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I shrugged. “I read a few news clips. Wanted to make sure he was okay.”
Her gaze softened, and the girl I remembered from months ago finally smiled at me. “He’s doing better. He’ll never fly long distances again, but he’s already starting to use the wing.”
“Good.” I bowed my head and clenched my fists on the tabletop. “I was feeling shitty about it.”
She placed her hand on top of mine, and her warmth seeped into me, instantly soothing the guilt that had reared its ugly head once again. The charms on her bracelet clinked as she rubbed her soft palm over the back of my hand.
“Accidents happen, Chris.”
My name from her lips, in that soft whisper, made my gut clench. Focused on the movement, I noticed the birds on her bracelet. I was just about to ask about them when a throat cleared behind me, and she yanked her hand from mine. I shifted in my seat, only to find Coach Wilson’s blue eyes shooting daggers at me. Just when I’d gotten through Avery’s prickly walls, he had to show up again.
“Sup C-Tommy?” I leaned back and draped an arm over the back of Avery’s chair.
He zeroed in on the space between my arm and his daughter’s back like he was debating whether he was offended by the way I was touching her chair.
Oh, buddy, I’d touched way more than her chair. And I intended to do it again.
I smirked.
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “This is the exact sort of trouble you’re supposed to avoid, Avery.”
Her answering smile made my throat feel thick. She was so fucking stunning.
“I’m well aware of all this guy’s shortcomings.” She patted my arm.
This time, it was my body doing the betraying. It took every ounce of strength I possessed to fight the shiver that raced up my spine as she pressed her palm into my forearm.
But then her words registered, and the irritation was back. “Shortcomings?” I sat straighter in my chair.
She chuckled but turned back to her father. “However, Dad, I won’t come to games if you insist on babysitting me every second like I’m twelve. Either let me be an adult or stop asking about why I avoid Lang Field.”
Tom and I snorted in surround sound. The Langfields had quite a bit of gall, naming their stadium Lang Field. The two of us eyed one another and shook our heads. As dumb as the name was, it was very Beckett Langfield.
“I think it’s cute.” She shrugged.
“You would,” Tom and I said at the same time.
He frowned at me, the expression once again full of all the irritation he typically reserved for me.
I shrugged and pushed to my feet. “She looks like the type to get Langfield’s humor.”
Oddly, Avery stuck out her hand to me. “It was nice to officially meet you, Christian.”
I scrutinized her for a heartbeat. What the fuck? We’d already fucking met. And until this moment, she’d called me Chris. But as I gave in and took her hand, her game became clear. She pulled away quickly, leaving a ball of paper behind.
And wasn’t that a fun turn of events? Avery Wilson had just given me her number.
Me: Is giving me your number your way of saying that you missed me?
Blondie: Haha, no. I just wanted to make sure we’re good before next Wednesday.
Me: What’s next Wednesday?
Blondie: Did Hannah not tell you about the photo op?
Me: Who the hell is Hannah?
Blondie: You know Hannah. She works for Liv. In the PR department.
