Chapter 12
AVERY
A LITTLE BIT EARLIER
Mom calls me right when we get off Zoom.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“I don’t know, it was so out of the blue.”
“I know, sweetheart, for me too. But…”
“Say what you’re thinking.” I’m still processing, so I’m interested in her perspective.
“I just hate the thought of you not getting what you deserve, and that’s a group of people who know how to get you there. It seems unlikely they’d steer you wrong if they didn’t think it would work.”
“True.”
“And if Aiden delivers half of what he promises, you’ll be set for life.”
“I can’t lie, that’s a huge factor for me.” The vision he was painting about my income would change my entire future.
“And you and Rawley do seem to get along fine?”
“We do.” It’s unexpected, but the part of this where we’d be forced to spend time together doesn’t bother me at all. Rawley’s fun, and he seems respectful of the boundaries I’ve laid down.
If anything, it feels like I’m tempting my own limits, with how attractive he is. Not that I’m going to let myself go there with him physically.
I guess, yes, technically I would be “dating” an athlete, but it would be pretend. A permissible loophole in my rule.
Still, I want to make sure Rawley and I are on the same page.
“What do you want to do, sweetheart? We could meet with Aiden and Taylor separately to vet the more conventional strategies she mentioned if you want to hear those first?”
“I already know that mirroring Taylor’s approach with Rori Reilly would interest me most among those.”
“I’ll be honest, Aves, I’m sure Taylor would do great with that strategy, but I don’t think it would break through as much as dating Rawley.”
I agree with her and say so. “Plus they seemed anxious to get ahead of the article? So we don’t have a lot of time for debate. Can you get Rawley’s number for me instead? I think it’d be good for us to chat one-on-one.”
“Yes, let’s jump off, and I’ll text Aiden to get it for you.”
Not surprisingly, Aiden responds to Mom quickly, and within a few minutes I have Rawley’s number.
I need to leave for practice soon, so having a meaningful conversation is not realistic. And we should probably meet in person? It doesn’t feel like a phone call is good enough to hash out the possible ground rules.
Not letting myself overthink this, I text him, and we make plans to meet at my place tonight.
Looking around my townhouse, I’m glad I set the time for seven and I’ll have time to spruce everything up.
I rented it furnished, and it cleans up perfectly nice, but I’m not exactly a good housekeeper. There’s random mail, two semi-full gym bags, and water bottles spread across the living room, and a stack of clean laundry on the couch.
Ignoring the mess for the moment, I jet to practice at eleven.
It’s a pretty straightforward session, but there’s one stand-out moment during our scrimmaging. About halfway through, Coach has me play on the same team with the other starters, replacing Katrina but leaving the rest of the group intact.
The chemistry feels seamless, and when the session is over, Sarah whispers, “Great job.”
Meanwhile, I catch Katrina looking at me and biting her lip a couple of times in the locker room.
Too bad.
She burned the bridge of making this a collegial battle for that starting spot. And even if she hadn’t, there’s not much I can say, because I want it.
Heading straight back after practice, I’m home by four, which gives me plenty of time to clean up the townhouse and myself.
Not that I need to dress up for Rawley. All he gets is my staple uniform of leggings and a red halter tee.
Does my ass look incredible in these leggings? Sure. But he’ll be stuck admiring the view only.
Rawley knocks on the door right at seven. Check mark for being punctual.
When I open the door, I see he’s brought out the big guns: the male equivalent of these leggings.
Gray sweatpants.
Thin ones, no less, suitable for Florida. Along with a tight-fitting UT T-shirt he looks like he’s had since his freshman year, his broad chest stretching the faded fabric.
I guess I’ll appreciate the sights too.
And then I suddenly realize—this is our first time truly alone together.
One-on-one, in my townhouse.
For some reason, the thought shoots a fleeting wave of nerves across my chest.
“Hey,” he says, as his face breaks into a grin. He’s holding a medium-sized Tupperware container. Maybe he brought his dinner here?
“Hi, come on in.”
As he walks by me, it’s not the food I smell, but the delicious, very male scent of whatever aftershave or cologne he has on.
“I brought you this.” He hands me the container. “You said you liked seafood, so I made paella with shrimp, scallops, and cod.”
What? “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Don’t worry, I ate some too, and Landon’s away so I had time to kill in between workouts. It’ll be even tastier tomorrow if you already ate.”
“Thank you.”
“Consider it a potential pretend-boyfriend gesture.”
No one I’ve ever dated has done anything remotely like this, so it’s very much pretend.
I know he’s kidding, but I’m stumped for words on how to respond. I’m kind of touched that he did this.
“Let’s head to the kitchen,” I settle on. “I can put it in the fridge then show you around, not that there’s much to show.”
“Sure.”
We walk through the living room and only ten steps later are in the kitchen. My townhouse is under fifteen hundred square feet.
“You live here by yourself?”
“Yes, I rented it for a year while I figure things out for the long term. It’s not glamorous, but the price is right and everything is new in this development.”
“That’s cool. Your neighbors aren’t weird about you playing for the Surge?”
I understand why he’s asking because the townhouses are all stacked against each other, in long rows. No separation and no privacy once you leave your front door.
“Not so far. Everyone seems to mind their business.”
I put the Tupperware in the fridge. “I’ll definitely eat this before I leave tomorrow, thanks again.” I turn and lean against the island, while he hovers near the kitchen entry.
“We’ll skip this part of the tour for now, but there’s two bedrooms upstairs too. I wanted an extra in case my sister Remy or one of the boys comes and visits when school’s out.”
He crosses his arms and puts his weight against the wall. “One of the boys?”
Oh. “Yeah, my brother Jamie or cousin Wells. Jamie is finishing up his senior year of high school, and Wells is at Duke.”
He drops his arms. “Wait, Wells Holding is your cousin? How did I not know that?”
“His mom is my dad’s sister, yup. How would you know that?”
“I told you, I like basketball. I watch a lot of it.”
“Okay, super fan or not”—he snorts at my teasing tone—“I’m not surprised it isn’t common knowledge. Wells flies under the radar even though he’s a solid player. He’ll start next year though, hopefully.”
“Yeah, he’s been strong as the sixth man.”
Huh, he does know his basketball.
“Is your little brother a player too?”
“Yeah, Jamie has the potential to be the best of us all. Even more than Dylan.”
“Dang, you have some serious hoopers in your family, Parker.”
“Yes, it’s a little much. Kind of like you guys and football.”
“Not really. Just Landon and I play. Connor’s always been all about soccer. Though he’s probably going to be done with it after college.”
He shifts again, and all of a sudden, his thin gray sweatpants are doing the gray sweatpants thing. I try not to stare at the outline of…well, it.
Okay, seriously, Aves, why didn’t you make this a FaceTime?
This man is distracting. God, I really need to find a guy like Jack here, something casual. It’s been more than a month since our last hookup, and I’m feeling it.
That guy is definitely not going to be Mr. Bulge-y McBulge over there, fake boyfriend or not.
Aves, get back on track.
“Do you want to head to the living room?”
He nods and we take our seats on the pale blue sofa. Several feet away from each other.
“Let’s talk through how this would work, if we agree to move forward.”
He raises a brow. “Did Aiden not tell you already? I texted him that I was in if you were.”
Okay, good to know.
“Well, let’s flesh out what it would look like. I have three or so games a week right now, and obviously half are away. Usually road trips involve two or three games every other day until we head home. That’s the general rhythm until the playoffs start in mid-September.”
He processes the info before adding his half of the schedule.
“Yeah, and by then our season will have started. This summer is kind of all over the place. In the next month, I have three OTAs, which are like mini–training camps, sort of. My sister Grace, she runs competitively, and I like to go watch her race when I can.”
“I didn’t know she did that. Cool.”
Rawley pulls a pillow on his lap and starts playing with the edges.
“I’ll head out west for a few days to watch her compete in June. I’m supposed to go to New York to visit a friend after that too. Our training camp starts in mid-July, and I won’t be able to leave the team hotel much for three weeks. And then we start the preseason.”
“Wow.” I can’t help laughing a little bit. “Finding time for a ‘fake’ date night could be a struggle in itself.”
His brow creases. “Yeah, it’s kind of overwhelming to think about. Maybe we would be better off just taking it one date at a time.”
I like that. For all we know, we’ll hit our expiration date before the end of the summer.
“Is the schedule the only thing you’re worried about? I mean, what about your whole thing against dating athletes?”
“I’m not breaking my rule. This is a fake dating workaround.”
He laughs.
“I feel like the rest of the ground rules are pretty intuitive. This wouldn’t be real, so nothing physical would happen.”
He cocks his head. “I mean, we’re going to have to touch each other sometimes in public. You know, hug, hold hands maybe. I could see myself kissing you on the cheek or the top of your head sometimes.”
Suddenly, an image of Rawley surrounding me with his arms and dropping a kiss in my hair flashes in my mind.
I intuitively melt into the couch a little before catching myself. Rein it in, Avery.
“I can see that being necessary in some cases. But nothing beyond what you described, okay?
“Yeah, okay.” He looks down at the pillow, chewing on his bottom lip.
“What, something else on your mind?”
“Not about the touching stuff, no. But I’m wondering why you’re doing this exactly? Aiden mentioned something about your contracts?”
I grimace. “There’s this perception that off-court I’m…I don’t know, cold? And it’s been hurting the negotiations for my deals.”
“Tell me about it.” He leans forward slightly, his face more animated.
“This BS about me being a screwup? In my salary alone, I probably lost upward of twenty million in my rookie deal because I fell in the draft. I’m not trying to sound like an asshole and complain about the eighteen million I secured, but that was a brutal hit. ”
I try to contain my irritation. I suspect he has zero clue what WNBA players make.
“Rawley.”
“What?”
“Have you heard about my rookie salary?”
“No, why? The same thing happened to you?”
“It’s seventy-seven thousand dollars.” The five digit figure still stings.
“You mean seven hundred seventy thousand?”
“Nope.”
He looks like he’s about to climb out of the chair. “What the fuck?! Really?”
“It’s in line with our collective bargaining agreement. Although they’re negotiating the next one in the offseason, so hopefully it’ll be better.”
To his credit, he appears genuinely stunned.
“I had no idea. Damn, so I did sound like an asshole. I’m sorry.” His apology is loaded with remorse, and I’m uncomfortable that he sounds so guilty.
“It’s okay, it’s not your fault you didn’t know. But yeah, I’m pretty motivated to figure out how to get the endorsement money lined up. You never know how long you’ll play either, right? Which is why I ended up here, considering this arrangement.”
“That makes sense. Now I want to help you as much as myself. That’s a load of crap.”
“Thank you. So if we gave this a try, how soon would we be seen out? I’ll be back from our road trip in five days.”
He bites his lip again. “They said they’d make the announcement on Sunday. Maybe I could come to your next home game? It’s right after my brother Connor gets here, so he can be my guest.”
“Yes, that would work. I’ll line up courtside tickets.”
He smiles at me. “The press would probably eat up seeing me cheer you on.”
Shoot—the press. For them to believe we’re devoted to each other…
“I just thought of something. This part’s going to suck for me too.” So much for finding my next Jack.
“What is it?”
“We can’t be seen with other people. Or even sleep with someone secretly on the side, in case they let it spill.” My chest twists at the thought of the possible headlines. “I don’t want to be made a fool of.”
His forehead crinkles. “Yeah, I get that. I’m not with anyone right now. Obviously. And I won’t sleep with someone else.”
That seems like a pretty big thing for a guy our age to give up for months, but he sounds confident.
Guess my dry spell doesn’t have an expiration date yet, and my vibrator is going to keep getting a workout.
I nod. “That was my final concern.”
He lies back against the couch, letting his hands fall off the pillow, but doesn’t break eye contact.
“We’re doing this, aren’t we?” he asks softly.
“We are.”