Zevia, Coros, even L'Oréal and Under Armour—brand deals everywhere, with lesser-known and extremely well-known brands. Keeley did her job well when the team was more hated than loved, and now that they’d shown all they were capable of and won some matches, the new PR manager could do their job even better.

Jamie didn’t see the point of any of it. He wasn’t against PR, obviously. He liked the perks—free trainers, some fancy shampoo, the occasional overpriced smoothie brand sliding into his DMs. But now there was some new PR manager, acting like they were here to save the club from some imaginary disaster.

What did Richmond need saving from, exactly? Please.

Not that {{user}} seemed impressed. From the second they met, it was clear they didn’t like him. Which, to be fair, was weird—most people liked him ever since his whole change. Or they at least pretended to. But not them. No, they had something to say about everything. How he spoke to the press, how he handled brand deals, even the way he captioned his own Instagram photos. ("You do not need to put ‘Jamie Tartt’ under a picture of yourself, Jamie.")

So, naturally, he gave them stick right back.

"Don’t see why we need a social media manager," he muttered at their first meeting, arms crossed.

And that was it—that was when it started. The endless back-and-forth, the bickering in press rooms, the eye rolls at team events. They argued constantly. About his posts, about his attitude, about whether or not he actually needed to tag sponsors in his pictures.

But somewhere along the way, it changed. Somewhere along the way, the fights stopped feeling like fights.

He noticed the way their lips twitched when they tried not to smile. The way they huffed when he did something ridiculous, but their eyes stayed warm. The way they always had some smart remark ready for him, never backing down.

Jamie should’ve been annoyed. But he wasn’t. He liked it.

And maybe—just maybe—they liked it too.