Page 90 of With the Assist

“You could train without her now,” he says, more careful than before. “She’s already taught you everything to do.”

I don’t answer.

Technically, he’s right.

I shouldn’t need her anymore. The thought of calling it all off, though, leaves me hollow. Besides, I can’t bail on her when she’s counting on me to sell this fake relationship. It means too much to her.

I hook my towel over my shoulder and start toward the lockers, the rubber floor giving way to cool tile under my shoes. The silence stretches, saying everything I’m not ready to.

“Look,” Grayson says, catching up to me. “We like her. She’s great. But she’s also intense and maybe a tad unavailable.”

“Intense?” Liam’s eyes widen as we pass the doorway into the locker room. Steam drifts out from the showers. The hum of the vents is louder in here, echoing slightly. “She ran circles around all of us without breaking a sweat. She’s discipline wrapped in a sexy body.”

“Shut up,” I snap.

I’m louder than intended. A couple of guys down the row glance over, then look away.

Wyatt smirks, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Yeah, there’s nothing going on at all.”

I drop onto the bench in front of my stall and lean forward, forearms resting on my thighs. My pulse is still elevated, but not from the lift anymore. Now, it’s from them poking at something I’ve been avoiding naming.

“We’re having some fun. Nothing serious.” The words scrape on the way out, but I shove the feeling down before I can think about why.

“You’ve got momentum. Real momentum.” Grayson rubs at the back of his neck, eyes on the floor. “I don’t want your game to slip when this ends.”

“And it will end,” Liam adds, meeting my gaze this time. “We both know that once her coach is off her back, she goes right backto being focused on whatever the soccer equivalent of the Stanley Cup is.”

I nod, even though it feels like swallowing glass.

They’re not wrong.

I reach down, untying my shoes and sliding them off, mostly to keep my hands busy.

They’re right to remind me what this is. Temporary. Fake. An arrangement.

But she’ll be in the stands tonight. For me. In mere weeks, this will all be over, but right now she’s mine. Publicly and privately.

I’m not going to let the future steal this from me.

If I happen to catch her eye when I score, if I see her lean forward, focused and intent, eyes glinting with excitement the way they do on the field or on my couch, well, that’s just a bonus.

24

Wesley

Ican’t believe you dragged me to a hockey game. I hate hockey. Hate it,” Avery groans beside me, slumping into her seat.

Harper snorts. “What could you possibly hate about hot, athletic men roughing each other up all night for our entertainment?”

“Everything.” Avery grabs a fistful of her stale popcorn and stuffs it into her mouth.

It’s early. The stands are still mostly empty, with only the smell of concession food and the chill of ice in the air. I tug at the hem of my cropped Blades sweatshirt, pulling it a little lower over my midriff. When people start filling up the arena, I know I’ll be hot, but right now the cold is getting to me.

“You dated a hockey player.” I steal a kernel of popcorn. “You went to his games all the time.”

“Don’t remind me,” Avery mumbles through her mouthful. “That's why I hate hockey now.”

Her words are clipped, making me want to push her harder to understand what happened. I don’t get the chance, though, because Avery is an expert at shifting the attention to me.