Page 20 of Pressure Point

“I know that’s your favorite part of the day. Getting to put your hands on all the hot, sweaty sexpots that you work with,” Hazel teased.

Avery felt the blush rising up the back of her neck at her best friend’s words. She never, ever would admit such a thing out loud, but Hazel knew her well enough that she didn’t have to. The two of them had spent many an afternoon watching the various sports teams practice during college, just for the view. Being a biology major with a focus on applied physiology as an undergrad, plus having a scholarship athlete roommate, had given her the chance to be up close and personal with many of the teams during games and training sessions. While it was the science that had interested her the most, being that close to near perfect specimens had been a very nice perk.

“It is not! Okay, maybe a little. But it’s not sexual. I enjoy the science behind seeing the body's reaction to the intense physical training. The human body is an incredible thing, you know, and with what these guys put theirs through, day in and day out, it’s a wonder to watch. The wear and tear is just incredible. And while I hate it when they hurt themselves, I like being able to help them get better.”

“Not sexual, right…” Hazel said, drawing out the word right.

“You know it’s not. I was your personal PT for how long? And I know you know what these guys go through—you were a professional athlete,” Avery pointed out.

Four years on the varsity volleyball team in high school had landed Hazel a full scholarship to numerous colleges around the country. She’d chosen Georgia Tech to stay close to home and had danced her way into a starting spot on the university’s volleyball team. It wasn’t long after that the US National team came calling, and Hazel landed herself a spot on their roster too. Juggling school, her college games, and the National team schedule had been quite the task for her, but she’d handled it with a grace that Avery was still amazed by to this day. By the time the US had made the Olympics, and Hazel got the call up, making it all work was old hat.

“I’m just giving you shit. And I was not technically a professional.”

“The bronze medal you have hanging in your living room says otherwise,” Avery pointed out, still feeling the same pride and excitement for her friend that she had that day. The only thing she could think that would outrank that moment was if the Rising were to win a championship. “But I won’t fight you on semantics.”

“How’s Dash?” Hazel asked.

“He’s…fine,” she answered, flustered by the sudden change in topic and mention of his name. She looked around quickly to make sure that no one had magically appeared in her office without her noticing. It was a silly move on her part, since anyone not on the field at the moment was preparing for the moment they all stepped off the field, just as she had in theory been doing moments ago.

“Fine, or fine?”

“He’s as sound as they come fitness wise…and yes, still as hot as ever,” she admitted, sighing lightly. Closing her eyes, she could still see the image of him Saturday night, in nothing but his boxer briefs, sauntering into the medical room, every shred of etched muscle on display. It was still a wonder she hadn’t passed out on the spot just from the view.

“So tell me about the birthday party, or whatever it is. You said you have a plan?”

“I do. It’s just maybe a little unconventional.”

“You have an unconventional plan to attend a birthday party?” Hazel asked, her voice sounding skeptical.

“No, to try and get his attention,” Avery corrected her. “I’m going to find my sexy.”

“Avery, you’re my best friend, and have been from the day Georgia Tech paired us together as freshman roommates. So, I say this with love. Lots and lots of love. You don’t have sexy. You have cute, and fun, and sweet. But sexy? That is just not your thing.”

“I know, but I’m going to find it. I can make it my thing.”

“I think after twenty-four years without, there’s no finding it.”

“Why would you say that?” Avery asked, feeling slightly betrayed by her words, even though she knew they were meant to be loving and supportive. Hazel was the best friend Avery could ask for—she'd always accepted her for who she was and had never tried to mold her into something different. Never pressed her to be more like her or any of the other girls on the volleyball team who she hung out with. It was one of the things that bonded them together—the acceptance of each other as they were.

“Because I don’t think you should have to be someone you're not just because you think it’s what’s going to impress some guy. If he can’t see you for the smart, witty girl you are, then sucks to be him.”

“I’m not changing who I am,” Avery defended.

“Just pretending to be someone you’re not.”

That was easy for Hazel to say. At just shy of six feet tall in her bare feet, Hazel towered over petite Avery. Her legs seemed to go on for days, and she had a long, lean torso that housed a chest like you saw in bra ads and long, wavy brown hair. Most days Avery had thought that Hazel could have gone on to be a model had she wanted to after not pursuing sports full time. Men flocked to her no matter where she went, whether she was in the miniscule volleyball shorts or oversized sweats and a hoodie. She had no problem catching anyone’s attention and had never needed to resort to asking a friend for help. Then again, other than once or twice in college when she’d pushed Avery to try something outside her comfort zone in terms of clothes or social activities, she’d never pushed Avery to be anything but herself. And once Avery had told her she didn’t like something after trying it, she’d never brought it up again.

“No. Just getting him to notice me. And Liam is going to help.”

“Liam? Who’s Liam?”

“The goalie."

“The goalie,” Hazel repeated. “Is he gay?”

“No. At least I don’t think so.” Avery paused, thinking about the question. She hadn’t heard him say anything about his preferences one way or the other. His only comment had been a retort about his dick working. She had taken that to mean that it worked in regard to women, but maybe she’d misunderstood? “I’m pretty sure he’s straight. He’s Irish, like from Ireland Irish. And all stoic and broody.”

“Not every gay guy is Elton John; they can be stoic and broody too.”