Chapter 24 Olive
Chapter twenty-four
Olive
Never in my life did I think I would be turned on by a man in a baggy singlet and shorts, cradling a basketball while his shoes squeaked against the floor.
I guess I don’t know myself as well as I thought. Because if I stood up right now, there’d be no hiding the fact that I’m ridiculously turned on. And in a room full of cameras, that’s a problem.
Not exactly how I imagined the start of my career, but Avery Jones just does it for me.
I haven’t moved an inch since the whistle blew.
Terri, on one side of me, hasn’t stopped ‘oohing’ and ‘ahhing’ since the game started. She even winces every time someone gets bumped. Noelle’s on my other side and is thankfully quiet.
I know very little about basketball. But from what I understand, it isn’t meant to be a full-contact sport.
Apparently, contact is only allowed if your name’s Avery Jones and you wear number 28. No matter how hard he tries to focus, his teammates and opponents treat him like a punching bag.
It’s not dramatic.
No slammed fists or tantrums. Just small moments, but enough to show his heart breaking, piece by piece.
"Is it always this rough?" I ask Terri, not looking away as number three on the Bulldogs slows the game to a crawl, dribbling near half-court.
The Bulldogs are in black and red. Avery’s team wears blue and white.
Terri shakes her head. "No. But Avery can’t catch a break lately. Ever since all that stuff went down last year, he’s become enemy number one."
On my other side, Noelle. She threads her arm through mine, locking our fingers together as if I'm her comfort person. She told me she had to beg Avery to let her be at the game.
She hasn’t seen him play all season, but I promised him I would stay by her side all night, no matter what.
"What happened last year, Terri?" I ask her.
Noelle flinches, and that’s all I need to know. It wasn’t my question to ask, and it sure as hell isn’t Terri’s to answer.
She squeezes my hand. When I glance over, she’s wiping a tear from her cheek like it snuck out without permission.
I swallow hard. I shouldn’t have said anything.
A whistle blows on the court, and it snaps my attention back.
"He hasn’t told you?" Terri asks, pulling my focus from the court to her. I shake my head, and she sips her beer.
"I need a bathroom break," Noelle quickly says, hurrying off into the crowd. But she rushes off too fast for me to tell her I’ll come with her.
"Nobody really knows." Terri gives a weak shrug. "Aside from Avery himself, probably Ryder and Orlando, too. I think Noelle was there, but it’s a very touchy subject for Avery, so no one really asks."
The guilt prickles my skin, knowing I put Noelle in what is probably a very uncomfortable position.
"Word is, it was a party celebrating the Falcons' win.
Members had access to tickets, some fans too.
When Avery, Ryder, and Orlando showed up, things got a little out of hand.
" Terri sighs, like she’s had to repeat those same exact words multiple times, but was never able to quite figure out why.
"Press claims one of the Falcons fans said something that set Avery off, but I’ve known Avery for years.
" She shakes her head. "It just never seemed right to me that he would do that, you know? "
The Avery I’ve read about isn’t the one I’ve come to know. Mine is the one who calmed me down without even trying, who showed me his softer side, who didn’t push for answers I wasn’t ready to give.
Is he putting on a front for me, too? I hardly know the guy, so anything is possible.
And yet, even with everything I’ve just found out, I don’t believe for a second that he didn’t have a valid reason to do what they claim he did.
Note to self: see if you can get Avery Jones to open up about that night.
And if he doesn’t, keep trying.
"Are you okay?" I mouth to him while he sits on the bench before the final quarter, a towel slung over his sweaty shoulders.
He answers with a single nod, but I can tell he’s lying. One look at the empty seat beside me tells me all I need to know.
He’s worried about his sister.
And I’ve just let her wander off alone.
Noelle never came back after leaving to go to the bathroom. She texted telling me she wasn’t feeling well, so I met her outside and waited for her mom to come and get her.
Once Avery and I caught up after the game, he panicked, but I told him I was with Noelle the entire time, and that their mom picked her up from right outside.
Avery texted his mom after the game, and she let him know his sister was safe and at home.
"You met my Mom?" he asked awkwardly, unsure how he should react.
"Dawn seemed nice, and very thankful I walked Noelle to the car." I smiled.
"I just wish I could’ve been there." We walked out of the stadium hand in hand, and have been silent in his car since. He’s driving me to the airport so I can head to Atlanta for my next show.
Which means Avery and I will now be apart for a month.
Atlanta.
Houston.
Phoenix.
Las Vegas.
Four states. Twelve shows combined.
And no free days in between.
No time to come see him, and none for him to see me.
I don’t let it get to me.
"Good game," I tell Avery. The two of us sit side by side in his car.
Discomfort is looming its way over both of us, rearing its ugly head in places we don’t want.
"I’m not sure you actually watched the game that I just played. But thanks, I guess," he replies, smile lines deepening on his cheeks.
"I did," I say, more defensive than I meant to. "You got to shoot like ten free throws, completely unguarded."
I fold my arms and stare at him, but he stays focused on the road like I’m not even there.
"If you’re going to be my wife, I need to teach you the rules of basketball."
My whole body stiffens.
That word wife sounds too loud to ignore. It’s fake. A performance. A glossy lie to patch up his public image. And we both know it.
But somehow, it’s starting to feel different.
And I don’t know what to do with that.
"Lesson number one," he continues. "It’s called a free-throw line. Or the foul line—because I got fouled at least ten times while taking my chance at a shot." He shakes his head.
"But you still won, right?"
"Wrong again, Olive. Our first loss of the season. And by the way, if you’re going to be supporting me in the crowd at my games, you need a jersey with my name and number on it.
Not someone from a TV show with some basketball player who isn’t even real.
" He rests his hand on my thigh, squeezing it firmly before removing it altogether.
I miss the feeling of his calloused touch instantly.
"Firstly, Nathan Scott is the only player I’ve ever cared to know about.
Secondly, fine. You’re just lucky blue and white go well against my skin tone.
" I huff, collecting my phone from my lap, opening the teams website to buy myself a jersey. I pause mid scroll. "I don’t know where to have it delivered to. I don’t exactly have a home base for the next few months.
" I lock my phone, and place it into the center console feeling a little defeated.
He reaches into the backseat of his car, and I hear the sound of a zip, followed by clothes ruffling as he grunts.
Avery pulls his blue gym bag over from the back seat, nearly hitting my head, and dumps it in my lap.
"Here. Go through this. I think I have one in here that I wore at training this week. "
The stench of sweat burns up my nostrils and into the back of my throat as I look down. "Just what every girl wants. An unwashed, sweat-filled item of clothing from her pretend husband that she has no choice but to wear to his games."
"Don’t act like the thought of a sweaty man doesn’t get you excited. Don't think I didn't notice your thighs clenched while watching the game."
"Okay, okay," I say loudly, raising my hands, accepting that he’s right.
I’m a woman with needs, and it just so happens my body needs this man in ways she’s never needed anybody before.
Sue me.
Taking the blue and white jersey out of his bag, I throw it at my feet, zip the duffle back up, and toss it over my shoulder into the backseat.
"Where’s your ring?" he asks, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel to the beat of the music drifting through his speakers.
"Uh, I took it off once we got in the car. I figured enough people saw it on me today already." That part is true. But the part about it not being my style, and that I’m not being big on jewelery…I’ll keep that to myself.
"You’re still wearing your necklace," he points out, his eyes flicking toward the diamonds glinting against my skin.
I rest my hand on my collarbone, but don’t comment on it.
Outside, the city’s already fading, and the airport is getting closer with every mile to our month-long distance.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. The car slows as we pull up to a vacant parking spot. "Because it’s not too late to back out. People will come to realize eventually that you’re not who you portray yourself to be."
"You mean, I’m not boring?" I tease, cutting in and clicking the latch on my seat buckle, letting it fly back up in its harness. Turning to face him, I study him closely.
He’s stiff. Unsure. Like he’s waiting for me to realize that I have a choice in all of this. Like he always needs to be on guard and careful of the people he keeps close to him.
And now, that includes me.
"You know what I mean, Olive. You’re impressive, way more so than you give yourself credit for.
And you’re so new on the scene. Are you sure being associated with someone like me will benefit you the way Orlando, Josie, your label…
" He trails off, shaking his head. "It’s not too late.
For you, I mean." He runs the pad of his thumb across his bottom lip, sinking into the driver’s seat of his Mustang before running his hand over his head.
"I signed a contract, remember? I’m in this. However long it takes. For me, and for you." I place my hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I’m a big girl, Avery. I can handle myself."
"You can handle a lot more than—"
"You’re ridiculous, you know that?" I cut in before he can finish whatever sexual joke I know he was about to make, and swing the passenger door wide. "I’ll see you in a month," I say.
Avery looks around us, probably to make sure there are witnesses, before leaning over and kissing me.
Once.
Just once.
And it makes my heart double over.
"It’ll be the longest month of my life."