Chapter 11
Ascent Sportswear wants to move forward on the campaign. It would be a full launch, three-day shoot in early September. The other athlete you’ll be paired with is Whit Marlow, LPGA champion.
“Whit Marlow,” I say under my breath as I relax against the lounge chair and look up to the sky.
The only thing I know about Whit Marlow is that she’s had it pretty similar to me.
Ever since she won her first LPGA tournament, the press has been all over her, acting like she’s the golden child, sent to them to save their sport.
I can fucking relate.
The Raptors think I’m the one who’s going to lead them to victory, but I’m realistic.
There’s a reason their team was able to get me as their first-round pick.
They’ve been underdeveloped and under-funded for years.
There’s no depth in their defensive line, so it doesn’t matter that they managed to bring Reese and Dax with me.
If we can’t stop the other team from scoring, our chances of winning drastically reduce.
I stare up at the sky for a second too long, letting the sun wash everything out. Then I drop my gaze back to my phone.
They’re branding it the Ascent Dual campaign. Two rookies in two different disciplines, coming together at the same moment in their careers. The creative is clean and nothing that's going to make either of you cringe at a billboard in two years. I think this is a great opportunity for you.
I need an answer today, Zach.
I bet he thinks it’s a great opportunity. He’ll get ten percent of the deal, but this campaign sounds a lot more interesting than the last two he pitched. Namely, a pre-workout supplement and a compression-gear commercial.
This is just an article and a few photos with Whit Marlow who’s stunningly beautiful. The attention wouldn’t be on me. It would be on her.
I quickly type a message back.
Yes. Lock it in. Send me the brief.
Sent.
Done. Hopefully that will stop him from sending me more opportunities for at least a week.
Ding.
I roll my eyes, because of course Dave responded instantly.
Finally!
When are you landing in ATL? I need to arrange meetings with your team.
My thumbs lift away from the screen so there’s no chance of me emailing him back. I have no idea when I’m landing since I haven’t booked a flight yet and I have no plans to. Not until I’ve at least spoken to Honey again.
A shadow falls over me.
“Oh my God. Are you Zach Evans?”
Fuck.
I thought the ball cap and sunglasses would hide my identity.
Closing my eyes under my glasses, I take a breath and compose myself.
“Hey,” I say, sitting up and pulling off my sunglasses to see two women about my age standing next to my lounge chair.
“Yes, I am.” I smile, knowing that if I ignore them, it would make things worse.
It might also mean Dave finds out exactly where I am, and I really don’t want to see him at the next port.
The taller one breathes in and tries to subtly elbow her friend.
This is what I hate. Feeling like I’m some kind of zoo animal to be studied.
I can literally throw a ball. It doesn’t deserve this kind of attention.
She breathes out dramatically and then shakes her head.
“I’m sorry. I’m not—I promise I’m not usually like this.
” She laughs at herself, holding her hand out to me. “I’m Sarah, big Raptors fan.”
I look down at her hand before I accept it and shake.
She nods to the girl next to her. “This is Taylor. We saw you at the bar last night, and I told her it was you.” Her eyes drift to our hands. “There aren’t many hot, blond guys who love honey enough to have it inked into their skin like that.”
I huff out a quiet laugh, glancing down at the tattoo as I gently pull my hand away from hers.
She’s right. No one else loves Honey like I do. Even when it’s a detriment to my own future, I put her fucking first.
“Yeah,” I drawl. “I’ve been told I commit a little too hard to things I like.”
“Good,” she says, crossing her arms lightly. “Because we’re gonna need that this season.” Her mouth quirks. “Raptors fans have been waiting for someone who actually gives a damn.”
“Oh, yeah?” I tilt my head slightly, studying her. “You been suffering through our games that long?”
Taylor snorts. “Not a question you want to ask her.” She points her thumb at Sarah. “She watches every single game. It’s a problem.”
Sarah rolls her eyes. “It’s not a problem. It’s loyalty.”
“Respect,” I say, leaning back on my elbows, more relaxed now. “Not a lot of people stick around for that kind of losing streak.”
“I haven’t known a season where the Raptors have done well. I was in my mom’s belly the year after their last playoff run.”
“Ditto,” I say with a smile.
“But that’s why it matters now,” she says. “I finally have a team worth rooting for.”
I nod slowly. “We’ll see.”
“No,” she says, a little firmer now. “Not we’ll see. The Raptors brought Reese and Dax with you because they wanted to change the offense. If you can perform just a fraction of the way you did last season, then we might actually have a chance of ending the season with a winning record.”
“Oh, yeah?” I shift, sitting up a little straighter now. “You watch my games?”
“No, but it’s hard not to hear about your stats on every sports network.” She looks up to the sky, thinking for a second. “Didn’t you throw four thousand yards last season, and get what? Forty touchdowns?”
I look at Taylor, who is completely unfazed by her friend’s stat knowledge, then look back at Sarah. “Give or take,” I say lightly. “That’s college, though. It’s different now.”
“Yeah, maybe—but that’s why I’m excited.” She takes me in. “Wanna see if you can give that same kind of performance with the Raptors too. Hopefully, you’ve got the same fight.”
“Oh, believe me. I’m fighting. I’m always fighting.”
“Good,” Taylor cuts in. “Because if I have to sit through another losing season with her, I’m going to cry right along with Sarah. I can’t do it anymore. I just can’t.”
Sarah bumps her lightly with her shoulder. “Stop it. You’re making me sound obsessed.”
“Making?” Taylor asks, amused. “I wasn’t the one who recognized a tattoo on a random dude’s forearm.” She looks around, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Wait—are you even allowed to be here without security?”
“Okay. I think we’ve spent enough time talking to him,” Sarah says, pushing Taylor slightly. “I think we should let you enjoy the rest of your vacation.”
“Don’t you want a picture? That’s the entire reason we came over here.”
“Yeah, well...” Sarah doesn’t finish the sentence, her cheeks heating.
“Do you want to take a photo?” I ask, almost surprised that I’m offering. “But can you not put it on the internet until I’m playing my first game? Kinda want to keep my location a secret.”
“Your secret is safe with us,” Sarah says.
I lean forward with my elbows on my knees as they kneel on either side of my lounge chair as both girls perch on either side and smile.
Click. Click. Click.
When they’ve finished, Taylor straightens, glancing down at her phone as she scrolls through the pictures.
“Oh, wow,” she says, a little softer now. “These actually turned out really good.”
She turns the screen toward Sarah, who leans in, her shoulder brushing mine briefly.
I nod once. “Glad you got what you needed.”
Taylor lowers her phone, glancing at Sarah before looking back at me. “Thanks for that and letting us bother you on your vacation. I know it means more to Sarah than she’d ever admit.”
“Taylor,” Sarah whispers.
“It’s all good,” I say, waving them off. “Excited to help our team win.”
Taylor clears her throat lightly. “Um, so... I don’t know what your plans are, but we were probably going to grab a drink later. Nothing crazy. Just... around the bar deck.”
Sarah nods, a little more composed than before. “Yeah. You’re welcome to join us if you want. No pressure or anything. Just not sure if you’re here alone or anything.” She raises her hands. “I can’t promise I won’t talk football, but my fiancé will stop me.”
Fiancée?
My gaze immediately falls to her hand, and yep, right there is a giant rock on her finger.
She... she has no interest in me?
Why am I so fucking surprised about that?
I guess I got used to being talked about as a commodity, and girls’ looks lingering for just a second longer. It’s been like that since St. Michael’s. Most of them don’t even bother pretending it’s about anything other than what I can give them.
I’ve gotten used to the dynamic. Expect it, even.
But this? This wasn’t that.
This is what I told Honey would happen.
Every time she got overwhelmed. Every time she said she couldn’t handle the looks, the comments, the way people treated me like I wasn’t just... hers.
It won’t always be like this, I’d told her.
Once I go pro, it’ll settle. People won’t care as much. It’ll be different.
She never believed me, and at St. Michael’s, she was right not to. It didn’t matter how well I played, the attention never dipped. If anything, it got worse after the Jenni debacle and people thought I was single.
I kind of forgot that one day it might change.
Had no idea that day would come now.
Before I can respond, something catches my eye in my peripheral vision.
Honey.
She’s in the same white robe from this morning when she ambushed me in my room this morning. Only now her hair is down, she’s got sunglasses on, and she looks... relaxed. Hopefully, it’s because of the massage, and not another guy.
Fuck, I really can’t stop thinking about her, can I?
Sarah and Taylor are still standing beside me.
Oh, yeah, I forgot they were here after seeing Honey. But also, shit. If Honey sees them, is she going to think things are still the same?
She’s scanning the area now, for a lounger, I presume, and I dip my chin, not wanting her to see me like this.
“Hey,” I say, pushing up a little from the lounger. “I appreciate the offer. Really.”