Page 25 of With the Assist

“You are encouraging her to use and lose him,” Harper says, unimpressed.

“Precisely. She needs to loosen up.”

I shake my head. They don’t even know that he propositioned me for exactly that last week. If they did, they’d never let it go.

“It needs to be a purely professional arrangement. I keep working out with him as he asked, and he gets seen in public with me enough times to look convincing.”

As I fiddle with his phone number in my pocket, Harper’s husband wanders through the living room hunting for his keys. He glances at the three of us and offers a strained smile. Harper walks over to him, and they have a brief conversation, all mumbled words and biting edges.

They trade a look I can’t decipher. I nod at Avery, and she widens her eyes as if sensing it too. The silence he leaves behind is awkward, but Harper smooths it with a practiced smile.

“Sorry. He’s been swamped at work.”

We nod, pretending we believe that’s all it is. Married couples probably argue all the time. As someone who has avoided a relationship for five years and hasn’t had sex in four, I’m in no place to assume anything.

Avery senses the tension and, bless her chaotic heart, changes the subject instantly. “Back to our fearless, lying captain. How are you going to get a hold of him? Show up at a game with a sign? Barge into the locker room wearing nothing but a coat?”

I laugh despite myself. It’s ridiculous. This whole thing is ridiculous.

“You need to get your mind out of the gutter,” I tease.

“I need to get laid. Unfortunately, my only prospect is your fake boyfriend’s teammate.”

After dropping that bomb, Avery hops up off the couch and darts to the kitchen.

“Who?” I yell, trailing after her with Harper following closely behind.

“Grayson Shaw followed me on Instagram after the award ceremony. He tried to slide into my DMs that have been otherwise empty as of late.”

Harper crowds Avery, peeking at her phone on the kitchen island. “The Grayson Shaw?”

“He’s hot,” I admit, flanking her other side.

Avery smirks, pulling a tub of ice cream out of the freezer. “Interesting how you can admit Grayson is hot, but not Nathan.”

“I never said Nathan wasn’t attractive,” I argue weakly, mind jumping to how he looked this morning. My pulse betrays me. That’s going to be a problem.

“Grayson liked an old post.” Harper motions to the screen. “That’s deliberate.”

“It’s stalking,” Avery counters.

“Why haven’t you responded to him?” Harper pulls out spoons for us all, but I leave mine on the counter.

Avery waves a manicured hand. “I don’t like hockey players.”

“And?” I press, knowing damn well there’s more to it.

“And nothing. I’m not interested.”

Harper asks the question we’re both wondering, “Is this about Damon?”

Too many emotions ripple in Avery’s eyes, from hurt and anger to something like fear. “Please drop it.”

Harper nods, and I don’t push. Avery has always been more of a closed book when it comes to her feelings. Besides, some wounds are never healed enough to poke.

We lean back. The room crackles with quiet, and the only sound is their spoons clanking together in the tub of ice cream.

My heart beats an anxious, stubborn rhythm.