45. Avery
FORTY-FIVE
AVERY
“Thank you for letting me be here,” I yell in Reid’s ear as the players take the field. “I’ve never been to the Super Bowl before.”
“Just wish I could’ve gotten you to wear a Titans hat,” he yells back, knocking the brim of my Thunderhawks cap. “I’m still half afraid you’re going to sabotage me.”
I laugh and elbow his ribs. “No way. I’m so excited for you all. You might have lost one part of our bet, but this I hope you win. I hate the Pistons.”
“There’s my caring girlfriend,” Reid says, dropping a kiss to my cheek. “Be honest: you’re just excited to hear your damn song on our page again if we win. I really should’ve added stipulations to your victory earnings.”
“I’m a little excited,” I admit. “It’s going to drive in so many new fans for us. I should be thanking you, really, for thinking you’re better at your job than I am.”
“You know I think you’re fantastic. The best in the league.” He tugs on the jersey I’m wearing, the oversized one with Dallas’s last name on the back. Maven bedazzled it with jewels and rhinestones, and it felt wrong not to show up in at least some Titans gear. “I’ve never wanted to be an athlete before, but seeing you have some other guy’s last name on your back makes me want to hit the gym and try out for a team.”
“Is that jealousy, Duncan?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck. There are only a few minutes left to indulge in physical affection with him before he needs to buckle down and do his job, and I can’t help but touch him. To let everyone in the stadium—all one hundred thousand people—know he’s mine. “I like when you’re possessive.”
“Can’t be jealous when I know you’re going home with me.” His hands settle on my waist, fisting the polyester between his fingers. “Thank you for coming out here. Thank you for supporting me and my friends. I know we’re both competitive people, but it wouldn’t be right if you weren’t here to celebrate.”
“We should be thanking Maverick. He’s the one who chartered a private jet and flew us out here.” I pause and tip my chin up, our eyes meeting. “You know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. I love seeing you in action, Reid, and I’m always going to support you.”
“Speaking of which.” He taps my hip and his hands fall away. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“What do you have up your sleeve?”
“Come here.”
He leads me to the tunnel and the crowd of people congregated there. I see folks dressed in suits and slacks, their attire out of place in a stadium of football gear. We reach two women deep in conversation, and when Reid clears his throat, subtly trying to get their attention, they both light up at the sight of him.
“Reid,” the first one exclaims. She bends down to hug him, her heels helping her tower over his six-foot-one frame, and he’s careful to only touch the top of her shoulder with a friendly pat. “There you are.”
“Sorry we’re a few minutes behind schedule,” he says, pulling away and smiling at me. “I was showing Avery around. It’s her first time at the Super Bowl, and I want her to get the whole experience.”
“No apologies needed,” the second woman says, fixing the collar of her blazer. “It’s our first time here too. Knocks the NBA championship right out of the water.”
“Sweetheart, this is Barbara Jones, the NBA commissioner, and Susie Cartwright, president of the Washington Ducks,” Reid explains, and I beam.
“It’s so nice to meet you all,” I say, shaking their hands. “And congratulations on the championship, Susie.”
“The first of many,” she says, exchanging a look with the commissioner. “I’ll admit we’re here under somewhat false pretenses. I met Reid at a luncheon two years ago and spent forty-five minutes trying to poach him from the NFL over to the NBA. I wasn’t successful, obviously, but the whole time we talked, he kept mentioning this woman who ran the Baltimore Thunderhawks’ social media accounts.”
I turn and look at him. “Two years ago?”
“I know,” he says sheepishly. “When I ran into Susie a couple months ago, right at the beginning of our bet, she asked how you were doing. I admit I might have planted the seed of you switching leagues out of spite. But with everything that happened this season, with the goals you’ve told me about and the ways the NFL has made you feel like you belong in a box, I thought maybe there’s something better out there for you. Something that doesn’t shove your talent away, but welcomes it.”
I swallow and glance at the three of them. “What are you saying?”
“We’d love if you came in and interviewed,” Barbara says. “Either for the Chief Marketing Officer of the NBA, or, if you’re not ready to leave the area, as head of marketing and social media for the Washington Ducks. We won’t put you on the spot and set up a formal interview today; you have a lot to celebrate tonight. It shouldn’t be about work. But if there’s any interest on your end, give us your information. We can set something up later this summer after the season winds down.”
“Oh, my god,” I whisper. I take Reid’s hand in mine and squeeze. I can tell he’s beaming at me out of the corner of my eye, and I have the inexplicable urge to hug him. To throw myself in his arms and tell him thank you , thank you , thank you . “That would be— yes . I’d be honored.”
“We love the work you’re doing,” Susie says. “Your inclusion of fans in your content and the spotlight series you do on players is extraordinary. You don’t paint them as athletes; you show them as real people, and it’s beautiful to see those walls come down.”
“Thank you so much.” I wipe under my eyes, hoping I haven’t smudged my mascara before the game starts, and let out a watery laugh. I fumble with my purse and pull out my business card, handing it over. “That has my personal number on it too. I’ll be back in the office on Wednesday, and I’d love to talk to you both some more.”
“Perfect.” The commissioner smiles and slips the card in her pocket. “It was great to meet you, Avery. We’ll be in touch soon.”
After a round of goodbyes, I stare at Reid, my mouth open and my jaw nearly on the floor.
“Holy shit ,” I squeal. I fling myself at him and he laughs, spinning me around. “Reid. I can’t believe you did that for me.”
“I was worried it was overstepping.” He sets me back on the ground and smooths his hands down my arms. “I’d never want you to feel like I was trying to swoop in and be a hero. But after that conversation with Andrew earlier this season, I’ve been so angry thinking about how your potential is never going to be seen by a bunch of men who are intimidated by a woman’s success. When you told me how much you love basketball—how much your dad loved basketball and that it was something you two did together—it got me thinking. Your talent deserves to be shown off somewhere bigger. Maybe the NBA could be that place.”
“You are a hero.” I stand on my toes and cup both his cheeks in my hands. “ My hero. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for supporting me. Thank you for having my back.”
“The NBA headquarters are in New York. If that’s where you think you’d like to end up, I want you to know we’ll figure it out. We’ll figure us out. I’m in this for the long haul, baby, and if that means alternating cities every other week, so be it.”
“I love you,” I whisper, and his eyes light up. His smile melts into something beautiful, something precious. Mine . “I love you so much. I’m so glad I sent you that first message. I’m so glad I get to be here with you.”
“What are you talking about?” Reid asks. “I sent you a message first.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He barks out a laugh. “Are you shitting me, Sinclair? You commented first. I sent the first direct message.”
“We’re not arguing about this right now.”
“Because you know you’re wrong.”
“No.” I poke his ribs and he captures my wrist, kissing the tips of my fingers. “Because you have a job to do, and I have a game to watch.”
“It’s cute you think I’m going to be able to manage any productivity on the sidelines while I’m scrolling all the way back to our first interaction,” he says.
“I have a screenshot,” I blurt out, and Reid lifts an eyebrow. “I took a screenshot of the first time we interacted. I was afraid I was being too mean to you, but then you matched my energy and…” I bite back a smile. “Shit. We were inevitable all along, weren’t we?”
“Yeah.” He kisses me, and the fans watching us whistle and cat call. “I think we were.”
“I don’t know why I keep coming to these games.” Maven peeks at the field through her fingers. “They take years off my life.”
“Because your husband is the greatest kicker of all time and is about to win another Super Bowl on a field goal,” Emmy says, jumping up and down. “What are the fucking odds?”
“Let’s go,” Maverick yells, holding up a bottle of champagne. “World fucking champions, baby!”
“Miller,” Maven hisses, and she smacks his arm. “He hasn’t kicked yet. Don’t fucking jinx it.”
“Swear jar,” June says. “Swear jar, swear jar, swear jar.”
I laugh and lean my elbows on the railing of the suite, watching the teams break from their huddles to take the field. I spot Reid on the sideline, pacing back and forth, his phones in his hand and his hat backwards on his head.
He must have spun it around during the timeout.
I grin, pulling out my own phone and sending him a message.
Me
Could you wear your hat like that more often? It’s hot as hell.
He reads the message and turns his attention up to the box we’re sitting in. I wave, and he shakes his head, dipping his chin. His fingers fly across the screen, and soon my phone is buzzing in my hand.
Reid
You’re distracting me.
Me
*Attachment: 1 image*
Took that when you were in the shower this morning.
Reid
You expect me to pay attention to what happens in the game after you send me a photo that looks like THAT?
Is that my Batman shirt you’re wearing? With nothing under it?
I watch him drop his phone on the field before scooping it up and holding it close to his chest.
Me
Do your job, Duncan.
Reid
Kind of hard when the woman of my dreams is sending me half naked photos of herself with a comic book in her hands.
If we win, can you wear that the rest of the night? Just that?
Me
You’ve been a good boy. I think we can make that happen.
Reid drops his head back, and I swear I can hear him groan from here. One of his assistants touches his shoulder, asking him something, and I burst out laughing when he shields his phone from view.
“Everything okay?” Maven asks, still covering her eyes.
“It’s great, Mae. Stop hiding and watch the damn play. Your man is about to make history,” I say.
She slowly lowers her hand. Her nails dig into my arm, and we watch as the Titans take the field. Reid is already halfway to the goalposts, phone poised and ready to capture the victory.
The players line up. The play clock reaches four. The ball is hiked, and Dallas kicks it through the uprights with yards to spare just as time expires.
The stadium erupts in chaos, and the cheers are so loud, my ears ring. Everyone is screaming and hugging each other, and I’m pretty sure Maven is crying. Security escorts us down to the field, and when we reach the grass, Reid is already hugging me.
“Hi,” I say, the wind knocked out of me from how tight he’s holding me. “Hi, sweetheart. Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”
“Hey, baby.” A piece of confetti sticks to his forehead, and I peel it away. “Another Super Bowl win.”
“I thought you didn’t care about sports.”
“I do when I get to celebrate with you,” he says.
“You should be with the team. Filming the stuff you need for the next six months of content so you can tease me mercilessly.”
“I know I should. But I’m learning to get better about a work-life balance, and right now, I want to be with you. The content can wait.”
“You have your interns taking videos for you, don’t you?” I ask.
“Yeah, but that wouldn’t change a damn thing.”
He presses his mouth to mine, and I kiss him. I kiss him like the world is going to end tomorrow and he cups the back of my neck, keeping me in place and kissing me back like I’m his salvation.
More confetti falls on our heads, a sea of colored paper that tangles in my hair, and I can’t bring myself to care about anything besides his chest against mine and my heart in his hands.
“I love you,” I whisper so only he can hear me. “I think I’m going to love you forever.”
Reid grins, a smile matching mine. The adoration in his eyes makes me weak in the knees. “Wanna bet?”
I grip the collar of his shirt and knock his hat off his head. “You’re on.”