Chapter 18
AVERY
JACK: forget to tell me something?
As soon as I see his text, my brain goes “oh shit.” I totally should have given him a heads-up about Rawley. It just didn’t connect at first that it would be this big, big enough to be on his radar.
AVERY: I’m so sorry. It happened fast.
JACK: It’s totally fine, I was teasing.
We talked over text pretty often when I first got to Orlando, but with the regular season starting, and him getting situated in New York, our chats petered out.
AVERY: How is NYC?
JACK: I’ve got no complaints. Our family apartment here is ridic, and no one else is using it.
AVERY: So you’re planning parties there every night?
JACK: More like dragging home law firm work to do into the wee hours.
Ugh. Even as an intern? I don’t know how he does it.
JACK: You doing okay, really?
AVERY: Yeah. Everything is all right with the team.
AVERY: And Rawley, it’s still new. Obviously. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you.
JACK: You don’t owe me anything, Aves. He’s treating you well?
AVERY: Yeah, he’s a great guy.
JACK: That’s all I need to know.
We text a little bit more about his new job, and then our conversation fades off. Not a bad thing, because Rawley’s picking me up at seven, and it’s already six fifteen.
I scramble around to get ready, and for some reason, I’m feeling antsy.
Notably, I put in actual effort as if this is a real date. Knowing we’ll be photographed proves to be motivation to apply a full round of makeup and break out a dress and heels.
Rawley’s on time again, and when I open the door, his face lacks any clear emotion. But then his eyes roam the length of my body, and he breaks out a huge grin.
“Looking good, boo.”
A laugh bursts out of me, knowing what he’s up to. “Rejected. You’re not calling me ‘boo.’”
“Man, you’re hard to please.” He shakes his head, the smile not leaving his face. “You ready for the big show?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
Suddenly, the tension I felt getting ready is gone. I grab my bag and leave my car keys. He’s going to do the driving tonight.
Once I step outside, Rawley takes my hand.
“There shouldn’t be any cameras here. You don’t need to do that.”
His eyes drop to my feet. “Those heels are high, and I didn’t want you to struggle with the stairs.”
Okay. I don’t reply, but I also don’t pull my hand out of his until we reach his car.
We picked a spot ten minutes from my house, so the drive is short. It’s a trendy Cuban fusion restaurant, and apparently the staff has experience accommodating local celebrities.
Taylor discretely called a couple of trusted photographers to catch our arrival. As soon as we park, Rawley opens my door, and our hands are linked again as we walk down the sidewalk.
“Smiles on,” Rawley says.
We don’t speak, which is for the best. If I’m talking during photos, half the time I end up looking like I’m mad about something, even in the most innocent of conversations. Instead, I push the smile on my face and keep it there.
“Rawley, Avery, look here please.” And yup, here are the friendly paps Taylor must have called. We don’t break our stride, but tilt our heads in their direction so they can get their shot.
“Thank you,” they say as we reach the door to the restaurant, and they lower their cameras.
“This is so weird,” I whisper to Rawley.
“I’m starting to have more sympathy for Landon and Rori.”
Yes, I can imagine how intense things have been for them, knowing how they dominated the public chatter last year.
“Hi, Rawley and Avery, if I can call you that?” a woman says as we make our way through the restaurant entrance, our hands still clasped. “I’m Luisa, one of the owners. Let me escort you to the private room we have for you.”
Taylor had instructed us to use the front entrance in the event that some diners took pics too, adding to the potential social media impact.
Luisa takes us through the general dining area and heads definitely turn our way, as well as some phones. Once we get to the private room, I breathe a sigh of relief and drop my glued-on smile. Luisa gets us situated, asks us what we’d like to drink, and then disappears.
I look up at Rawley to find him wearing a half-amused expression. “Finally alone again. That was quite the production for a two-minute blip.”
“I never thought anyone would be so interested in me walking to get food.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “Well, we got the job done.”
Luisa and another woman enter the space with our drinks.
“The chef would love to make some of his favorites tonight, unless you two would like to order off the menu?”
“No, that sounds amazing to me. Rawley?” I remember a split second late he knows more about food than me.
“I’m great with that.”
The ladies leave, and we’re alone again.
“Did you have a good few days?” he asks.
“They weren’t bad. I feel like I’m getting into the rhythm, slowly. I’ve spent the first bit of the season banged up and exhausted, though adrenaline has saved the day.”
“How many games do you play? I should know, I’m sorry…”
“It’s fine. We play forty in the regular season, although it’s supposed to increase to forty-four next year.”
“Okay, so like half the NBA basically.”
“Yeah. Next year I’ll probably be sad when the season ends, but right now I don’t mind there’s not more games. I’m going to be ready for a break after the playoffs.”
“Coming straight from school, I get it. What do you like to do in your time off?”
I laugh. “Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I really got to chill, for real.”
“I would say the same, but I coasted at school in the offseason.” He raises his lips in a half grin.
“You still had to be there though, right? In Austin? What would you do if you could go anywhere, do anything?”
He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe go around the world trying different cuisines, eating samples from the best chefs.”
“Yeah, I could see that.”
“I’d have to work out a fucking lot to eat everything I want,” he jokes.
On cue, our dinner comes. There are four plates, including a picadillo dish that smells incredible.
We start digging into the meal, and he smiles at me. “So fucking good, right?”
“Unbelievable.”
After a minute of us quietly eating, he drives the conversation again.
“You never answered; what would you want to do? Or I guess what will you do, since you’re only a few months away from that first break?”
“I hate to sound boring, but I don’t know yet. I do want a new tattoo though, I know that.”
He stops mid-bite, looking intrigued. “Oh yeah?”
I twist around and point to my hip. “I want a floral design that traces along here.” I drag my finger toward the top of my ass.
His eyes darken as he looks where I’m pointing. “That will be hot.”
Oh. I realize now that this particular tattoo will only be visible when I’m nearly naked, and that’s probably on his mind.
I—we—need a distraction. I take a sip of my water before trying to pivot us.
“Do you have other tattoos?”
It takes a beat, but he slowly nods. “After Better Together, I got another one—it has the first four initials of my siblings and I linked together with some artistic elements. So like, L-G-R-C.”
“It sounds unique. And meaningful.”
“I’ll show you sometime, though it’s way up here.” He points to the top half of his other thigh.
That’s so sexy, frick. Okay, this talk of thigh tattoos was unwise.
And then Rawley turns us to an even more loaded topic.
“Do you mind if I ask you something? Where exactly did your ‘no dating athletes’ rule come from?”
How did we go from traveling abroad to this?
“Well, you know how—I mean, I don’t want to insult you personally, but you know how athletes are. All the cheating and sleeping around, one-night stands on the road?”
“I’ve seen that with my friends, sure. But you aren’t insulting me, because I’m the opposite.”
Wait, what does he mean exactly? He must see my confusion because he continues.
“It’s always been a turn-off when someone’s thrown themself at me. Even when I was an otherwise horny teenager. I just can’t get into it. And I only like one person at a time. If I’m truly into someone, I’m not interested in anyone else.”
“Really?” It’s hard to believe.
“Yup. Instead, lucky me, I seem to fall for girls, now women, who don’t like me as much as I like them. I’m a glutton for punishment, I guess.” His tone is more matter-of-fact than this revelation probably deserves.
“That doesn’t sound great either.” I want to unpack what he’s sharing more, but I’m not sure our friendship is strong enough to go there.
But, like I said the other night, it does feel like we’re friends now, brought together by these crazy circumstances. I trust him, and I don’t think he’s lying.
“It’s not.” He takes a drink of water after that simple acknowledgment. “Enough about me though. So you’re worried about cheating? Have you ever dated an athlete?”
“Yes and yes, but I don’t really want to talk about it.”
He seems to read between the lines of what I’m not saying, because empathy floods his eyes.
“New topic then, Pearl.”
I roll my eyes at him, but I’m grateful for the change in subject.
“Nope, not going to call me that either. That choice is unexpected though.”
“Your skin is glowy like a pearl.” His eyes widen for a flash. Did he not mean to say that out loud?
I decide to ignore the moment. “I’m trying to think of another option that isn’t ridiculous. Maybe we should just let Taylor pick something. Or skip it altogether. It’s not really my style anyway.”
“That’s no fun. There’s a fake nickname out there that’s right. Maybe we just go with ‘Avie baby’? Or ‘Avie’? That seems to be a hit.”
“Who knew a comment on Insta could blow up like that. I wouldn’t mind ‘Avie.’ What would I call you?”
He sits with the question for a moment before a light flashes in his eyes.
“Why don’t we just do ‘Rook’ for me? People might like that it plays into our story?”
“Yes, that’s perfect.”
“Done. We’ll tell Taylor tomorrow.”
We’re both smiling with satisfaction when I think of another question.
“Were you always focused on football growing up? Is that what you’ve always wanted to do? Because you obviously like basketball too, and I’m guessing other sports.”
“I followed my big brother, more than anything. Honestly, I was good at anything involving a ball.”
“You aren’t bad at basketball.” He chuckles, and I’m suddenly conscious that might have sounded like an insult. “Sorry, I mean, you’re good.”
He laughs out loud now. “Say what you mean, it’s fine.
Any compliment from you feels like a win.
” He’s smiling, so I take that as a tease.
“Yeah, I loved both sports growing up, but I had to pick where to focus in high school, and football seemed a more set path out. I wouldn’t have made it to the NBA. ”
“Or maybe you just didn’t get enough practice because you were doing other things.”
“I don’t know, I’m pretty good at accepting my strengths and weaknesses with sports. It’s the rest of life that can fuck me up. Or that I fuck up.”
God, he really is hard on himself. “You’re doing pretty good, Rawley. At life, I mean.”
“I don’t know about that…”
I don’t respond, because I don’t feel comfortable pressing him.
“So what about you? Was playing basketball what you always wanted to do?”
“Yes. Being on a court, the ball in my hand, it’s home. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
“I get it. I can’t say I feel exactly the same about football, but there’s a natural…I don’t know, ease, with being out there.”
“That’s a good word. As much as there have been rocky times with my dad, I’m grateful for my family. Maybe I wouldn’t have found basketball if I had different parents, you know?”
He nods, and I realize I have barely heard him talk about his own parents. Just his siblings.
“Did your parents encourage you to play football?”
“My mom wasn’t around much. And when she was, she didn’t…she never really talked to me? More my siblings. My dad’s into sports but we have a casual relationship, I would call it.”
God, now I want to give him a hug. Except he doesn’t sound sad reciting this answer.
“Was that difficult?”
He locks eyes with me, and I can see through the rich blue glint a need to reassure me. Genuine, I think.
“Not really. I had plenty of love from other places.”
“Your siblings.”
“Yeah.”
He reaches for his water and takes a long sip as I watch him, thinking on our dynamic. During the interview, at my townhouse that first time, and then tonight…
“Rawley, do you talk this easily to other people? Usually?”
He bites his lip. “No. Do you?”
“No.”
A heaviness drops in the air as we look at each other, and the longer our eyes are connected, the more that weight feels like it’s sitting right on my chest.
Rawley’s eyes are loaded with intensity, as if he’s also processing the observation. Then he rubs his hand over his face, breaking our eye contact.
As if on cue, Luisa’s voice breaks through the air as she steps into the private room.
“Okay, how was dinner? Do you need anything else right now?”
“No, I think we’re all set here,” I reply.
“It was so good, thank you,” Rawley adds.
“Excellent. We were delighted to have you. When you’re ready, we can take you out the back.” Taylor said she’d take care of payment and tips, so they should be good on that front.
When we exit, there’s no planned photo moment on the back end. Within ten minutes we’re in Rawley’s car, headed to my townhouse so he can drop me off.
The earlier tension between us has dissipated. He has Bad Bunny on, and we’re both silently bopping to it, sending smiles to each other now and again.
Phew, almost done with this latest assignment from Taylor. My mind starts traveling to the prep I need to do for tomorrow’s road trip.
Only when we pull onto my street, I notice Rawley suddenly sit ramrod straight, at attention.
And a split second later, I’m blinded by the flash of cameras.
Many, many cameras.