Chapter 12 Landon
Landon
“Yeah, man, no worries. Rawley and I will check on the house on the weekends, he’s coming in almost every Friday through Sunday. Happy to keep him busy and he’ll love the mock-field in your backyard.”
“Thanks,” Johnson replies through the receiver. “I want to stay here a little while longer to make sure everything gets settled, even if it’s going in the right direction. And I’ve been training with a local guy I’ve known forever.”
Johnson’s sister had given birth to a little boy. It was touch and go for awhile, but everyone seems okay now. Meanwhile, he’s staying in his hometown in Alabama, helping his sister and mom, and he asked me to check in on his Orlando house once a week.
“I’m here for whatever you need. No questions asked.”
After trading a little team news, we hang up.
With the momentary distraction of Johnson’s call done, I don’t have anything keeping me from wondering about how the donation went over.
And mulling over the fact that I might be stalking Rori a bit. A smidge.
Okay, in my defense, Grace is the one who brought the race to my attention last week. When she said she was going to go, it felt like a no-brainer to send a donation with her.
Would I have done it if Rori wasn’t involved? Maybe not. But it was still the right thing to do.
My Rori-related activities extend beyond the check, though. I’ve started to follow her matches. I know she has a tournament in California coming up in a few days. I listen to women’s tennis updates while working out in my home gym.
Let’s just call me a fan.
I don’t reveal any of this to Rori, however. I’m careful to keep our texts friendly and not too frequent. No reason to push something that she doesn’t want. I promised her no distractions.
Grace texts me once she gets back to her place in nearby Winter Haven. The message is frustratingly lacking in detail.
GRACE: All set!
Okay, great, but was Rori happy? Excited? Surprised? Annoyed?
I wasn’t going to get details from Grace without admitting that I’m intrigued by Rori.
Good word for it. Intrigued.
A few hours later, I’m having a rice bowl with chicken and veggies at my kitchen counter, still going stir crazy about how the check went over.
Grover pads closer and looks at me, curious.
“I know, I know. Daddy seems stressed. It’s fine,” I say, trying to reassure him.
After finishing my meal, I take him on a walk in the backyard, where the sun is finally starting to creep down the sky for the night. As Grover’s doing his business, I feel my phone vibrate.
“Keep going, Grover,” I say. “Let me see who this is.”
He looks at me like, “whatever,” as I pull the phone out of my pocket.
The message there is five little words, which make my night.
RORI: Call me when you can.
Call? She wants me to call her? I don’t actually talk to anyone on the phone, unless it’s business.
For Rori, I’ll use the phone like I’m a full-on Boomer.
“Okay, now you have to hurry, Grover,” I say.
Happily, he’s done quickly. Within four minutes, I’m on my couch, dialing Rori.
“Hi,” she says, her voice full of energy. “I’m so glad you called.”
“Well, I’m just following orders,” I joke. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” she replies. “Really good—the event was spectacular today. And you made it even better.”
“Oh?” I say, liking what I’m hearing.
“Yes, Landon, it was so generous of you to make that donation. I’m really grateful. I know we have a…unique relationship, but it was so beyond kind of you to do that.”
Her voice is vibrant and sincere. It makes every dollar I donated that much more valuable.
“I know how much the cause means to you. It was absolutely my pleasure,” I say.
Her next words sound a little further away and fuzzy—she must have switched to speaker.
“And how cool is it that Grace won! It was so great to meet her.” There’s a little rustling in the background.
“Sorry, I’m making some food. I just got home and am starving.
I barely had time to eat today, it was non-stop. ”
“It’s all good. Make your food, I can keep you company too,” I say.
We end up talking for about fifteen minutes—bouncing around topics like sports gossip, a movie we both want to see, and stories about our last few days.
I like this woman so much.
“Oh, Landon,” she suddenly interjects. “My aunt is visiting, and she just came back from an errand. I really need to go, I’m sorry. She’s only here one more day.”
I feel a little disappointed, but family is family. “No worries at all, enjoy your time with her,” I say, ready to hang up after she says goodbye.
She pauses a beat and then starts speaking again. “Wait, Landon. I…It was nice to catch up.”
Her voice’s a little uncertain, like she’s weighing something.
“Yes, it was,” I say, trying to give her the space to say whatever’s on her mind.
“And also…” she says. “Also, after I get back from our next stop in California, I have a tournament in Miami, in late March. My last big one before I go to Europe for the clay court season. Would you want to come to a match?”
I respond, not missing a beat. “Absolutely. That would be awesome.”
“Okay, great,” she says, confidence back in her voice.
Just like that, I’m going to see Rori again soon.
The next couple of weeks follow a largely predictable pattern for the off-season.
Most days I work out and then hang at home with Grace or some of the guys.
True to my word, I fly Rawley in for the weekends.
He’s obsessed with Johnson’s place, especially his workout facilities and backyard with the regulation field.
So we kill a bunch of time there on Saturdays and Sundays.
A couple of other obligations pop up. I have a two-day trip to NYC to film a commercial and go on a talk show.
I record another commercial here in Orlando, for a major local franchise.
Endorsement money is a larger part of my pay right now than my rookie contract, so I take advantage.
Aiden’s killing it with these deals, and I can see my bank account reflecting his efforts.
Along the way, Rori and I stay in touch by text—text only again.
Our conversations are still not super frequent, but our messages are starting to get a little more personal, I notice.
Most recently, she was telling me about how her dad’s focused on setting up his next phase of life and isn’t traveling with her as much.
We still make silly jokes and share memes too.
I follow her lead—remembering my promise not to be a distraction.
Before I know it, the Miami tournament is starting in five days. Pulling up the schedule, I see that I could easily make her first-round match, which is on a Monday. She hasn’t repeated her invitation of coming to a round, but I feel pretty confident that it still stands.
LANDON Hey, I’m looking at the schedule for the Miami tournament. Would it work for me to go to the first round? The second half of the week I’m due back in New York for another shoot.
She gets back to me within an hour. She was probably on the courts when I sent the message, as it’s her normal time for drills.
RORI: Yes! I didn’t want to mention it again so you felt pressured to come, but that would be great.
Game on.
Next Monday, I pull up to the house of one of our offensive linemen, Carter Geurhardt, who agreed to come with me to the match.
I told Rori not to worry about our actual tickets.
Our team owners have a suite for the tournament, the biggest one each year in Florida.
They happily gave Carter and me seats in the suite for the first round.
After his big ole’ body lumbers out of the house, Carter hops into my car and we drive to Key Biscayne, the location of the tournament. Traffic’s jammed up badly as we get closer to the road leading us from the mainland to the Key.
“Shit, hope we aren’t late,” Carter says.
We better not be.
I haven’t told Carter anything about my history with Rori. When inviting him, I only explained that I’m excited to watch her play—and her name is so hot right now in sports that he took my comment at face value. Everyone’s excited to watch Rori play.
Luckily, we left early enough that the traffic doesn’t cause us to miss anything.
As we park the car, there are still thirty-five minutes until Rori starts her match.
We make our way to the suite, which in this small stadium, is simply a normal section of seats with a small plastic barrier separating it from those nearby.
Almost immediately, fans come up to Carter and me for autographs and photos.
“Just until the players come in,” I tell them with a smile.
A roar goes through the crowd about fifteen minutes later, and out comes Rori.
She’s wearing a pale orange tennis dress, showing off her fit, tan legs and arms. Her hair’s pulled back in a braid, held together with a matching orange hair tie at the bottom.
As she waves to the cheering attendees during the walk to her chair, her face is lit up with a grin.
“LET’S GO RORI,” yells Carter at the top of his lungs.
Nice.
She looks our way at the sound of his 350-pound behemoth shout, and a flash of recognition hits her face immediately. She smiles and waves to us.
“Well, I guess she knows we’re here now,” Carter says, sitting down.
“Guess so,” I chuckle back. “She actually invited us to grab lunch afterwards. Her team rented a private room for their group at a nearby restaurant.”
“I’m down,” Carter says.
Rori makes quick work of her opponent, a young local player who’d qualified by winning a play-in tournament. Ninety minutes in and they’re shaking hands at the net.
My nerves start to prickle as I realize that I’m going to finally be able to talk to Rori in person after weeks of text-only conversations.
I truthfully don’t know what to expect. This is the first time that I’ve ever had a woman in my life who is both a past hook-up and a friend.