Chapter 29
RAWLEY
RAWLEY: I’m here.
Avery told me just to text her when I got to Sarah’s place because we’re running late for the concert.
I’m still not sold on this band after repeat listens, but I am beyond ready for a night with Avery.
Maybe I should be more anxious because I have to do anything she wants later, thanks to that double-double.
Instead, I’m prepared to do her bidding—looking forward to it, to be exact.
Even more so when she rolls out of her house in a black glittery halter top and a black leather skirt.
My woman is sexy as fuck.
Not yours, Rawls.
“Okay, let’s hustle,” she says as she enters the car.
Damn if she doesn’t smell good too. Suddenly the scent of roses and lilacs mixed with a fruity note fill my senses. I subtly sniff again. Pear, I think.
“On it,” I reply. “You smell incredible. I like it.”
“Thanks. It’s my favorite perfume. I borrowed a bottle from Mom a few years ago, and now she buys me some every time she’s getting her own.”
“Nice.”
“Did you listen to the TriPostal album?”
“I did. I put it on while I lifted.”
Her mouth twists in disbelief. “It’s not exactly workout music.”
She’s not wrong. The beats were decent, but the singer was crooning sadly over them the whole time.
Still, I want recognition for a job well done.
“I had a homework assignment,” I retort. “Shouldn’t I get something for doing what I’m told?”
The words are out of my mouth before I process what I’m saying.
We both make the connection at the same time, and she smirks. “Well, you’ll definitely be doing what you’re told tonight, right?”
If I wasn’t driving, I’d give her a kiss in response.
Sadly though, I am. Driving that also is being compromised by the thought of what she might demand I do while wearing that little skirt, which is starting to make my dick swell.
“I need a new topic,” I admit. At this point, she knows I’m affected by her when she makes innuendos, so no need to hide it.
She relents, asking me about my obligations before training camp starts in a month, and I tell her a little more about the trip to Oregon for Grace.
“You’ll be around for the Fourth though?” she asks.
“Yeah, for sure. Mainly I’ll just be working on conditioning and getting in sync with Johnson around then. The team isn’t allowed to organize anything official until training camp.”
“Okay, perfect. Sarah is having a Fourth of July party at the house since we don’t have a game that night,” she explains. “You’re my plus-one.”
“I’d hope so,” I respond, smiling at her.
“There won’t be any professional photographers there, but it’d be super weird if you weren’t with me,” she elaborates. “Plus maybe some people will post candids from the party of us together.”
Oh, yeah. Our fake dating campaign.
“Right.”
“It’ll be fun,” she says. “My teammates will be there.”
I nod, and we begin talking about our favorite songs on the TriPostal album. “Favorite” is a stretch for me with this kind of music, but at the end of the day, I’m here for other reasons.
Before too long, we’re pulling into the VIP parking area, and we follow Taylor’s directions on where to head.
As we approach the VIP entrance, hand-in-hand with smiles on, camera lights flash. At this point, we’re a well-oiled machine and don’t even have to talk about it in advance. Her hand just slips into mine, and our lips turn up.
A man named Arn is our assigned escort, and he brings us backstage. We’ll be visible from the VIP section where we’ll watch the band, but at least we have the benefit of some privacy before the show.
Once we’re situated in the back, Arn starts making small talk. Apparently he’s married to the organizer of the festival, and a huge sports fan. So he eats up snippets that Avery and I share about our experiences with the Surge and Waves so far.
I start to relax. Being with Avery and Arn, chit-chatting, there’s nothing awkward, and soon our only public obligation will be to dance. Not a taxing night, all in all.
And after that, I get to see what Avery has in store for us. Alone.
“The band should be walking by soon, if you want to meet them,” Arn offers.
“Definitely,” Avery answers.
Five minutes later, they start to filter through, introducing themselves politely if disinterestedly. They clearly don’t follow sports or the gossip mags.
Until the lead singer walks by.
Heath Gallix. Wearing—of course—very tight brown leather pants.
He pauses at the sight of Avery, taking her in. His perusal starts at her thighs and slowly makes its way up her body, all the way to her face.
“And who might you be?” he asks in a thick brogue.
Oh, fuck this guy.
I take a step closer to her, lining our bodies up, and shoot him a clear look. A she’s never going to be yours look. Standing tall into all of my six-foot-five inches.
“I’m Avery,” she says in a light tone, either oblivious or ignoring the dynamic with Heath. “And this is my boyfriend, Rawley.”
Good woman.
He gets the message and backs away. “Nice to meet you. Enjoy the show.”
He’s then gone, and I’m a much happier man.
“Okay, they’re about to go on,” Arn says. “Do you want to move out to the VIP section?”
Avery looks at me and I nod. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Arn brings us to stairs that take us to a blockaded area near the stage. I don’t recognize the other VIPs—they may be friends, family, or other musicians. Either way, they don’t seem too interested in us.
Not true of the fans near the VIP area. Phones are out, and I can tell we’re going to be filmed basically every second tonight.
I try to ignore it. I don’t want them to ruin our night.
“There’s waters, beer, and soda here,” Arn says. “I’ll be in and out, just let me know if you need anything.”
“Thanks, Arn,” I say, patting his shoulder as he takes his leave.
Avery and I don’t speak much because the noise is already too loud for us to hear each other without yelling. It’s not uncomfortable though, and the band comes out only a minute or so later.
Heath babbles some words about playing in Orlando, and then the guitarist strums the first chord of one of their hits.
As Heath begins to croon, I try to get into the music, knowing it’ll be much more fun that way.
But then my wrists are surrounded by another’s hands. Avery’s. She brings my arms around her waist as she leans back against me.
She doesn’t explain a thing and doesn’t need to. I know she’s putting on a show.
Yet, the full flush of her body against me, swaying in time with the beats of the song, locked in my hold…
It feels real. Or I’m wanting it to be.
It’s not real, it’s not, I try to convince myself.
My heart isn’t sold on that fact though.
And the embrace goes on for close to an hour, her body in rhythm with mine as much as the music, her head turning to whisper things to me that most of the time I can’t make out.
And the fans’ cameras capture it all.
To the world, Avery’s my girlfriend.
And tonight, I’m starting to think I want that too.
After the concert, Arn rushes us over to security so we can get out of dodge before traffic turns into a nightmare.
We’re about three minutes along the highway when we get a text from Taylor. Avery reads it to me.
TAYLOR: You guys nailed it. Videos and pictures from people at the concert are everywhere already.
I keep focused on the road while Avery taps away on her phone. “Yup, I’m tagged in a zillion things. You too. Oh wait, Taylor just sent an article link to us.”
She clicks on it, and starts to read. “‘Their love on full display, Avery and Rawley showed why they are everyone’s favorite new sports couple.’” She turns to me, appearing near laughter. “This is on Social Scoops again. ‘Our love’? We’ve supposedly been dating for three weeks, that’s wild to say.”
I give her a smile. “Yeah.”
But I’m curious, and I don’t fight the instinct to ask.
“Have you ever loved someone? Like that?”
Oh shit, maybe that was too intense.
“Dang, Rawley. Change in tone much?”
I blink and turn back to the road. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize,” she says softer. “It’s a perfectly okay question, it just surprised me.”
“Okay.” I let out a puff of air.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Not even…” I want to say whoever hurt her enough that she made her rule, but I don’t know his name, or the full story.
It takes her a couple of seconds to understand what I mean, but then she shakes her head. “No. And at UConn, I had a friend who I had other ‘benefits’ with, but we never got serious. We stayed on the same page about that.”
“A friend—that you’re still in touch with?”
“Less and less, as the summer goes on. Either way, there’s never been anything there.”
We’re both quiet for a moment, and a sombr song comes on, adding to the angsty mood.
“What about you?” she asks.
I press my tongue against the top of my mouth. What is the real answer? I honestly am not sure anymore.
But I’ll tell Avery the truth, as much as I know it.
“There was this girl in high school, Stefani. She was…I was a little”—crap, I probably shouldn’t say this—“obsessed.”
“Obsessed?” Avery’s tone is doubtful, like she doesn’t know what to make of that word.
“Yeah. Looking back, I was naive.”
“How?”
“I thought if I just showed her everything I was willing to do for her, she would want me. I kept trying, and trying.”
She’s listening intently when I glance her way. “But it never happened?”
“It eventually did, sort of. We…had prom night together and I thought we’d start dating. But she made it clear she didn’t want that. We…slept together a few times senior year, but that was all it was.”
“That must have been hurtful on some level?” she says, her voice gentler.
“I tried not to let it bother me. I was about to go to play football in Texas, and she was going to a ballet academy in New York. We’ve hooked up a few times since then too.”
She digests this for a second, then turns her head my way, squinting. “You must have had so many other girls interested in you though?”
I’ve explained this to her before, but maybe it didn’t sink in? “Yeahhhh. But I’m just not that guy. I like who I like, and it’s not…fulfilling, for lack of a better word, to be with someone I’m not into.”
“Huh.” She looks back at me sharply. “But we’re…we’re…”
Fuck. I realize I might need to bend the truth.
“Yeah, I mean, we fit, we work, as it is. I’m into you, physically, obviously.” Maybe I’ve thrown enough words together that she won’t think on it too deeply.
“Okay.” She looks like she accepts that word salad. “So other than Stefani, was there anyone else that you were involved with?”
“There were a couple of women at Texas. One is the tattoo artist, Gretchen, who gave me these—” I nod down to my thighs. “But they weren’t interested in anything serious either. Or they didn’t want a relationship with me, anyway.”
“Their loss.”
We’re both quiet for a moment until Avery breaks the silence.
“So you’ve only been with three people? Is that what you mean?”
“Four, if you count losing my virginity at fifteen in an embarrassing three-minute moment.”
She laughs, but then sobers again. “You’re so different than I expected, Rawley. I would never have guessed any of this when we first met.”
I shrug and give her a small smile.
“Now you know. That’s just me.”