beside her,” she said, watching him lean back in the chair and bounce forward again, over and over. It made a lock of his hair fall out of alignment and over his forehead. “More of the same. Intimations that the club won’t bounce back from relegation, which of course, we will –”
“Thank you –”
“Implications that I can’t run a football club, blah blah blah, threats to go to the press about various lies –”
“Say the word and I will pour some of my Kansas barbecue sauce in his gas tank,” Ted said seriously, the bouncing stopped.
“There you go again, offering to do things for me,” she said, standing up. “I just came down here to tell you that you did a good job, and that your idea really worked. So thanks. You’re coming to dinner with me tonight.”
“I am?” he asked.
“Or are you too tired from the game?”
“Oh, it wasn’t the game, really,” he said, getting up to walk her out. “I stayed up late reading last night.”
“Anything good?” she asked curiously.
“Yeah, I’m enjoying it so far.”