Page 75 of With the Assist

Wyatt snorts. “Temporary until you score twice and he pretends it was the plan all along.”

“He’s not wrong,” Liam adds cheerfully. “You’ve been unreal on the ice lately.”

Grayson nods. “The way you’ve been playing the past two weeks is what got you the contract in the first place.”

I don’t say anything. Acknowledging it feels like tempting fate.

They’re right. I’ve been playing better, feeling more myself, and the stats show it. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sure, I’m more excited to get on the ice, and my body feels more challenged and ready, but it needs to last.

Grayson notices, lifting an eyebrow. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I say automatically. “Just thinking.”

About Wesley. About how my game improvement seems directly tied to the guarded brunette who enjoys kicking my ass in our workouts.

Her breath caught when I leaned in. I’d come so close to kissing her, but she stood up and bolted as fast as she could. I’ve replayed that moment more times than I should in the two days since it happened. Every version ends the same way, with me certain that I’ve misread everything.

Until my phone buzzed earlier tonight.

I hadn’t expected her to text me, and definitely not first. The relief coursed through me, settling low in my gut the second I saw her name.

“What’s with the face?” Liam asks.

“I don’t have a face.”

Wyatt mutters, “You always have a face. It’s annoying.”

Grayson clears his throat. “Alright. Back to the tape before Wyatt finds new ways to insult us.”

I lean in, refocusing on the screen as the play restarts. The players shift across the ice, and I track it, imagining myself on the left instead of the right.

It’s probably overkill at this point. The game’s tomorrow, and I’ve practiced on the left all week, but Wesley’s obsessive nature seems to be contagious. I don’t want to let the team down. More importantly, I don’t want Coach to have another reason not to renew my contract.

“Here,” Grayson says, pointing at the person in the tape who’s playing my position. “You read the ice better from the left anyway. We should’ve done this ages ago.”

“Call Coach up,” Wyatt interrupts. “I’m sure he’d love to know you think he sucks at his job.”

Grayson shrugs. “Fuck off, Knox.”

“I don’t care who plays where as long as we win. I need to get laid, but it looks bad after a loss.” Liam laughs.

I snort. “It looks bad regardless.”

Liam’s hookups land him in the tabloids more than most celebrities. Hell, they’ve landed me in the crosshairs more times than I can count. Playboy by association.

I’ve never minded, not until Wesley thought it was true.

Wyatt adds, “Why girls still willingly hook up with you is a mystery I never want to understand.”

“I’m charming.” Liam kisses the air in Wyatt’s direction.

He grunts and hits play on the game, scoring on Liam before he has a chance to pick up his controller.

“I’m grabbing a drink.” I head into the kitchen, open the fridge, and stare inside far longer than necessary.

The noise from the living room fades slightly, replaced by the hum of the refrigerator and my own thoughts.

Wesley’s texts replay in my head. She was flirting. At least I think so. Does that mean I have a chance?