Chapter 20
AVERY
When I wake up the next morning, the first thing I’m aware of is a thick, warm something between my legs.
Ohhhh, what is that?
Even with these sweatpants on, I feel the heat radiating off it.
I keep my eyes closed, still groggy. Still half asleep.
The something shifts a moment later, and oh my god, rubs me in just the right place.
That feels so good. Do it again.
I arch my back, trying to recreate the friction.
But then, I remember.
I’m not at home.
And I realize—that is not a random something.
That’s Rawley Battle’s thigh.
What the fuck, my mind yells as my eyes open in a flash.
The non-random something snores on cue and rolls over away from me, taking his leg with him.
At least he’s still asleep and won’t remember this. But why’s he on the bed?
Whatever. I bolt to the bathroom, grabbing my phone from the nightstand.
It’s six thirty in the morning, early for me to wake up. The unfamiliar surroundings I guess. Not to mention the foreign object that was just wedged between my legs.
I clean myself up in the bathroom and start feeling more in control of the situation.
Clicking through mentally what has to happen today—get my things at my house for the road trip, work with Taylor on what we’re going to do about the roving photographers, and plan for where I’m going to stay when we’re back from our trip.
It’s quite a list.
In the meantime, what I’m really itching to do is get to a court and shoot some baskets, refocus myself.
When I walk out of the bathroom, Rawley’s blinking his eyes open. “Oh, shit. Avery.”
“Forget I was here?”
“No, I—wait, why am I on the bed?”
“I was wondering the same thing.”
He brings his hands to his face. “Damn, I must have moved here unconsciously during the night. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Yeah, thankfully he doesn’t remember what happened about ten minutes ago.
He rolls the blanket off and stands on the far side of the bed.
And sigh, the sight of him. All six-foot-five inches of muscled Rawley for my viewing pleasure, dressed only in boxers. Those thick, tattooed thighs exposed as my eyes drift down.
He sees me taking him in, and glances down at himself. “Sorry.”
I snap out of my stare. “No need to apologize. I’m going to head to the kitchen, okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll meet you in a sec.”
When I make my way there, it’s empty. I suspect it’s too early for Rawley’s brothers to be awake.
I figure out the coffee maker and get it humming. A text comes through on my phone, right as the coffee starts hitting the kettle.
AIDEN: Can I give you a call? Taylor filled me in.
I take the extra five minutes to get some coffee in me before calling him myself.
“Hi, Avery. How are you this morning?”
“Well, last night wasn’t fun, but I feel better today. Has Taylor figured out who those photographers were yet?”
“Yes, their pics have shown up and we’ve traced them. Miami guys, as she expected.”
“Okay.” It’s crazy they would drive four hours to get photos outside my house.
“The reality is you’re reaching a level of fame, deliberately so, in which you may need to shift around some parts of your life. I think you would have needed to anyway, but we’re accelerating everything.”
I already knew everything Aiden just articulated, but I decide to let his mansplaining moment sit.
“I’m getting a lot of messages from brands. I’ve asked three to put something on paper so we can look at the proposals. SkyHigh again, as well as the Triumph clothing brand and GirlBoss home gyms. What we’re doing, it’s working.”
Okay, that does help make up for the chaos created by this situation. “Thank you, Aiden, that sounds hopeful.”
“We’ve been at this for less than two weeks. More will come in.”
“I’m here for it.” Even if I still have to figure out a lot of practicalities. “I need to get my stuff at the house before we fly out for the road trip.”
“I’ve got that covered. After Taylor called me last night, I contacted the owner of a security company I work with down there, Peterson Security. They’re going to send someone to drive you where you need to go today.”
As wild as it is to have a “protector” to go to my house, it also provides a measure of relief. “That’s great.”
I look at my watch, and I don’t need to get the stuff from my place for a few hours. “I’m at Landon and Rawley’s house. Could they pick me up around eleven, and then once I grab my stuff, drive me straight to where the Surge is having us gather for the trip?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you.”
“I know this is a lot of change.” You can say that again. “We’ll figure out the rest once you're back in Orlando.”
We hang up and within a minute, Rawley walks into the kitchen. Now fully dressed, praise the lord.
“I’m getting a bodyguard, apparently.”
My tone is dry, and his eyebrows raise slightly. “I need caffeine, and then you can tell me all about it.”
We sit down at Landon’s dining room table once he’s made his cup, and I catch him up.
“Aiden knows his stuff,” he responds. “If he’s feeling like our arrangement is working, it is. He said he’ll have some news for me this week.”
“I guess that makes it worth it.” The prospect of stopping everything before I’ve landed any deals isn’t compelling. And now I likely have to move, making my finances all the more important.
“Yeah. So, you have some time to kill before they pick you up?”
I push my now-empty cup away. “I do, but I don’t want to keep you from anything.”
He gives a small shake of his head. “No, there’s nothing on the books today. Other than getting a workout in at some point. Is there something you’d want to do?”
“Well, truthfully, I’m itching to get to a court and shoot some baskets. Try to get in the right mindset for the road trip.”
“You don’t have practice today, right?”
“No, not on travel days. I don’t have workout clothes though.”
He taps his cup three times before answering.
“There are courts here in Landon’s neighborhood. They’re always empty too. Most people here have their own hoop, if they play basketball at all.” He chuckles. “Would you want to check them out? I’ve gone down there to shoot myself a few times, and they’re in pretty good shape.”
In the absence of another option, that doesn’t sound bad.
“Would I just wear your clothes?”
“Grace probably has some stuff here, and Rori definitely does. We can wait till Landon’s up to ask him.”
“Okay.”
It’s still only seven thirty, so Rawley makes us breakfast: protein-packed acai bowls. He mixes up a couple extras to leave for his brothers, who stumble into the kitchen as we’re finishing eating.
Landon is first, Grover at his feet. “Hi, you two,” he says groggily. “Gotta take this guy out.”
Connor comes into the kitchen next and says nothing, just goes for coffee. Relatable.
Slowly, all the grumbling Battle boys turn cheerful again, caffeinated and fed. They’re chit-chatting away, and it’s entertaining to watch. Remy, Wells, and I have a somewhat similar dynamic when we’re together.
Rawley explains our plan to Landon, and he goes off to rummage through Rori’s stuff in their closet.
He grabs a shirt and shorts that are baggy on her, which mean they should fit me, since I’m four inches taller. The biggest find is that her sneakers miraculously work for me because my feet are small for my height.
“You ready?” Rawley asks around nine, after I’m dressed.
I’m glad we waited to play, because my body finally feels awake now.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
We head out the door, and I swear, Rawley has a skip in his step.
“What’s got you so giddy, Rook?”
He laughs. “Sorry, I’m kind of hyped we’re going to play again.”
“Think you can guard me better this time?” I tease.
“Not at all,” he says with a smile. “But I’m going to try.”
His positive energy is contagious, even if it’s goofy that he’s excited for me to beat him. After everything that happened last night, it’s nice to have a more upbeat vibe in the air.
When we get to the courts, they’re empty as expected. We do some basic stretches, and then warm up our shots.
After about thirty minutes, he looks at me excitedly. “One-on-one now?”
I’ve never seen a guy so enthusiastic to lose.
“Fine. You start with the ball.”
He grins and brings the ball outside of the three-point line. Dribbling with his right hand, he turns out his left hip and starts backing me down. Or trying to.
“You’re going to work that move from all the way out here?”
The strategy is usually a lot more effective when you’re not so far away from the basket. From where Rawley is, it’s a long way to travel backward.
“I need to use my extra pounds and inches somehow.” He punctuates his words by taking another step toward the hoop, now fully within the three-point line. “Pound the ball inside.”
I know from our time at the gym that Rawley’s left-hand dribble is pretty weak, so he’s going to be stuck trying to control the ball with his right. I cheat in that direction, and put my forearm lightly on his back.
“Don’t make me call a foul on you,” he jokes before trying to do some kind of dribble move to get by me.
He wobbles the ball though, and I’m able to steal it easily.
I walk back to the three-point line, and “check” the ball with him. Translation: we pass the ball back and forth once to reset the possession.
Unlike his first play, I decide to use my speed and a quick fake-out move to get past him. Without warning, I do a crossover and blow by him, dropping in an easy layup.
“Dang, I didn’t stand a chance.” His grin is wide.
I return his smile and pass him the ball. “Check, Battle.”
This time he stays in control of his dribble, and works me toward the hoop quicker. The closer we get to the net though, the tighter I play him, to keep him contained.
By the time he reaches the paint near the basket, our bodies are touching at multiple points, his ass backing into my belly, my right hand between his shoulder blades, and my chest pressed against his left arm.
“This is fun,” he says, as he bumps me again with his ass.
“Keep yapping, and watch me steal it again.”
“Not this time,” he says as he sidesteps to create more space for himself, and then shoots a seven-foot jumper. He doesn’t make it though. The ball hits the rim, and I snag the rebound.
“All talk, and no points,” I reply before taking the ball out so I can start my own possession.
To keep things challenging, I mentally decide to try to back him down this time. It’s good practice for when I’m matched up against a stronger player in a real game.
First, I dribble into the court until I’m at the top of the free throw line, but then instead of taking what would be an easy jumper for me, I turn around so I can try to body him toward the hoop.
In contrast to his, my left hand is almost as strong as my right, thanks to hours upon hours of practice over the years. So I use my left to handle the ball, while my dominant right side pushes against him.
Like I did earlier to him, he blankets me, and I feel every one of his extra fifty or so pounds. All that muscle pushing against my back, right shoulder, right hip, and ass.
The physical intimacy of basketball is undeniable, but there’s nothing sexual in the normal course. You’re trying to win, not get off.
Today is no different, for the most part. But I can’t totally shut down the part of my brain that knows how undeniably attractive he is when we’re not on the court.
It’s Rawley’s hands, Rawley’s chest, Rawley’s hips, Rawley’s thighs.
It’s also the guy who makes me laugh, who seems to genuinely appreciate who I am, who has had my back at every moment possible lately…
In the meantime, the ball is in my hands and it’s time to make a move. I shut down my thoughts and twist away from him, making room for an uncontested shot.
Swish.
“Beauty,” he says, as if we’re on the same team.
“Why do you enjoy me beating you so much?” I can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm.
“You’re so good. So much better than me,” he says. “It’s hot, to be honest.”
With all the moments of tension and emotion swirling around us, his words probably should feel like an innuendo.
Instead, he sounds sincere, and that does more to me than someone overtly flirting.
Plus he’s wearing a big smile, his beautiful blue eyes full of joy for losing to me, of all things.
I want this man.
The realization, here on the court, as the June Florida sun starts to heat up, could not have worse timing. There’s nowhere for me to hide.
“Your ball—what? What is it?” he asks, catching whatever is on my face.
I’m rarely impulsive, but I stop fighting what’s pulling at me.
I step forward, place my hands on the sides of his face, step on the tiptoes of Rori’s shoes…
And I kiss him.