She also has a confident, unaffected look on her face, her brown eyes sharp and focused.
I’ve seen snippets of her now and then on sports news shows, but nothing made an impression like being in her presence.
Reggie moves toward where she stands, not looking surprised to see her, and greets her with a big smile.
“Hi, I’m Reggie. We’re so glad to have you in Orlando.” He sounds more excited than when he welcomed me. I can’t blame him.
“Happy to be here,” she replies. “Thanks for letting me use the gym to shoot. My trainer said it’s the best one around, and it’s really close to my place.”
“No worries, it’s an honor. We’re actually about to play five on five if you want to join us? It’s mainly local prospects, as well as some former players.”
Avery surveys the group and makes her mind up quickly. “Sure. That’ll be more fun anyway.”
Reggie nods and glances at me, then back to Avery, clicking his tongue in disbelief.
“Damn, the two biggest draft picks in recent history for Orlando, and you’re both at my gym at the same time? That’s a little wild.”
“It kinda is,” I acknowledge. What are the chances?
Feeling awkward about having stared at them while they talked, I step toward Avery.
“Hi, I’m Rawley.”
She examines me, cool but not unfriendly. I honestly can’t tell what’s going on in her mind. Does she even know who I am?
“Avery. Nice to meet you.” Her voice is melodic and rich, but again, hard to read.
“Who’s even going to guard her?” says a voice from the larger group.
I understand the fear. Anyone who watched March Madness the last couple of years knows that Avery has been one of the best shooters in women’s college basketball. She’s also the same height as a lot of the guys here.
Her lips turn up. Interesting—she doesn’t mind the compliment of being intimidating to them.
I twist to Reggie. “I will. Put us on opposite teams.”
Then I turn back to Avery and wink, deliberately stirring the pot to see how she reacts.
She gives a small roll of her eyes, but her expression fades quickly to neutral.
Reggie nods, then introduces Avery to the group she will play with.
“Aren’t you in preseason?” I hear one of the guys on her team ask.
“We start training camp tomorrow,” she explains. “And I was getting antsy sitting at home.”
“Well, I know our strategy,” he replies. “Get the ball to you.”
Noted—I guess I’ll need to step up my defense. I’m not exactly blessed with high caliber defensive skills, but I don’t want to be embarrassedtoobadly.
The game starts a couple of minutes later andyup, the ball’s passed to Avery quickly.
We’re right inside the three-point line, so a shot from here would be over twenty feet. Still, based on what I know about her, she can make a bucket from that distance easily, so I stay glued to her.
Only she outsmarts me, faking me out with a hip swivel that makes it seem like she’s going left. A split second later, when she starts driving to the basket from her right instead, I hear myself whisper, “Fuck.”
She makes the layup, none of the other guys reacting fast enough to guard her.
As Avery walks back my way, there’s a gleam in her eye. She knows she cooked me.
