43. Reid
FORTY-THREE
REID
I wake up the morning of our playoff game against the Thunderhawks and the end of our bet with Avery wrapped around me.
Her hair is in my mouth. Her hands are on my waist. Her face is buried in my chest and I’ve never loved her more.
My eyes fly open.
Love .
Fuck, I love her.
This isn’t a crush that’s going to go away in a few weeks. This isn’t something I can expect to fade away when the football season ends.
It’s an all-in thing. It’s big and important, and I can’t ignore it anymore.
She stares in my arms and opens her eyes. She blinks and lifts her chin to look up at me, a smile curving on her mouth.
“Hi,” she says around a yawn. “What time is it?”
“Late,” I tell her. “You looked too comfortable to wake up.”
“Why are you staring at me?” She sits up and stretches her arms above her head. The T-shirt she’s wearing slips down her shoulder, and I see the bite marks I left on her neck last night. “You’re looking at me like I have two heads.”
“Sorry.” I reach for my glasses and slide them up my nose. “You’re really pretty in the morning.”
Her smile melts into one that’s beautiful and soft, and she kisses my cheek with a gentle press of her lips. “Are you being nice to me so it’ll lessen the blow if the Thunderhawks lose today?”
“If I was going to do that, I would’ve called you gorgeous,” I say, and she pokes her finger into my ribs. I laugh and bat her hands away, grabbing her wrists. “We’ve got the game and the bet to cover this afternoon. It’s a big day.”
“Promise you’ll still like me after all of it?” Avery asks, her lips falling into a cute little pout. “Even if you lose?”
“At the end of the day, I still have you. That’s not losing.”
“Cheese award,” she says, and I flip her off. “Did your sales manager send you the three-month report of ticket sales with all the numbers?”
“Yup. I haven’t looked at it. Figured we could get Emmy to do the honors after the game. She doesn’t have any stake in this feud of ours. What about the Social Media Account of the Year?”
“They’re supposed to announce it tonight after the game ends. Do they usually call you beforehand?”
“It’s cute you think this is a formal thing,” I say. “They share the winner in a post on Instagram and that’s that. I do know both of us are finalists, along with the Penguins out in Phoenix. But between you and me, they don’t stand a chance.”
“Right.” Avery nods. “Got it.”
I reach up and softly grip her chin, tilting her face to meet mine. “You know I don’t care about any of this, right? I don’t give a shit if I win or lose a stupid bet we made in the heat of the moment, Ave. I did in the beginning, but not anymore. It doesn’t have any merit to how well we do our jobs, because I know for a fact you’re a fucking superstar in your role.”
“The flattery sure is nice this morning.” She laughs and stands, the hem of her shirt riding up the backs of her thighs when she leans over to fix her socks. “I know it’s not a big deal, and I really don’t care which of us wins, but I’d love to prove that asshole Andrew wrong. My stats speak for themselves, but the accolade would be the icing on the cake. I love pissing men off.”
“Thatta girl,” I say, and she grins. “Can’t wait to watch you in action today, Sinclair. You on the sidelines in those leggings of yours is my favorite sight. I can’t even watch the game.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I think I’m going to be in jeans today. It’s fucking freezing outside, and I hate being cold.”
“Want to meet in my office at halftime? I could warm you up.”
“Feeling nostalgic, Duncan?” is tossed over her shoulder as she saunters to the bathroom with a swish of her hips. “I can find some cellophane, if you want.”
“Please, god, no. It took me three days to unravel the mess you made.”
“Was it worth it?” Avery asks, leaning against the door.
I grin, never more sure of anything in my life. “Worth every fucking second.”
The game is a blowout, and I feel bad for Avery.
When the final whistle sounds and the Titans fans cheer, I look for her in the crowd, hoping she’s doing okay.
I know she said it’s not a big deal, but she pours her heart into everything she does. The season ending with an annihilation has to sting.
I congratulate the Titans players, clasping their shoulders and laughing when the Gatorade cooler gets dumped on Shawn. We’re one win away from heading to the Super Bowl, and with how the boys are playing lately, another ring seems inevitable.
“Nice job, man,” I yell at Dallas. “Proud of you.”
“You’re coming out with us to celebrate tonight, right?” he yells back before messing up my hair. “Bring Avery.”
“Not sure she’s going to want to hang out with the guys who beat her team.” I crane my neck, spotting her across the field. She’s deep in conversation with one of the Thunderhawks players, and an idea comes to mind. “Text me the details. I’ll see if she’s down.”
I move out of the way of the celebrations and kick off the confetti stuck to my shoe. I open Instagram and type out a post, adding an image of the team with their arms raised and jumping in the air. I hesitate for half a second then include a song on the post, uploading it before I can think twice.
I jog to the Thunderhawks’ sideline and watch Avery pull out her phone. Her eyebrows wrinkle and her mouth pops open, her head on a swivel as she looks around. When she spots me, she storms my way, and I bite back a grin.
“What the hell is this?” She holds up her phone, turning the volume up so I can hear the Thunderhawks song blaring from the post I shared. “‘Hell of a run, Thunderhawks. Looking forward to continuing the rivalry next year’?” She gapes at me. “You all destroyed us. Blew us out of the water. We’re going to be a mockery on every sports show tomorrow morning.”
“We did and you might be. But that’s the thing about love, isn’t it? You don’t give up when the going gets tough.”
“What does that mean?” Avery asks. “You’re talking about football, right?”
“Maybe.” I reach for her, and she takes my hand. “I might be talking about you too.”
She blinks and steps closer to me. “I’m going to need some clarification,” she whispers. “Because I don’t like to be confused.”
“I spent three years talking to someone I pretended not to give a damn about, but the thing is, I love you,” I say. “I love you a whole fucking lot, Avery, and it’s the one part of our bet I didn’t see coming. I planned for everything else except falling head over heels for you. And I still fell. Hard. I fucking smashed into the ground.”
I thought this would be hard to say. Difficult to find the words, but when I look at her, it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever fucking done.
I feel light. A little bit like I could fucking fly. Impulsive and reckless and happy—a kind of happiness I’ve never felt before. I thought I’ve been in love, but it was nothing like this. Like I’m on top of the goddamn world and nothing could bring me down.
“I love you too,” she whispers, and my heart stops. It flatlines before jolting back to life when she takes my face in her palms. “I love you so very much, Reid, because you’ve made me believe in it again. I feel it when I’m with you. In every cracked corner of my heart that’s putting itself back together again. Every morning when I open my eyes, and you’re there. Sometimes it scares me how much I love you.”
“You don’t have to be scared with me.” I wrap my arms around her and pull on the ends of her hair. “You know why?”
“Why?” Avery asks, a watery question that has her wiping her eyes and nose with the back of her hand.
“I’ve spent years learning everything about you. The things that make you happy. The things that make you mad.” I pause, then add, “I have a spreadsheet on my computer for that one, actually.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Dead fucking serious. It might be titled ‘Thunderhawks girl’, but it gets the job done. I know you. And you know me. Did we go about it in an unconventional way? Without a doubt. It doesn’t change the fact that you are the most perfect person for me, Avery, and I’d be lucky if you tormented me for the rest of my life.”
“The rest of your life?” Her palms move to my back, rubbing over my shirt and across my shoulders. The noise from the crowd quiets. The lights dim. In a sea of thousands, all I see is her. “I think I’d like that.”
“Hey,” Maverick says, interrupting us. I look to my right, and all our friends are there. Emmy. Maven and June. Dallas and his sweaty jersey. He waves an envelope in the air and grins. “Here’s the ticket sales information.”
“And I know who won Social Media Account of the Year,” Maven adds.
“Do you want to know?” I ask Avery.
I don’t care, to be honest.
Everything is moot now, but I want her to make the call.
“Yeah,” she admits. “Just for bragging rights.”
“Fair.” I glance at Emmy. “What do you have for us?”
“I’m going to let Miller take this one,” she says. “He’s been giddy about it all day. He’s treating it like it’s the nuclear codes or something.”
“I had no idea the NFL doesn’t disclose ticket information. I like that this is a big fucking secret.” Maverick rips open the envelope and huffs out a laugh. “Huh. Interesting.”
“What?” Avery asks. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure how you all are going to determine a winner. The Titans had the higher season ticket renewal rate at 95%. But the Thunderhawks had the most new ticket sales. If we’re looking at overall totals, though, the Titans are going to have forty-two thousand season ticket holders while the Thunderhawks only have twenty-six thousand,” Maverick says.
“How many did you start the season with?” I ask Avery.
“Only thirteen thousand,” she says.
“You doubled in sales? Fuck, Ave, that’s incredible.”
“That’s not me. That’s because the team is doing well. We’re finally winning and signing big name players. A post on Instagram is not bringing in that kind of revenue,” she explains.
“That’s not true. You came up with promotions. Incentives to get people through the doors. Did your post eight Wednesdays ago encourage someone to buy tickets? Maybe not. But the payment plan idea you came up with did.”
“Do you two want to hear who won the other part of your bet?” Maven asks.
“I don’t know how I became so invested in this, but I have to know,” Dallas says.
“Tell us,” Avery says, and Maven grins.
“‘The NFL is pleased to announce this year’s Social Media Account and Marketing Department of the Year is the Baltimore Thunderhawks. With over a hundred million social media impressions and two hundred thousand new followers over six months, the Thunderhawks have cemented themselves as a fan favorite,’” Maven reads, and I scoop Avery into my arms.
“Congratulations,” I say, my voice muffled by her hair. “You deserve it.”
“I have to thank you.” She laughs into my shoulder, and I fucking love that sound. I’d do anything to hear it again. “The Thunderhawks’ account would be what it is without you. You made me want to work harder. Your DMs were the highlight of my day, and I love that you give me shit.”
“Worth it,” I tell her. “Worth it to see you happy. Worth it to see you get the recognition you deserve. Worth it to have been on this journey with you from the very beginning.”
“Do you think I should send Andrew a care package with a note that says ‘fuck you very much’?”
“I’ll drive it to New York myself.” I set her on the ground. “You really do deserve this, Ave.”
“What happens to your bet?” Emmy asks. “You each won a part of it.”
I look at Avery. There’s a smirk on her mouth, and I bend down to kiss her. “Call it even?” I suggest.
“No way.” She tugs on my shirt, lips on mine again. “We’re just getting started.”