Page 86 of Pressure Point

The move earned him an eyebrow waggle, before Mrs. J turned to Avery and whispered, “He sure is something.”

“He is,” Avery whispered in return, pride swelling inside her.

For all the drama her little scheme had caused that night—at least in her own world—everything had smoothed out so quickly that Avery felt she owed the universe a thank you. Life had been a dream these last few weeks. Sharing an apartment with Talia was almost as easy as sharing one with Hazel had been. Both of them maintained such weird work hours—with Talia working at Bunz for both day and night shifts on top of school, plus Avery’s travel schedule with the team—that when they were both home, a girls’ night was always priority.

Dash and Liam had worked out their own dispute and were back to being friends by practice the day after the auction. Of course, Gunnar had a thing or two to say about the whole event and made the entire team do extra sprints and run two-a-days that whole week because of it. Avery was pretty sure that it was understood by every member of the Atlanta Rising—both staff and players—that disagreements were to be worked out via conversation and not fists.

And then there was the two of them.

For the life of her, Avery could not understand her own reasoning in wanting Dash. Yes, he was pretty. Yes, he was fun to hang out with. But he wasn’t Liam. Dash wasn’t the man she looked forward to seeing the second she opened her eyes in the morning and loved to snuggle up with on the couch at the end of the day. He was not the man who hadn’t run away after finding just how deep her quirkiness went, but loved her for it even more.

“Anything else, Mrs. J? Or was it just the bedroom set?” Liam asked.

“That was all I really needed. Although I do feel like maybe I should invent something just to keep you a while longer,” she told him.

“We can always come back,” Avery offered. “Especially if there are more of those cookies involved.”

“I’ll teach you how to make them sometime. They were my Harvey’s favorite.”

“I’d love that!”

“Do we trust you in the kitchen?” Liam asked jokingly.

“It was one time! I burned the chicken one time!” Avery exclaimed, holding up her index finger to emphasize her point.

Liam shook his head, and Avery just knew he was fighting back a comment. Her father had never been known for exceptional handwriting, but Avery had been pretty confident in her ability to read it. That was until last week when she had burned the chicken bake that was her favorite recipe growing up when she made it for Liam. Or well, had tried to make it. At least now they realized that the fire alarms in her apartment worked and that the recipe only needed to bake for thirty-five minutes and not eighty-five.

“That three looked like an eight, I swear it did!”

“Oh darlin’, don’t fret about it. I burned plenty of dinners when I was your age. Harvey ate every one though.”

“Liam ordered Chinese,” Avery muttered as Liam came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her in close.

Mrs. J turned to face Liam, waggling her finger at him. “Young man, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll teach Miss Avery some of my secrets in the kitchen, but you have to promise to eat whatever she puts in front of you. Whether you like it or not.”

“Oh, I’ll eat you alright,” Liam whispered in Avery’s ear. She elbowed him playfully, feeling the heat start to rise on her cheeks. Please don’t let Mrs. J have heard that…

“I promise,” he said.

“You two remind me of me and Harvey. So young and in love,” she sighed. “Let me wrap the rest of these cookies for you and send you on your way. Liam worked hard today; I’m sure there are some parts of him that could use some extra attention.”

She winked at them, and then disappeared out of the bedroom.

Turning around in Liam’s arms, Avery looked up at her hulking Irishman, finding a naughty look on his face. She knew what he was thinking—after all, she was thinking it too. And apparently, so was Mrs. J.

“She’s a dirty bird!” Avery said softly.

“I like it. In a way, she’s kind of how I picture you at that age.”

“Horny and impish?”

“I hope so,” he chuckled.

"Then let’s get you home so I can show you just how much I can be both of those things.”

* * *

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” Liam said, closing the fridge door, carrying over the pitcher of water to the coffee table. Avery stopped, forkful of pad thai halfway to her mouth, her eyes wide with concern.