Chapter 4
AVERY
“You ready for the regular season to start?” Kayla asks. She’s the PR head for the Surge, and I came to her office to talk through what they need for the next few weeks.
“Born ready,” I slip out. It’s my brother Dylan’s favorite saying, and the rest of us have adopted it out of habit.
“Great,” she says. “We won’t pile on too much in terms of media obligations, I promise. Take a seat while I get your mom on speaker.”
Mom answers on the first ring. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there in person,” she says in her sweet, charming voice. “I can’t wait to meet you when we come down from Boston next week.”
“Me too, Mrs. Parker.”
“Call me Sylvia.”
“Thank you.”
“So what do you have on the table for my girl?”
My mom referring to me as a “girl” would irritate me if her obvious affection wasn’t coming through strong.
“Avery’s in demand, no surprises there with being the top pick for the WNBA this year.” She looks at me. “I’m going to schedule some pre-taped interviews with the TV crew who broadcasts our games. The network will air them as hype.”
“Okay, I’m happy to do that.”
“Excellent.” Her face darkens a little. “There’s one thing I was asked to pass along about the interviews.”
“What?” Mom asks.
“The owner of the Surge is the brother of the station owner. Did you know that?”
I shake my head.
“Well, anyway, a request came in.” She sighs. “They’ve asked that you look…happier during your interviews. ‘More cheerful’ were the exact words.”
Oh hell no. Not this again.
The University of Connecticut staff was amazing, but I’ve heard several times from other corners of my world that I’d be easier to “market” if I was “fun,” “charming,” whatever, off the court.
Largely from potential agents or PR reps who’ve tried to court Mom and me the last four years, blind to their baked-in misogynistic perspective. Thinking they’re helping.
I am fun and charming, but not on command. Being around my dad and so many other athletes, watching them turn on fake charisma—I know it’s part of the game, but it’s not natural for me.
You can see why I’ve stuck to my mom as my agent and rep.
My annoyance must be on my face, because when Kayla’s eyes lock with mine, there’s a layer of regret.
“It’s not me talking, Avery. The attention on you as the number one pick and being basketball royalty—well, it’s drawn scrutiny from atypical places.”
“We’re still talking about women athletes needing to ‘smile more’ in this day and age?” My mom’s voice is as icy as I’ve heard from her.
“It’s not what I believe is right.” Kayla sounds almost as upset as us. “I’m just passing on the feedback.”
“Avery is aiming to be the best player in her generation. So that’s going to be what we’re going to focus on.”
“Understood, ma’am.” Mom doesn’t tell her to call her Sylvia this time.
Kayla continues to look remorseful, and I try to get us back on track.
“I love being on the court. I save all my energy and emotion for the games.”
Her face warms at the hint that she may be forgiven for bringing up the topic.
“That’s seen, Avery. Everyone knows you care about the game, and the Surge fans are over the moon so far whenever you take the court.”
“That’s what it’s all about,” I say, more confidently.
“So what else, Kayla?” Mom asks, her tone returning to neutral.
“There are also some print interview requests. And one is unique, but should be great for Avery’s local profile.”
“Sure, I’ll do whatever,” I offer.
“Okay, good, because they were hoping to set it up before you get too busy with the regular season. You and the Waves’ rookie Rawley Battle would be on the cover of a local newspaper’s Sunday Magazine, and they want you to interview each other.”
“Oh, that’s neat,” Mom says.
“Yes, it’s the paper’s most prominent feature. You’ll find the magazine all over the city in doctor’s waiting rooms, restaurants, those types of spots…”
Hmmm.
I guess Rawley Battle is getting the chance to do “something, sometime” with me after all.
Because after saying I would do whatever, I don’t see how I can get out of this without a complicated explanation I don’t feel like making.
“Fine. Count me in.”
I’d recognized Rawley right away when I stepped into the gym last week.
How could I not? He’s been in sports news constantly this past year, and his name on everyone’s lips here in Orlando following the NFL draft.
Then there’s the added factors of his brother being a staple in commercials and the pop culture explosion over Landon’s relationship with Rori Reilly ten months ago. The Battle name is well known in many circles beyond sports at this point.
Regardless, Rawley’s presence was hardly an unwelcome one at the gym that day.
First of all, I had no complaints about the eye candy he provided.
In person, he’d proven a total physical specimen, every inch of him carved from lean muscle. As a bonus, he’d been exactly the height I like—tall enough for me to wear heels, but not so tall that it’d be overwhelming if I’m not.
His curly brown hair had a mind of its own, but it suited the playful side he showed when we spoke. And I’m pretty sure I spotted a couple of thigh tattoos peeking out of his shorts too, kryptonite for me.
It was his deep blue eyes that jumped out the most, however. They swam with humor, reinforcing the impression he left with his relaxed attitude. Even while I ran him ragged and beat him soundly.
Most guys can’t handle that I’m better at basketball, especially serious athletes. Their egos get crushed. Rawley only seemed to appreciate my play and was funny on top of that.
Still, I didn’t think twice about turning him down for whatever he was looking for after the game.
My “no dating athletes” rule is not one I’m willing to budge on. It’s rooted in too many personal experiences, and not good ones.
Rawley didn’t give off a bad vibe though, and as I consider the upcoming interview, I’m grateful it’s with him.
He was entertaining the other day, at least. If we can return to our quick back-and-forth chatter, it might even be fun—for us and the readers.
If anything, I appreciate how lightly he took himself. Our teasing even made me forget who he was, at times.
I just hope he took the hint from the gym.
Not that it matters. I’m not going to give some NFL star my phone number, let alone make plans with him.
I will welcome a fresh dose of eye candy, however. And enjoy him making me laugh again while I do.