“Well, I guess you probably don’t know much about that. I saw what you got drafted for. After all these years, I can only imagine your price has gone up.”
“Did you have to learn about that for your tryouts?” I arch a brow as I kick a tire to test it.
Her face pales.
Each of her tires is fuller than the last, which is better than what it could be, but it also means none of them are even. My eyes drag up the side of her rusted car. Inside, I spot a myriad of things. A box labeledkitchen, pillows stacked to the roof of the vehicle, no doubt blocking her rearview mirror. Definitely not safe. There are other things too. Stacks of clothes, feathered cat toys, wrappers. It looks like she lives in it.
“Everything good?” she chirps.
“Should be. But you really need a professional to look into all this. At least stop by a gas station to air up your tires ASAP, okay?”
She nods.
“And take down those pillows. There’s no way you can see out the back.”
She salutes me before backing away.
“You moving apartments tonight due to the roommate thing?” I ask.
“Something like that.”
I follow her to her driver’s door, and we work together to safely unhook the cables without electrocuting anyone. Something tells me safety is not this girl’s strong suit.
“Well, thanks. I would have been stuck here all night if you hadn’t come along,” she says as she basically dives into her car.
She maneuvers things around, shifting them out of her way so she can reach her seatbelt, a whirlwind of napkins and paper falling from her open door as she slams it shut. With a wave, she throws her car into reverse. Seconds later, I’m staring at a taped-up taillight as she exits the parking lot.
I walk over, standing amidst the chaos of debris she’s left behind. If the proof weren’t surrounding my feet now, I’m not sure I’d believe that interaction happened at all. A glossy rectangle gleams up at me from the mess at my toes, and I lean over to pick it up.
It’s a business card. Little green leaves and gold embossed letters shine in the parking lot lights.
Sprout Sitting by Avery
Avery Hinkley, Owner
And then there’s a phone number.
So the tiny tornado is named Avery.
I debate dropping it and leaving it behind, but something inside won’t let me, so I pocket it instead.
The pavers are warm beneath my bare feet as I pace around my pool. Normally, I’d consider getting in, or at least attempting to relax in the hot tub, but I can't. Mybody won’t settle because my mind won’t. I thought fresh air might do me some good. Maybe the sounds of the day easing itself to bed would bring me some peace, but it hasn’t. Normally, I love my life. I have nothing to complain about. Anything and everything I’ve ever done—the good, the bad, the things I’d like to forget—it’s okay because they brought me to where I am. And normally, where I am is good. More than good. It’s great.
High profile job. A bank account padded with millions every year. Women throwing themselves at me from all angles. Special treatment when I go out. Even if I don’t date anyone, don’t take advantage of everything I could, it still feels good knowing that all of that is at my disposal. Even with my hiccups from last season, the ones that got me transferred to Vista City, I’ve been doing okay. Until my sister stopped talking to me, refusing to move to the city like we’d arranged, and also crushing the hope that Mom would eventually follow.
All of the things I’ve worked for—relished in—have felt so lackluster. And then today happened. Ramiel was right about helping out with Catch-A-Dream. It made me feel like I was doing something important. Football is great, but who am I helping but myself? The salary alone should be enough to keep my spirits up, but with my family dynamic on thin ice, even that feels empty. If I hadn’t gone today, I wouldn’t have left my watch in the locker room. I would have gotten home at the time I’d planned. My night would have consisted of eating the same baked chicken for dinner I have every other week and doing the same at-home workout circuit I always do. Followed by: shower, snack, read, bed. Like clockwork. My night would have beenboring, predictable, and I wouldn’t have been caught off guard.
I drop my hand into my pocket and pull out the card.
Avery.
I whisper the name to myself, feeling it out, grateful for the first time tonight that I live alone. Because I’m definitely not talking to myself about some woman—some stranger—right now. Especially one so completely erratic. But deep down, I know why I can’t settle. It isn’t simply because the hollowness of my house is starting to eat at me. It isn’t because if I were back with my old team tonight, I’d be out at a party or a bar or something other than pacing at home, obsessing over some random girl I met for five seconds.
As depressing as it is to think about how I’m completely alone yet another night, it’s better than that. Better than admitting I’m intrigued by Avery. Despite knowing I shouldn’t be—that this kind of thing could get us both kicked out of The Vista City Kings franchise, I can’t help myself. My body moves before my brain registers what’s happening, and within minutes, I’m in my car.
I don’t know what I’m doing. Navigating down the aisle, I throw whatever interesting-looking plant I can into my wobbly cart.
An older woman with a fresh, pungent perm waltzes by, her tight gray curls reminding me of my late Grandma Margaret. The one Maggie’s named after, and the only reason I know how to identify a new perm. Before I canturn away, she catches me staring and points a crooked finger in my direction. “Shop closes in five minutes.”
