When We’re Ready

Chapter Five-Rowan

Game night.

For most people, that meant noise.

Crowds.

Bright lights.

Music blasting through the arena.

Thousands of people screaming every time someone made a three-pointer, blocked a shot, or dunked the ball.

For me, it usually meant focus.

It meant putting everything else out of my head and letting my body do what it had been trained to do since I was a kid.

But tonight?

Tonight, I couldn’t stop thinking about one person.

Richard Avery.

I sat in front of my locker, elbows resting on my knees, staring at the floor.

Was he coming?

Was he not coming?

I had no idea why I cared so much.

I had given him the ticket because it felt like the right thing to do. He had gotten his shirt cleaned. I had waited for him for hours at his office, and he hadn’t come.

So I left.

That should have been the end of it.

Except it wasn’t.

Because now I was sitting in my locker room wondering if he was actually going to show up.

I rubbed my hands together and sighed.

“Get your head in the game, Rowan.”

I looked up.

One of my teammates was walking past.

“I’m good.”

He laughed. “You don’t look good.”

“I’m fine.”

“Whatever you say.”

I rolled my eyes and stood.

A few minutes later, the team started making its way toward the court.

The sound of the crowd grew louder with every step.

I could already hear the announcer.

The music.

The screams.

The energy.

I stepped through the tunnel and onto the court.

And then I saw him.

My entire body seemed to stop for half a second.

Richard.

He was sitting courtside.

And, oh my God.

That man knew how to dress.

He was wearing burgundy.

Not just any burgundy.

A deep, rich burgundy outfit that somehow made his dark skin look even more striking.

Tailored slacks.

A perfectly fitted top.

Clean trainers.

Everything about him looked expensive without looking like he was trying too hard.

Richard Avery looked like he belonged there.

Like he had been born sitting courtside at games like this.

His waves were perfectly laid, and his posture was relaxed, one arm resting against the chair as he watched the court.

He looked like a king.

A Black king sitting quietly among thousands of people.

I swallowed.

Jesus.

Why did he have to look like that?

I looked away quickly.

Then I looked back.

Bad idea.

He was still there.

And something about seeing him sitting in that seat made something warm move through my chest.

I didn’t know why.

I had noticed his body before.

That wasn’t new.

I remembered exactly what he looked like when he had changed his shirt in front of me.

I remembered the broadness of his shoulders.

The way his clothes had fit him.

The fact that he was clearly in incredible shape.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, I noticed everything.

His face.

His clothes.

His confidence.

His presence.

And then I realized something.

He was watching me.

Not casually.

Actually watching me.

I quickly looked away.

My heart started beating harder.

Why?

Why was I suddenly nervous?

I wasn’t trying to impress him.

I wasn’t.

I definitely wasn’t.

But…

If I happened to play really well tonight, that wouldn’t hurt.

Right?

I shook my head.

“What am I doing?”

The whistle blew.

Game time.

And just like that, everything else disappeared.

The ball was in my hands.

I moved.

One shot.

Swish.

The crowd erupted.

I ran back down the court.

Another possession.

Another basket.

Then another.

I was on fire.

Everything felt effortless.

My feet were moving before I even thought about it.

My teammates were feeding me the ball, and I was taking every opportunity.

Three-pointer.

Layup.

Fast break.

Dunk.

The arena was losing its mind.

But somewhere between the second quarter and the third, I started noticing something.

Every time I looked toward the sidelines…

Richard was looking at me.

Intensely.

Quietly.

His eyes followed me across the court.

And I liked it.

That was the problem.

I liked the way he looked at me.

It made me want to play harder.

Made me want to give him something worth watching.

I scored again.

I turned toward the bench, breathing heavily.

My eyes found his.

Richard didn’t smile.

He simply watched me.

And somehow, that was worse.

Or better.

I didn’t know.

I shook my head and turned away.

Get it together, Rowan.

By the fourth quarter, we were winning.

And not by a little.

We were dominating.

My winning streak was alive.

I could feel the energy running through me.

Then, with about ten minutes left in the game, something caught my attention.

Richard stood.

I looked toward him.

He pulled out his phone.

He looked at the screen.

Then answered the call.

My eyebrows pulled together.

What?

He spoke for a few seconds.

Then he slipped the phone into his pocket.

And walked away.

I stared.

He was leaving?

Now?

I looked at the clock.

Ten minutes.

Maybe he was going outside for some air.

But who leaves a courtside seat during a game?

Who answers a phone during a game?

Who does that?

I turned back toward the court, trying to focus.

Maybe he’d come back.

I checked again a few minutes later.

Nothing.

He was gone.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

It was just Richard Avery.

A man I had met once.

A man who had bought—or rather, received—a courtside ticket from me.

A man who wasn’t even supposed to mean anything to me.

So why did it bother me?

The final whistle blew.

We won.

The crowd exploded.

My teammates celebrated.

I smiled.

I should have been happy.

I was happy.

But my eyes still went toward the empty courtside seat.

He hadn’t come back.

⸻

“That was a great game.”

My mom hugged me as soon as I got into the locker room.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“You were incredible tonight.”

I smiled.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at me carefully.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Rowan.”

“I’m fine.”

She gave me that mother look.

The one that said she knew I was lying but wasn’t going to force me to talk.

“Okay.”

I changed, grabbed my things, and followed her out.

The drive home was quiet.

I stared out the window most of the way.

Los Angeles passed by in a blur of lights.

I kept thinking about the empty seat.

Maybe he had somewhere to be.

Maybe something happened.

Maybe the meeting was important.

Maybe he didn’t enjoy the game.

Maybe he was bored.

Maybe—

“Rowan.”

I looked over.

My mother was driving.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m tired.”

She studied me for a moment.

“Okay.”

I looked back out the window.

I was tired.

But that wasn’t why I was upset.

When we got home, my father was already there.

He greeted us, asked about the game, and congratulated me.

I smiled.

Answered him.

Pretended everything was normal.

Then I went upstairs.

Straight to my room.

I closed the door behind me.

Dropped my bag on the floor.

And sat on my bed.

Why did Richard leave?

Didn’t he like the game?

Had I done something wrong?

Was he bored?

Was the ticket just a nice gesture to him?

Maybe I had made it mean more than it actually was.

I rubbed my face.

“Why do I care?”

I didn’t have an answer.

My phone suddenly rang.

I looked at the screen.

Unknown number.

I frowned.

I rarely got calls from numbers I didn’t recognize.

For a second, I considered ignoring it.

Then I answered.

“Hello?”

My voice came out casual.

A little annoyed.

I didn’t even know why I sounded annoyed.

There was a brief pause.

Then a deep voice came through the phone.

“You up?”

I froze.

That voice.

I knew that voice.

“Yeah.”

I sat up straighter.

“Who is this?”

Another pause.

“It’s Richard.”

The way he said it.

It’s Richard.

Deep.

Calm.

Mature.

Something about his voice traveled straight through me.

“Oh.”

I didn’t know why I suddenly sounded so…

Sassy.

I wasn’t a sassy person.

“Hi.”

I heard the smallest hint of amusement in his voice.

“Hi.”

I swallowed.

“So…”

“I wanted to apologize.”

I frowned.

“For what?”

“I missed the game.”

My heart dropped a little.

“Oh.”

“I had a dinner meeting.”

He paused.

“I forgot to cancel it. It collided with the game, and by the time I realized, I couldn’t get out of it.”

I leaned back against my pillows.

“You left.”

“Yes.”

“During the game.”

“Yes.”

I stared at the ceiling.

Who leaves a basketball game for a meeting?

Especially a courtside game.

“You could’ve stayed.”

“I could have.”

There was something about the way he said it that annoyed me.

“So why didn’t you?”

Silence.

“I had to attend the meeting.”

I sighed.

“It’s fine.”

“Are you upset?”

“No.”

A lie.

“I’m not.”

Another pause.

Then he said,

“But the game was good.”

I looked at the ceiling again.

“You watched?”

“I did.”

“Until you left.”

“I watched most of it.”

“Okay.”

“You were really good.”

I didn’t say anything.

“You were very good tonight, Rowan.”

My cheeks suddenly felt warm.

“Thanks.”

“You have a lot of talent.”

“Thank you.”

Another silence.

I didn’t know what to say.

I wanted him to keep talking.

And at the same time, I wanted to end the call before he could hear how strange I was becoming.

“It’s late,” he finally said.

“Oh.”

“I have some meetings.”

“At this hour?”

“Yes.”

Of course.

He was probably the kind of man who had meetings while everybody else was asleep.

“I’ll text you later,” I said.

Then, before he could respond, I added,

“Or I’ll call you tomorrow. Whenever.”

I wasn’t even sure why I said it.

“Okay.”

He sounded calm.

“I also wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“The seats.”

“Oh.”

“And thank you for bringing back my shirt.”

I smiled slightly.

“You’re welcome.”

“Good night, Rowan.”

“Good night.”

The call ended.

I stared at my phone.

That was it.

He had called.

He had explained.

He had apologized.

He had complimented my game.

And somehow…

I still felt annoyed.

I dropped the phone beside me.

“Who leaves a game for a meeting?”

I shook my head.

That man was unbelievable.

But then I remembered his voice.

It’s Richard.

My stomach flipped.

I picked up my phone again.

His number was still on the screen.

I stared at it for a moment.

Then I saved it.

Richard

Just Richard.

No last name.

No Mr. Avery.

Just Richard.

I stared at the name.

And then I realized I was smiling.

My face suddenly got hot.

I immediately stopped smiling.

“What is wrong with me?”

I put the phone down.

Then picked it up again.

Looked at the name.

Richard.

I didn’t understand why seeing his name saved in my phone made me blush.

I didn’t understand why I cared that he had come to the game.

I didn’t understand why his leaving had bothered me.

And I definitely didn’t understand why hearing his voice had made my entire mood change.

All I knew was one thing.

Richard Avery had somehow gotten into my head.

And I had absolutely no idea how to get him out.