My brow furrows. “Assuming things don’t make them true.”
Her glossy lips press into a flat line, her eyes still glinting with something ornery.
That’s when I notice she’s wearing makeup. And she’s changed out of the baggy t-shirt and shorts she’d been in when I found her in her car this morning. Avery flounces to the dresser, straightening out her fitted green top before spritzing her exposed collarbones with something from a pink bottle. All at once the scent hits me, my mouth almost watering at the candied notes wafting around the space. An alarm sounds off, and she turns to silence it. Grabbing a tote bag, she shoves her phone into one of its pockets. Then she walks up to me, stopping when we’re chest to chest… or chest to face or whatever. She stares up at me expectantly, and I suck in a deep breath.
“Can I… Are you…” she starts.
“Hm?”
“Can I go? I’ve got a ficus with my name on it.”
I clear my throat and move out of her way. “Yeah. What time is it anyway?”
“Noon. You’ve been asleep for a few hours. I’ve got a full work schedule for the day, and I made eggs. So you don’t have any more.” She moves further down the hall, her silky ponytail bobbing as she crests the staircase. “I’ll stop by the store to pick up some more.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I do.” She turns on a heel to face me. “Ty, I appreciate your hospitality, but I’m not gonna freeload. I wanna pull my weight.”
I lift my hands in surrender, and Avery relaxes a little, satisfied that I’m not pushing it.
“Dollyboy is around here somewhere. I think he’s exploring his new digs. He’s a good boy, doesn’t really pee on anything and hardly ever scratches. When you find him—or he finds you—you can just lock him in my room.”
Doesn’t really pee on anything?
Avery’s smile wobbles into something sheepish. “You know, I don’t know a lot of people—guys—who would just let someone drop in with their cat and wreck their routine. So thanks.”
“Don’t have much of a routine.”
“Sure.” She backs away, heading down toward the entryway, but stops short of the front door. “Since I’m not technically supposed to be here, is there another exit or something?”
I don’t know why, but her question catches me off guard. Obviously I know we aren’t supposed to bearound each other, but I never fully thought it through. The decision to have her move in happened so quickly, I didn’t think about the logistics. Or the consequences. And I know that our cheerleaders’ repercussions are much more detrimental to their job. Like they get fired kind of detrimental, while we get slapped with a hefty fine. But relationships between players and the cheerleaders are few and far between from what I’ve seen.
All at once my mouth goes dry and my hands feel clammy. What have I done? I have literally invited a walking contract-violation into my home. Despite her protests, I convinced her to stay. A fine is one thing, but being promoted all over podcasts and news outlets as the guy who wasn’t thinking “above the belt” isn’t exactly something that’ll make anyone proud. It’s not something that would win me points with the Kings’ administration or even the entire league’s. My mom’s a good sport, but I think she’d die of embarrassment, and that’s the last thing I want to do. She’s worked too hard—I’ve worked too hard—to throw my accomplishments away on someone I just met. It’d be a disservice to the years I devoted to becoming a better version of myself.
And that’s when I know what I have to do. Even if we’re in the same house, I need to distance myself from Avery. For her. For me. For anyone else I could bring shame.
“Yeah, uh. Probably best if you go out through the backyard. I think the privacy fence is tall enough it’ll block you. Plus, half my neighbors are gone most of the time.”
“I can park down the block or something.”
“Yeah. Good idea.” I run a hand down the back of my neck.
She points. “That way? I should go that way?”
“Probably. Yes.” Why do I sound so dumb? “That’ll take you toward the backyard.”
“Great. Well, I’ll see you—” Her phone rings, cutting off her sentence. “Oh, crud.”
“Crud?”
She rolls her eyes and holds her phone up as she makes her way through the kitchen, into the living room, and to the door. “My mom. She’s relentless.”
“I feel that.”
We stare at each other for a split second longer before she lifts her phone to her ear and mouths the wordsgoodbyeto me. Then she disappears out the back.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
