Chapter Seven-Rowan
1754 Words
I couldn’t get Richard Avery out of my head.
That was the problem.
It had been one night.
One phone call.
A few text messages.
And somehow, the man had managed to occupy more space in my mind than he had any right to.
I had tried everything.
Practice.
Endorsement meetings.
Recovery.
Dinner.
Watching game film.
Everything.
Nothing worked.
I kept remembering his voice.
His face.
The way he had looked at me from those courtside seats.
The way he had said my name.
Rowan.
I hated how easily my mind replayed it.
This morning, I had made the mistake of texting him.
Good morning.
Simple.
Normal.
Nothing weird about it.
Except…
He didn’t answer.
I checked my phone once.
Then again.
Then again.
By noon, I was irritated.
By three, I was annoyed.
By four, I was genuinely wondering what was wrong with him.
Why hadn’t he replied?
It was just a text.
People didn’t have to answer immediately.
Richard was busy.
I knew that.
The man practically lived in meetings.
Still…
He could have answered.
Even a simple good morning back.
Nothing.
Zilch.
Absolutely nothing.
And I hated that I cared.
⸻
Practice ended around four.
I was exhausted.
My muscles were sore, my legs felt heavy, and all I wanted was a shower, food, and my bed.
Instead, the coach wanted to talk.
Playoff strategies.
Game plans.
Defensive rotations.
Tactics.
Possible matchups.
We sat around discussing everything for what felt like forever.
Four became five.
Five became six.
Six became seven.
And still…
Nothing.
I looked at my phone.
No message.
I locked it.
Five minutes later, I checked again.
Nothing.
I shoved it into my pocket.
“Bro.”
I looked up.
Marcus was standing beside me.
Marcus and I had known each other since I was eighteen.
Since I first joined the Lakers.
Now I was twenty-two, and somehow, Marcus had managed to remain just as annoying as he had been five years ago.
He was the definition of a bad boy.
The perfect fuckboy.
Always partying.
Always surrounded by women.
Always looking for somewhere to go.
And somehow, always trying to drag me along.
“There’s a party tonight,” he said.
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I don’t need to.”
He laughed.
“Come on, man.”
“Marcus.”
“What?”
“You know we shouldn’t be outside partying during training season.”
He groaned dramatically.
“Ugh. You are such a rule.”
I stared at him.
“Somebody has to be.”
“That’s why you’re boring.”
“I’m tired.”
“You’ve been tired since you were eighteen.”
“Exactly.”
He laughed.
I shook my head.
I loved Marcus.
But sometimes he was exhausting.
“My mom isn’t even here today,” I said.
“Your mama bear?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know. She had some things to handle.”
“Then come out.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I said no.”
He rolled his eyes.
“You’ve been weird all day.”
“I’m fine.”
He stared at me.
“You’re checking your phone every thirty seconds.”
I froze.
“I am not.”
“You literally just checked it.”
I looked down at my phone.
Damn.
Marcus grinned.
“Who are you waiting for?”
“No one.”
“Sure.”
I stood up.
“I’m going home.”
“Party.”
“No.”
“One hour.”
“No.”
“Thirty minutes.”
“Marcus.”
“Fine.”
He raised his hands.
“Go home, old man.”
I laughed despite myself.
“Goodnight.”
“It’s seven.”
“Exactly.”
⸻
My mom wasn’t there.
Normally, after a long practice, she would be waiting.
She knew my schedule better than anyone.
She knew when I was tired.
When I needed food.
When I needed to go straight home.
Today, though, I was on my own.
And I hated driving myself when I was exhausted.
I loved being a passenger princess.
There.
I said it.
I liked sitting in the passenger seat while somebody else handled the road.
Sometimes I’d Uber even when my car was sitting right there.
Today was definitely going to be one of those days.
I stood outside the training facility waiting for the team’s car.
I checked my phone.
Nothing.
I sighed.
“Ridiculous.”
I wasn’t talking about anything specific.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
Then my phone vibrated.
My heart jumped.
I looked down.
A message.
From Richard.
Where you at?
I stared at the screen.
That was it?
No Hey.
No How are you?
No Sorry I didn’t answer.
Just…
Where you at?
Why did that make me annoyed?
I shouldn’t even have answered.
I didn’t want to.
I stared at the message for several seconds.
Then typed.
I’m just finishing practice. I’m outside. I’ll be going soon. I’m just waiting for the car.
His response came almost immediately.
Cool.
I frowned.
Cool?
That’s it?
I locked my phone.
“Whatever.”
A few minutes passed.
Then I heard a car approaching.
A sleek black car pulled up in front of me.
The windows were dark.
The back window slowly rolled down.
And I froze.
Richard.
He was sitting inside.
Of course.
He looked…
God.
He was wearing a tailored suit.
Perfectly fitted.
Dark.
Elegant.
His shirt sat perfectly against his body.
His waves were immaculate.
His face was calm.
Controlled.
As if he hadn’t ignored my text all day.
As if I hadn’t spent hours wondering whether he was going to answer.
His eyes met mine.
“Come here.”
That voice.
Deep.
Calm.
Commanding without actually trying to be.
I swallowed.
I walked toward the car.
The door unlocked.
I opened it.
Got inside.
Closed the door.
And said nothing.
Neither did he.
The driver pulled away.
I sat there, staring out the window.
Richard was beside me, looking down at a tablet.
Typing.
Scrolling.
Checking emails.
Whatever.
I glanced at him.
Then looked away.
I glanced again.
Still working.
Seriously?
Why had he picked me up if he was going to work?
I looked out the window again.
This was ridiculous.
He had ignored my good-morning text.
Then suddenly appeared at seven in the evening asking where I was.
Now he was sitting beside me answering emails.
I crossed my arms.
He didn’t notice.
Or pretended not to.
I looked at him again.
He looked annoyingly good.
Why did he have to look so good?
I hated that.
I hated everything about this situation.
Especially the fact that I kept looking at him.
Finally, Richard lifted his eyes from the tablet.
“You going home?”
I blinked.
“Yeah.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
And went back to his tablet.
I stared at him.
That was it?
I wanted to ask him why he hadn’t replied.
I wanted to ask why he left the game.
I wanted to ask why he came to pick me up.
I wanted to ask why he was suddenly acting like this.
But I said nothing.
The car continued through the city.
Minutes passed.
Neither of us spoke.
Eventually, I gave the driver my address.
A little while later, the car slowed down in front of my house.
I opened the door.
Stepped out.
Then paused.
I looked back at Richard.
He was still holding the tablet.
He finally looked up.
“Goodnight, Rowan.”
I stared at him.
“Goodnight.”
I closed the door.
The car drove away.
I stood there watching the black car disappear.
My jaw tightened.
Why was I upset?
Why?
I had no idea.
I walked inside.
My mother was in the living room.
The second she saw me, she frowned.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
She studied me.
“You look tired.”
“Practice was hectic.”
I dropped my bag.
“We had to discuss the playoff season and tactics and everything.”
She nodded.
“Go shower. I’ll get you something to eat.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
I walked upstairs.
Closed my bedroom door.
And immediately fell onto my bed.
I stared at the ceiling.
Richard.
Again.
Always Richard.
I grabbed my phone.
Opened our messages.
There was my Good morning.
His Where you at?
My response.
His Cool.
That’s it.
I stared at the conversation.
“What is wrong with this man?”
I threw the phone onto the bed.
Then picked it up again.
Why did he come get me?
Why didn’t he just let me take the team’s car?
Why did he barely speak?
Why did he leave my game?
Why did he ignore my message?
Why did he suddenly care where I was?
I groaned and covered my face with both hands.
This was becoming ridiculous.
I didn’t even know this man.
Not really.
I knew his name.
I knew he was wealthy.
I knew he was successful.
I knew he was older.
I knew he was handsome.
Very handsome.
Too handsome.
And I knew that every time he looked at me, I felt something I didn’t know how to explain.
But that was all.
So why was I this bothered?
Why did his silence feel personal?
Why did his one-word responses annoy me?
Why did I want him to text me?
Why did I want him to talk to me?
I stared at my phone again.
Nothing.
I sighed.
“Forget it.”
I placed it face down.
Five seconds later, I flipped it back over.
Still nothing.
I groaned.
“God.”
I buried my face in my pillow.
I was losing my mind.
And the worst part?
I had a feeling Richard Avery knew exactly what he was doing to me.
Even though he probably didn’t.
Even though he probably hadn’t given any of this a second thought.
That thought somehow made me even more annoyed.
Because while I was lying in bed wondering why he hadn’t texted me…
Richard was probably somewhere working.
Living his perfectly organized life.
Not thinking about me at all.
I closed my eyes.
Then my phone buzzed.
I shot upright.
My heart jumped.
I grabbed it.
A message.
From Richard.
Get some rest. You looked tired.
I stared at it.
My cheeks warmed.
And despite myself…
I smiled.
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD