13 - Avery
Avery
The locker room is buzzing when I stand up from the bench in front of my stall to put the finishing touches on my makeup, music thumping from someone’s speaker near the showers.
We won.
Now, with our coaches gone and more than half the team heading home to families or actual responsibilities, the rest of us have turned the locker room into a makeshift dressing room before the bar.
Haley is in front of the mirror, straightening her hair, while Becca rifles through her makeup bag looking for her eyeliner. Wesley’s scrolling on her phone, already dressed and probably texting Nathan.
Haley grins at me through the mirror. “My favorite part of tonight was watching you destroy their defense in the second half.”
I laugh while putting on highlighter. “That left defender was grabbing my shorts constantly, and she never got called for it.”
Tonight’s game was exactly what I needed. It was aggressive enough that adrenaline is still humming through my bloodstream. It’s the kind of win that makes me feel untouchable for a few hours, which is exactly what I need to get through tonight.
I pack up my makeup bag, content with the results.
Most people think female athletes live in messy buns and sweats, and they’re not wrong, but I love the ritual of getting dressed up. Makeup and hair can turn my exhaustion into something brand new.
Tonight, I need the final result to be sex in heels.
“Please tell me somebody’s seen my black heels,” I say, digging through my bag again.
“Nope,” Becca says without looking up.
“You left them in the car,” Wesley chimes in, still scrolling.
Somehow, Wesley always knows everything, and I love her for it.
I lean back against the locker, trying not to acknowledge the nerves tightening in my stomach. It’s ridiculous. I’m twenty-five. I flirt all the time. There is no reason for me to be internally combusting over a text I sent Grayson Shaw.
Except I am.
I still don’t know what the hell came over me.
Okay, that’s a lie.
I know exactly what came over me.
Because it started after I woke up in his apartment and found him in the kitchen, shirtless with glasses on, cooking breakfast as if my being there was normal.
Now, after several days of trying very hard not to think about him at all, I’ve circled back to one inconvenient conclusion.
We need to have sex. For strategic purposes only, of course. Because at this point, I’m becoming way too easy to turn on.
A guy smiled at me while holding a door open yesterday, and I almost climbed him like a tree. Last night, I got distracted watching a deodorant commercial because the actor had good forearms. And unfortunately for me, both of those men looked far too similar to Grayson.
This situation is becoming unsustainable.
Having sex with Grayson is a completely logical solution. One time with no feelings, and no mess when it’s done.
“You are very clearly on the hunt tonight,” Haley says, pointing her straightener toward me.
I look down at my outfit. A tiny black tank top and a tight dark skirt. My eyes are smoky, and my hair is curled.
“I’m not hunting,” I say, which is technically true.
Haley looks me up and down. “Then why are your tits out?”
“Rude.”
“I’m just asking.”
I shrug, fixing my lip gloss. “I like my tits.”
Becca snorts. “They are pretty great.” She tosses her lip gloss my way. “Did you ever get Luke’s number after my birthday?” She asks. “He was obsessed with you.”
“Not my type,” I say easily.
Except, he was my type to a T. But I panicked and ended up in a back alley, pinned to a wall by someone who is very much not my type. At least, not usually.
Another reason I need tonight to go well is so I can stop dodging these types of questions. If I can finally hook up with someone once, it’ll stop feeling so impossible.
“I’ll drive,” I say.
Wesley looks up. “You’re not drinking?”
“Not tonight,” I say, and I don’t elaborate.
The idea of tequila still makes my stomach turn after last weekend, and as annoyed as I was by Grayson’s lecture, I did sort of scare myself.
I’m not the kind of person who drowns problems in alcohol, and I don’t want to start doing that now.
Besides, after seeing me half incoherent and throwing up in bushes, there’s absolutely no chance Grayson will take me seriously tonight if I’m drinking.
By the time we get to the bar, the hockey team is scattered across the place, bodies packed into booths under warm amber lighting, but even after a quick scan past the neon beer signs, I don’t see Grayson.
Becca and Haley peel off when they spot teammates near the back, and Wesley does the same when she catches sight of Nathan across the room. I don’t really register any of it, too focused on finding the one person I actually came here for.
Halfway through my third loop around the room, the nerves start to settle in my palms, making them sweaty, so I cut the loop and head straight to the bar.
I slide into an empty space, order a water, and stare up at the muted sports replay on the TV, wondering if I should give up this ridiculous idea.
Then I hear it: two girls beside me leaning in, voices sharp with excitement.
“Grayson Shaw just walked in.”
Every nerve ending wakes up at once.
I turn to see Grayson coming my way, wearing dark jeans and a black t-shirt, and I force myself not to picture him shirtless again. His broad shoulders cut through the crowd while a few people call his name and someone else pats him on the back.
His attention is locked on me.
Heat crawls up my neck as his eyes drag over me, taking in the outfit I absolutely chose on purpose.
“Hi, Chaos,” he says when he reaches the bar. He orders a beer before glancing down at my glass. “That water or tequila?”
And there it is.
Two seconds in and I already remember exactly why I can’t stand him.
“It’s water,” I snap. “And fuck off, Grayson.”
“Already? You’re the one who asked me to come.”
Right. I did that. Why did I do that?
He tilts his head, still watching me. “And now you want me to leave?”
Yes. No.
I don’t fucking know.
It’s like my body has decided she’s into him, but then my brain reminds me of his personality.
But we don’t have to talk or get along to have sex. And after nine months of my brain being in charge, my body is finally taking the reins. I haven’t felt my skin heat like this in months, so I’m not about to ignore it, even if it is him.
Except then he opens his mouth again.
“I’ll take that as a no.” He leans closer, a smug grin tugging on his lips.
I contemplate slapping it off his face, but before I can respond, he plucks my cup from the bar and inspects it.
“I wasn’t lying.” I yank it out of his hand, turning back toward the bar, our shoulders brushing. “Also, we won tonight, so maybe you could try ‘congrats’.”
“I was getting there.” He pauses to thank the bartender and pick up his beer. “Congrats on the win and the goal.”
That throws me for half a second.
“You watched?”
His shrug is casual, but I catch the faintest hint of defensiveness in it. “Nathan had it on in the training room.”
“Right,” I say slowly. “I’m sure you spent the whole game critiquing the people who know how to play soccer.”
He sets his beer down and crosses his arms. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you always think you know best.”
“I do not.”
“Yes, you do.”
His eyes flash, and he lets out a loud sigh. “Here we go.”
And just like that, we fall into the same back-and-forth that always escalates until one of us storms off angry.
“You’re also the guy with a hero complex,” I add.
“I don’t have a complex.”
“You do.”
“It would be easier to make a list,” he mutters. “Of all my flaws, since you’re so prepared.”
“There’s not enough time in the world.” I turn toward him.
He mimics the movement, neither of us leaning on the bar anymore. “Well, that and we know you prefer to spend your time throwing up in bushes or irresponsibly leaving your car in random parking lots.”
“Both of those things happened once.” My eyes narrow.
“One time too many if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you.”
Our words are coming faster, each one designed to piss the other off. The space between us shrinks as the argument pulls us closer instead of apart.
“No. No. Avery Holt would never ask for anything. She’d rather live on impulse and make it everyone else’s problem.”
“That’s better than living life within the confines of some box, playing the savior all the time. News flash. No one needs you saving them.”
“I’d rather be saving than needing to be saved.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, stepping closer without thinking. “Do you ever hear yourself?”
He looks down at me, our faces only inches apart at this point. “Chaos, why the hell did you want me to come here?”
The answer launches out of my mouth before my brain can stop it.
“We need to have sex.”
The entire bar keeps moving around us while my soul exits my body.
Shit. I really just said that.
He stares at me as if I’ve short-circuited his brain.
“We need to have sex,” he repeats slowly.
“Yup.” I grab my water and drink half of it just to give my hands something to do.
He glances around the bar like I might be speaking to someone else. “Are you messing with me right now?”
“No,” I say, then regret how flat it comes out. “I’m serious.”
His stare locks back onto me. “You want to sleep with me?”
“I don’t like how you phrased that,” I say, focusing very hard on the condensation sliding down my glass. “But… sure. Yes.”
His brows pull together. “Why does that sound like I’m the one initiating this conversation?”
I exhale. “Look, there’s obviously mutual attraction.”
His expression tightens. “That’s your explanation?”
“It’s part of it.”
“Part of it,” he repeats.
I press on before I lose momentum. “We don’t like each other. That’s kind of the point. No feelings. Just… get it out of our systems.”
“You’ve spent the last five minutes insulting me.”
“So have you.”
“I’m not the one proposing sex.”
“Maybe not,” I shoot back, folding my arms defensively, “but insulting me didn’t stop you from checking out my tits.”
His entire face shifts into immediate exasperation. “I was not–”
“You literally checked them out while walking over here.”
“I glanced downward.”
“Directly at my chest.”
“Only because your shirt is so low-cut,” he fires back before looking irritated with himself for saying it out loud.
A victorious grin pulls at my mouth. “So you admit it.”
He drags a hand down his face. “Can you please explain what the hell is happening right now?”
“We don’t like each other, but we clearly…” I trail off, gesturing at him again because saying the word attraction out loud again feels horrifying. “Have whatever this is.”
His eyes flick down my body before returning to my face, causing that slow heat to bloom low in my stomach all over again.
“And your solution,” he says carefully, “is sex.”
I stick my tongue into my cheek. “You’re being condescending.”
“I’m trying to understand why you’re talking about this like you’re proposing a hostile corporate merger.”
Despite myself, a laugh almost escapes me, but I bite it back. “This is exactly why I almost didn’t say anything.”
“You caught me a little off guard here.” His voice drops, gentler now.
“Well, stop being so weird about it.”
“You walked into a bar and told me we need to have sex.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds worse.”
His eyebrows lift. “It is worse.”
I groan and tip my head back against the edge of the bar.
“Okay,” he says after a beat, shifting closer to me. “Start over.”
I blink at him, my body tingling with awareness of how close we’re standing. “What?”
“You clearly have some other reason for this conversation.” He crosses his arms. “So explain it to me.”
Well shit.
Now he’s looking at me with that steady, patient attention again, and this whole thing feels far more exposing than just asking for sex.
I blow out a breath and stare down at the bar top before speaking.
“I haven’t really…” I grimace. “Had sex with anyone since my last relationship ended.”
His expression shifts, just slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“At first it was a choice,” I continue, picking at the edge of my nail, “because the breakup sucked and men are exhausting and I just didn’t want to deal with it.
But now it’s been long enough that it’s turned into this thing in my head, like pressure, which makes it harder to actually do anything about it. ”
One corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile.
I shoot him a look. “Bottom line, if I don’t orgasm at the hands of another person soon, I’m going to lose my mind.”
He chokes on nothing. Then, after he pulls it together, he says, “And your solution is me?”
“I’ve seen you look at me,” I admit. “And you’re objectively attractive, so I figured it could be… mutually beneficial.”
“Wow.” He cringes. “That’s great, really persuasive.”
“And there’s no risk,” I add quickly, as if that seals it. “Because we can’t stand each other. We can barely survive a normal conversation without trying to murder one another. There’s no chance of feelings.”
He exhales through his nose, gaze flicking toward the crowded bar before coming back to me.
“We’re not doing that.”
I blink. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his head once like he’s trying to reset the entire conversation. “But no.”
“You’re turning me down?” My eyes narrow. “Why?”
He pauses long enough that my confidence wobbles because maybe he really doesn’t find me attractive at all.
Then he finally says, “I’m not doing relationships right now.”
A loud laugh escapes from deep in my throat. “Oh my God. That’s not what I’m asking you.” I lean in as if my volume will help with clarity. “This is the opposite of a relationship.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“Our friends are all intertwined. Getting involved, even like that, would be messy.”
It’s annoyingly reasonable, but I should’ve expected nothing less from him.
I sit with his answer while listening to the bar noise around me. I hate that I understand it. And as desperate as I am to sleep with someone, I will not stoop to begging for a man who doesn’t want me.
I guess I’ll need to find someone else.
“Okay.” I lift one shoulder.
His brows pull together. “Okay?”
“You want me to argue with you about it?”
“No.” He stops himself, studying me like I’ve changed the rules without warning. “You moved on from that faster than expected.”
I push off the bar and smooth my skirt down. “You said no.”
“Yes, but…”
I pick up my bag. “There are plenty of guys here, Shaw.”
His jaw tightens.
I pat his shoulder and step back into the noise of the bar, wiggling my fingers at him in a small wave while I disappear into the crowd.