Chapter 16 Avery
Chapter sixteen
Avery
It’s been two weeks since Olive’s last show in New York, which means it’s been two weeks since I’ve seen her—fourteen days since I’ve heard her voice.
Sure, Josie said we were to spend every minute together, but we let that slip with neither of us sticking to our word.
You know what I’ve done during that time? Watched back every fucking video I filmed of her at the concert, as though she were singing directly to me.
I even uploaded one of the videos to my instagram account with the caption ‘Proud.’ Because yeah, I wanted everyone to hear what I got to. But mostly, I wanted to make it look real.
I didn’t tag her in it, though. Everyone knew who was in the video without me needing to name her.
She’s been busy, going from state to state, and the Raptors have won every game we’ve played, leaving us comfortably on top of the ladder.
Plus, I don’t have her number. So, even if I wanted to reach out to her in the last couple of weeks—which I didn’t—I wouldn’t have been able to.
I’m toeing a thin line between not being able to stand her, and wanting so badly to know everything there is to know.
I don’t even really know why.
I’ll admit, I listened to her interview two weeks ago, and I laughed to myself when she talked about me taking over the basketball team in her hometown.
Like that would ever happen.
I did flinch, however, when she joked about me retiring because it made the idea of it actually happening a real option.
Like, floating the notion around in the air made it seem not so bad.
I always told myself that the game was my life. The old me would’ve done anything to be in the position I’m in right now. The very same position any player would kill to be in.
I’ve tried. God dammit, I’ve tried every single day for the last ten years, and for the first seven, I loved every minute. The game, the life, all of it. I really did.
After everything with Noelle last year, it hit me pretty quickly that I didn’t belong here anymore. Not in this world. Not surrounded by people who are supposed to be my friends but chose to abandon me, people who believed that I did what I did out of pure jealousy because my team didn’t win.
I didn’t bother to correct them. I would rather it be me who gets dragged through the mud than have anybody find out the truth.
Because when it comes to my little sister, I do not hesitate and I don’t regret it.
Not even a little bit.
I allow myself three minutes to sit in the complete silence that my apartment provides me. I head to my bedroom and find my Armani suit that I had fitted last week, hung up and ready to go.
I pull my hooded jumper and t-shirt over my head in one fluid motion, with my sweatpants and boxer briefs not far behind, throwing them into the dirty clothes hamper. Turning on the water, I take a step inside.
By the time I'm clean and doing up the button on my trousers, a knock sounds at my door. Striding across the room, I pull it open only to be met with Olive and her beauty team.
"I tried really hard to get up here unseen, but the paparazzi in New York are vultures." She scrunches up her nose, tilting her head to the side. "Hi."
Her smile is soft, but I don’t get the time to take her in completely before her team is flooding through my front door with racks of clothes behind them, bags and bags of makeup and hair products.
I didn’t think seeing her would hit me this hard.
I should’ve been ready for this feeling in my chest.
Instead, I shove it down.
"Uh, head straight into the kitchen just down the hall." I close the door, but when I turn around, I see Olive waiting directly behind me, her team working in perfected movements while they set up everything they need.
"Hi," I say.
Her lips curve up in a smirk as she nibbles on the bottom one, her eyes raking me in. "Should I ask them to come back?"
She takes a step to bridge the gap between us. She’s so close, I can smell her shampoo.
Vanilla and coconut.
Her hand rests on my bare chest, warming my skin, giving me a wave of goosebumps.
"Olive, we’re ready," somebody says from behind us, interrupting whatever was just happening.
She steps away.
"I should go," she whispers, tipping her chin over my shoulder.
I clear my throat and give her one, single nod.
My hand gravitates to my pocket, making sure I can feel the little box stored inside, and I sigh with relief when it’s still there.
I shut down my favorite jewelers, Amore’s, two weeks ago, once Olive left New York, and commissioned this custom necklace for her to wear tonight.
It’s on a gold plated chain, with the letters OA fused together, and tiny diamonds filling in the letters.
I take it out of my jacket pocket one last time, checking it over, ensuring it’s centered in the box before snapping it shut, and putting it back.
"What am I doing?" I ask myself with a shaky breath.
I already wish this night were over.
Her team left a while ago. I didn’t say goodbye, I didn’t even show my face while they were doing their thing. I just kept to myself in my room, playing video games.
But it’s too silent out there for me to ignore for any longer, and we need to leave soon.
I step out of my bedroom, hit with an abundance of scents thickening the air, and not a hint of mess left behind.
I’m looking for Olive, but I don’t want to call for her in case she isn’t completely ready.
So, I sit and wait on my couch, checking the time on my watch a total of four times before I hear her heels clacking against the hardwood floor. When she rounds the corner, my heart stops.
A gold, shimmery dress, that looks like it was made specifically for her, shows off curves that she keeps hidden from the rest of the world, a deep V accentuating her cleavage.
She’s pinning earrings into her ears as she makes her way over to me. "I need your help."
I swallow hard, watching her thin straps slide down the sides of her shoulders. When she turns her back to me, my mouth is suddenly dry.
Desperate for water and apparently, her.
"I can’t reach my zip. Can you do it?"
I lick my lips to stop them from cracking, clearing my throat. Inching closer to her, I make a conscious effort not to move too quickly or come off too desperate.
I don’t want to touch her anywhere other than the zip, or get close enough to breathe her in anymore than I already have.
She holds the base of her dress between her finger tips. My hand follows toward hers, hovering ever so slightly, careful not to graze her smooth, tanned skin with my knuckles.
"We’re on a time crunch here, Jones. You can ogle my back later, but we need to be out that door in two minutes. And if you’re going to keep picturing me naked, I fear we won’t make it on time, or at all." She looks over her shoulder, her brown hair falling in front of her face.
"Are you always this crude?" I ask her, and I realize she’d sliced completely through the tension I unknowingly created for myself. Any nerves or hesitation I’d felt vanished into thin air.
"Depends. If you ask my sisters, they’ll tell you hell no. They think I’m an angel." She laughs. "Speaking of sisters, do you only have the one I met at the meet and greet?" she asks as I do up the clasp at the top of the zip before taking a much needed step away from her.
"What are you trying to do here, Olive?" I say, watching as she moves around my kitchen in a hurry, putting things like makeup and her phone into her purse.
"Trying to get to know my future husband, isn't it obvious?" She zips her bag closed and drapes it over her shoulder. "Wait, I should probably know, have you ever been married before or will I be…your first?"
I rub the back of my neck, breathing heavily through my nose and out of my mouth.
"Yes. Noelle is my only sister, and no, I’ve never been married before. Have you?" I lean my hip against the counter, shoving my hands deep into my pockets, fidgeting with the box as a distraction.
I’m not sure how to it give her. Not even sure I want to.
It has an O and A on it, for fucks sake.
How much more corny could I get?
The designer told me women loved shit like that, and I handed over my credit card. I picked it up from Amore’s this morning.
"Me? Married?" She snorts, her heels clicking against the floor as she approaches the front door. "Yeah, right."
Holding it open for me, she ushers me out of it, and I push off the counter, curious as to what she means.
But I’m too afraid to ask.
So I don’t. Instead, I take the box out of my pocket and say, "Close the door, Olivia."
Her eyebrows pinch together while her nose scrunches up in distaste. But then she watches me slowly as I take the gold chain out, and place the empty box down onto the table.
"Why?" She whispers once the door latches shut.
"I—uh. Orlando told me to get you something.
Could you turn around and hold your hair up for me?
" I ask, my voice matching hers as I place the letters in the dip of her collarbone. My palm glides around the base of her neck, imitating the form of the piece of jewellery that’s about to take residence in the very same spot.
Her gasp is subtle, but I notice as goosebumps dance over her skin while I trace my fingertips to the back of her neck, clasping the ends of the chain together.
"O and A?" she asks quietly as she picks it up. Looking over at me, her hair cascading down her back, I expect her to poke fun at me for it. Tell me how lame I am, but to my relief, none of that comes. Only a smile. One that I’ve come to enjoy.
I shrug. "No big deal. Come on, let’s go." I open the door for her, but she’s still for a heartbeat while eyeing it off.
"Thanks, AJ." The right corner of her lip tugs, and we head for the door.
Taking the elevator in silence, our hands are an inch apart before the doors open. Flashing lights blind us from outside the glass doors.
She grabs my hand on instinct—in a panic, but without hesitation—threading her fingers through mine while I hold my free hand in front of the doors to keep them from closing.
"It’s Avery, by the way," I say, confusion washing over her face. "The people closest to me call me Avery. Never AJ, never Jones, unless they’re trying to get under my skin."
She nods, gifting me a genuine smile. "Got it."
"After you," I say, nodding toward the exit, and she takes a step out, pulling me with her.
Maybe she’s not as bad as I thought.
Or maybe she’s planning on ruining my life and wants to butter me up first.
Both things could very well be true, and I fear I might just let her do it.