Jenna
Love you, wild girl. Use protection!!!!
Chapter twenty-three
Olive
"I’veneverbeentoan ice hockey game before," I say to Avery as we make our way to our seats. Noelle has her arm threaded through mine while we navigate our way to our seats through crowds of people. My other hand is intertwined with Avery’s. It feels…weirdly comfortable.
Nobody seems to care that we’re here, which is a huge relief considering his status.
And now, apparently mine.
Everyone is here for one thing, and one thing only.
Well, two, I suppose.
The hardcore hockey fans are here to witness their team absolutely annihilate their opponent. The rest—primarily female—are here to witness the way the players warm up.
The way their skates dig into the ice while on their hands and knees, thrusting into thin air like it’s nobody's business.
"Romeo is that one over there," Avery tells me, pointing at the guy standing directly in front of the guard for the net, ina million layers of protection. He’s tall, broad, and the grin he flashes when he sees Avery, tells me he’s just an overall happy guy.
The world needs more of those.
He skates over, skidding to a stop, tiny specks of ice hitting the plexiglass. He pounds his fist on it, and we hear him shout ‘hello’. It’s muffled, but clear enough to understand over the crowd.
"Is his team any good?" I ask Avery. He’s taking a drink of water, and scrunches up his nose, then lowers the drink bottle with a shake of his head.
"Bottom of the ladder, third year in a row."
"Why doesn’t Romeo ask for a trade or something? Is that a thing athletes do?" I question, because why would anybody want to lose so constantly, and not do something about it? How does anybody have the confidence to keep playing after that?
"He’s been offered contracts from all the top teams, but he’s a loyal motherfucker. Adamant that they’re going to turn it around and be the best team. And yet, every year, they’re still right down at the bottom."
"Is he still single?" Noelle purrs, leaning closer to me as I sit between them like some sort of barrier. "Can I have his number?"
"Yes, he is. And no, you fucking can’t." Avery crosses his arms over his chest, taking my hand with him. I feel like a damn pretzel.
Considering we’re watching a team at the bottom of the ladder, the game is fast-paced and packed with action.
Action I don’t really understand, but action, nonetheless.
Noelle and I managed to sneak away to get something to eat and drink. Avery stayed in our seats, chatting to basketball fans, and ignoring slurs from people who don’t care for him.
I understand that not everybody is going to like him, but the way he puts up with it while still managing to show up for his team baffles me.
My attempts at researching Avery Jones have been in between tasks, but I managed to get some done in my downtime over the last couple of weeks.
I learned a couple of things.
One: Avery Jones is incredible at what he does. I may not know the rules of the game, but the replays I watched made him look absolutely lethal on the court.
Two: The press thinks he apparently beat somebody up because his team lost, and he couldn’t handle it. They called it a ‘jealous fit of rage.’
Avery Jones wants everyone to believe he’s an arrogant prick. And aggressive.
And okay—maybethat’s true, to a point. But it’s not the whole truth.
