Still, I want to make sure Rawley and I are on the same page.
“What do you want to do, sweetheart? We could meet with Aiden and Taylor separately to vet the more conventional strategies she mentioned if you want to hear those first?”
“I already know that mirroring Taylor’s approach with Rori Reilly would interest me most among those.”
“I’ll be honest, Aves, I’m sure Taylor would do great with that strategy, but I don’t think it would break through as much as dating Rawley.”
I agree with her and say so. “Plus they seemed anxious to get ahead of the article? So we don’t have a lot of time for debate. Can you get Rawley’s number for me instead? I think it’d be good for us to chat one-on-one.”
“Yes, let’s jump off, and I’ll text Aiden to get it for you.”
Not surprisingly, Aiden responds to Mom quickly, and within a few minutes I have Rawley’s number.
I need to leave for practice soon, so having a meaningful conversation is not realistic. And we should probably meet in person? It doesn’t feel like a phone call is good enough to hash out the possible ground rules.
Not letting myself overthink this, I text him, and we make plans to meet at my place tonight.
Looking around my townhouse, I’m glad I set the time for seven and I’ll have time to spruce everything up.
I rented it furnished, and it cleans up perfectly nice, but I’m not exactly a good housekeeper. There’s random mail, two semi-full gym bags, and water bottles spread across the living room, and a stack of clean laundry on the couch.
Ignoring the mess for the moment, I jet to practice at eleven.
It’s a pretty straightforward session, but there’s one stand-out moment during our scrimmaging. About halfway through, Coach has me play on the same team with the other starters, replacing Katrina but leaving the rest of the group intact.
The chemistry feels seamless, and when the session is over, Sarah whispers, “Great job.”
Meanwhile, I catch Katrina looking at me and biting her lip a couple of times in the locker room.
Too bad.
She burned the bridge of making this a collegial battle for that starting spot. And even if she hadn’t, there’s not much I can say, because I want it.
Heading straight back after practice, I’m home by four, which gives me plenty of time to clean up the townhouseandmyself.
Not that I need to dress up for Rawley. All he gets is my staple uniform of leggings and a red halter tee.
Does my ass look incredible in these leggings? Sure. But he’ll be stuck admiring the view only.
Rawley knockson the door right at seven. Check mark for being punctual.
When I open the door, I see he’s brought out the big guns: the male equivalent of these leggings.
Gray sweatpants.
Thin ones, no less, suitable for Florida. Along with a tight-fitting UT T-shirt he looks like he’s had since his freshman year, his broad chest stretching the faded fabric.
I guess I’ll appreciate the sights too.
And then I suddenly realize—this is our first time truly alone together.
One-on-one, in my townhouse.
For some reason, the thought shoots a fleeting wave of nerves across my chest.
“Hey,” he says, as his face breaks into a grin. He’s holding a medium-sized Tupperware container. Maybe he brought his dinner here?
“Hi, come on in.”
