Page 33 of With the Assist

“Yes,” she replies, tossing it at me. “Try it on.”

I sigh but comply, pulling the fabric over my head and stepping back into the room. Avery’s reaction tells me everything before I even glance at the mirror.

“You look adorable.”

“I look—” I stop short, finally meeting my own reflection. I look good. Me, but softer somehow. My hair is freed from its usual ponytail, falling around my shoulders in loose waves.

Avery steps behind me, fastening a pair of earrings that I haven’t worn in years. She insists that they bring out the blue in my eyes.

“You look approachable,” she says, her tone gentler now.

It’s a nicer way of saying I look like someone who doesn’t spend every waking moment thinking about soccer. Someone whoremembers how to exist outside of obligation and pressure. The realization sits strangely behind my ribs.

I drop onto the bed to pull on my boots, focusing on the zippers as Avery’s expression shifts to reveal concern.

“You okay?”

I nod, a little too quickly. “Just thinking.”

“About him?”

I hesitate, fingers stilling. About a lot of things, actually. About the way Nathan hadn’t hesitated when I asked for his help. About the focus in his eyes when he worked, not showy or performative, just locked in. About how I’m afraid I was completely wrong about him. I’m worried that fake-dating him will derail the entire future I’ve dreamt of since I was a kid.

“I didn’t expect him to agree so fast,” I admit quietly. “Or to actually follow through on it.”

It was true. I’d texted Nathan on and off throughout the week to see if he would show up today. He liked it a little too much, taking it as a sign to tell me about his practices or days as if this wasn’t only a strategic arrangement.

I had to hand it to him; he was charming, even if that charm didn’t work on me. Not visibly, anyway. I’d kept my messages short and focused, ignoring him every time he tried to flirt with me. Eventually he got the message long enough for me to double check that he’d be here. Getting stood up for a fake date would be too mortifying.

Avery leans against my dresser. “That’s because most men suck.”

She makes a face, and I laugh.

“We’re figuring out how to exist around each other outside of workouts, so this doesn’t fall apart the second someone asks about us.”

“Is that all it is?”

“Yes,” I say it confidently enough to convince us both.

Avery steps forward and pulls me into a quick hug. She understands the pressure I’m under better than anyone. My family. My captaincy. The National Team. All of it balanced on a knife’s edge.

“Didn’t the Blades lose last night?” she asks, deliberately changing topics.

I glance up. “How do you know that?”

She shrugs, suddenly very interested in smoothing my hair. “I saw it somewhere.”

I don’t miss the deflection.

“Think yourboyfriendwill be in a mood?”

I almost correct her, but that’s what she wants me to do, so I ignore it.

“A couple of weeks ago, I would’ve said no.” I swipe on lip balm. “He acts like none of it matters, at least in front of the cameras. Now? I’m pretty sure he cares more than he lets on.”

“Desperation will do that.”

“It sounds like his contract is actually at risk.” I surprise myself with my own empathy.