Page 61 of Off Camera
“A bet? What kind of bet? Oh, is it a sex game?” Maverick asks. “Emmy and I play those all the time. She usually wins. I guess technicallyI’mthe winner, because I’m the one who?—”
“Fuck off,” I groan, exasperated. “This is important. I really hate that you kept something from me. I don’t like having a good time with someone only to find out she’s the bane of my fucking existence after the fucking fact.”
“We should’ve taken a shot every time he dropped an F-bomb,” Maverick whispers to Dallas. “We’d be wasted right now.”
Dallas turns off the TV. “I’m sorry for lying. In my defense, I never thought you two would meet. Meet again, I guess I should say. Did you actually meet the first time years ago or did you only see her from across the field?”
“Is this the time for fucking semantics?” I ask. “I saw her from across the field, and that would’ve been the perfect opportunity to say, ‘Hey. By the way. That’s the woman who drives you up a goddamn wall. Make sure to not sleep with her at my wedding.’”
“She’s not your type, and I saw no situations where you two would ever be in the same space again. You didn’t go to any other soccer games, and it didn’t seem necessary to bring it up after the fact. We haven’t played the Thunderhawks in the time that she’s worked there, so it’s not like you’d see her in the stadium. Besides, she’s not your usual type. I didn’t anticipate you two meeting at a bar and again at the wedding. I thought this was all avoidable, especially because you’re never the one to approach women,” Dallas says.
“I donothave a type,” I stress. I rake a hand through my hair, frustrated. Irritated. Confused and goddamn annoyed. “I’ve never had a type.”
“Bullshit,” Maverick laughs. “You definitely have a type. You prefer quieter women. The sure things, not the risk takers.”
“Avery isn’t quiet,” Dallas adds. “She’s loud and she’s spunky and she’s this person everyone gravitates toward. If you saw her in a crowded room, you wouldn’t look twice at her.”
“That’s not true.” I rub a hand across my chest. I couldn’t stop staring at her the night we sat the bar. I couldn’t stop staring at her at the wedding, either. “And thanks for confirming you’ve met her before. Another fucking lie. Is our whole friendship a fucking sham to you?”
“Christ, you’re being dramatic. I’ve spent some time with her when she’s hung out with Maven. I think she’s a fucking delight, and you did too until you realized who her online persona was,” Dallas says.
“I don’t understand what the big deal is.” Maverick stretches out his long legs. “You like this woman. Who gives a shit who she works for?”
“I don’t like her,” I say.
“What was that about her distracting skirts you mentioned earlier?”
“This skirt she wore one day at the conference.” I stare off into space and scratch my jaw. It showed off her shiny anklet. Her tan legs that looked a mile long under the pleated leather, and the back of her thighs. I imagined pushing her against a wall again. Slipping my hand under the hem of it and finding out what color lace she had on that day. I hate the damn thing. “I couldn’t focus to save my life.”
“And what color was Emmy’s dress at the wedding?”
I squint at him. “Pink, right? No, wait. Dark blue.”
“Both wrong. It was green. Point is, you do like this woman. You pay attention to her, and you’ve talked about her for years. You two have always had a connection, whether it was positive or negative. And then you meet her in person and she’s someone you’ve dreamed about? You can’t make this shit up.”
I snap my mouth closed, and it takes me a second to come up with a rebuttal.
He’s not wrong. I’ve always felt drawn to her. Pulled to her, in a way. When we spent two, three hours at the bar talking, it felt like I knew her. Like I had known her for a lot longer than the time it took us to sip our drinks.
I guess I have.
We never divulge personal pieces of ourselves when we message back and forth on the official accounts for our teams, sticking to ambiguity and anonymity, but every now and then, small things sneak through.
The casual mention of her favorite cuisine (Thai). Learning she likes to run. Her favorite player on the team (their backup QB) and her favorite holiday (Thanksgiving).
By themselves, it’s not enough to figure out who she is. Now though, it makes sense why we had an immediate connection in person; it wasn’t our first time interacting.
“Real Life Avery and Internet Avery are two different people,” I explain, coming to my senses. “I have no clue how the two can intertwine.”
“Do they have to?” Dallas shrugs. “Y’all can find a way to exist as two separate parts.”
“I don’t know if that’s even possible. There’s deep-rooted annoyance when it comes to her. I’m not sure I can look past it, especially when she’s determined to do anything she can to piss me off. She blatantly told me she’s planning my takedown,” I say.
“Oh, and you’re so innocent?” Dallas asks. “You’re probably plotting her demise.”
“No.” I scowl. “I’m not.”
“Sounds like foreplay and flirting to me,” Maverick says.
