Page 158 of Off Camera
“We’d love if you came in and interviewed,” Barbara says. “Either for the Chief Marketing Officer of the NBA, or, if you’renot ready to leave the area, as head of marketing and social media for the Washington Ducks. We won’t put you on the spot and set up a formal interview today; you have a lot to celebrate tonight. It shouldn’t be about work. But if there’s any interest on your end, give us your information. We can set something up later this summer after the season winds down.”
“Oh, my god,” I whisper. I take Reid’s hand in mine and squeeze. I can tell he’s beaming at me out of the corner of my eye, and I have the inexplicable urge to hug him. To throw myself in his arms and tell himthank you,thank you,thank you. “That would be—yes. I’d be honored.”
“We love the work you’re doing,” Susie says. “Your inclusion of fans in your content and the spotlight series you do on players is extraordinary. You don’t paint them as athletes; you show them as real people, and it’s beautiful to see those walls come down.”
“Thank you so much.” I wipe under my eyes, hoping I haven’t smudged my mascara before the game starts, and let out a watery laugh. I fumble with my purse and pull out my business card, handing it over. “That has my personal number on it too. I’ll be back in the office on Wednesday, and I’d love to talk to you both some more.”
“Perfect.” The commissioner smiles and slips the card in her pocket. “It was great to meet you, Avery. We’ll be in touch soon.”
After a round of goodbyes, I stare at Reid, my mouth open and my jaw nearly on the floor.
“Holyshit,” I squeal. I fling myself at him and he laughs, spinning me around. “Reid. I can’t believe you did that for me.”
“I was worried it was overstepping.” He sets me back on the ground and smooths his hands down my arms. “I’d never want you to feel like I was trying to swoop in and be a hero. But after that conversation with Andrew earlier this season, I’ve been soangrythinking about how your potential is never going to beseen by a bunch of men who are intimidated by a woman’s success. When you told me how much you love basketball—how much your dad loved basketball and that it was something you two did together—it got me thinking. Your talent deserves to be shown off somewhere bigger. Maybe the NBA could be that place.”
“Youarea hero.” I stand on my toes and cup both his cheeks in my hands. “Myhero. Thank you for thinking of me. Thank you for supporting me. Thank you for having my back.”
“The NBA headquarters are in New York. If that’s where you think you’d like to end up, I want you to know we’ll figure it out. We’ll figure us out. I’m in this for the long haul, baby, and if that means alternating cities every other week, so be it.”
“I love you,” I whisper, and his eyes light up. His smile melts into something beautiful, something precious.Mine. “I love you so much. I’m so glad I sent you that first message. I’m so glad I get to be here with you.”
“What are you talking about?” Reid asks. “I sent you a message first.”
“No, you didn’t.”
He barks out a laugh. “Are you shitting me, Sinclair? You commented first. I sent the first direct message.”
“We’re not arguing about this right now.”
“Because you know you’re wrong.”
“No.” I poke his ribs and he captures my wrist, kissing the tips of my fingers. “Because you have a job to do, and I have a game to watch.”
“It’s cute you think I’m going to be able to manage any productivity on the sidelines while I’m scrolling all the way back to our first interaction,” he says.
“I have a screenshot,” I blurt out, and Reid lifts an eyebrow. “I took a screenshot of the first time we interacted. I was afraid I was being too mean to you, but then you matched my energyand…” I bite back a smile. “Shit. We were inevitable all along, weren’t we?”
“Yeah.” He kisses me, and the fans watching us whistle and cat call. “I think we were.”
“I don’t know why I keep coming to these games.” Maven peeks at the field through her fingers. “They take years off my life.”
“Because your husband is the greatest kicker of all time and is about to win another Super Bowl on a field goal,” Emmy says, jumping up and down. “What are the fucking odds?”
“Let’s go,” Maverick yells, holding up a bottle of champagne. “World fucking champions, baby!”
“Miller,” Maven hisses, and she smacks his arm. “He hasn’t kicked yet. Don’t fucking jinx it.”
“Swear jar,” June says. “Swear jar, swear jar, swear jar.”
I laugh and lean my elbows on the railing of the suite, watching the teams break from their huddles to take the field. I spot Reid on the sideline, pacing back and forth, his phones in his hand and his hat backwards on his head.
He must have spun it around during the timeout.
I grin, pulling out my own phone and sending him a message.
Me
Could you wear your hat like that more often? It’s hot as hell.
