Page 9 of With the Assist

“What’s your name?” I ask again, trying not to yell across the room like a desperate idiot, even if that’s exactly how I feel.

At the last second, she glances back, lips curving enough to drive me insane.

“You’ll see,” she says, leaving me at the bar with my mouth half open, watching her walk away.

3

Wesley

By the time I reach my table, my pulse has finally stopped sprinting, and I’m ready to pretend the last ten minutes didn’t happen. The ballroom lighting glitters off crystal chandeliers above, casting soft gold across the tables that are too elegant for the chaos in my head.

Avery is already seated, stirring her cocktail with a knowing smirk like she’s been waiting her entire life to interrogate me.

“That little chat looked interesting.” She arches her brow. “Anything you want to share?”

I focus on my water instead of her face. “Not particularly. A guy talked. I listened. End of story.”

“A guy who happens to be Nathan Wilder. Boston Blade’s forward. Future Hall of Famer. He’s six foot two and the owner of cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.”

“I don’t care who he is. I’m not interested.”

The lie comes easily, practiced. It’s what I’m supposed to say, but it shouldn’t tremble at the edges the way it does.

Avery rests her chin on her hand, studying me. “You flirted.”

“I’m blaming the dress. It’s cut off my oxygenfor far too long.”

I force my face to remain neutral, but inside I’m spiraling. His voice replays, telling me I’m stunning even though I still don’t believe it.

Surely, I don’t stack up to the women who must constantly throw themselves at him. Everyone is obsessed with the hockey hometown hero. The man might as well have action figures made of himself.

There is no way that I’d catch his eye. He’d probably been heading for the bar to get another drink and hit on me out of convenience. Yeah, that was it.

One thing is for sure: the commercials and ads don’t do him justice. They don’t show how broad he is up close or the woodsy smell that lingers when he is close enough.

Flirting back was knee-jerk. A momentary lapse in sanity. I couldn’t help the way my eyes tracked his hand rubbing at his freshly shaven jaw, or how I leaned toward him.

Avery taps my hand. “You know, it’s fine to be interested in someone.”

“I’m not that girl.”

“But you can be tonight.”

I swallow. The suggestion presses against the back of my neck, tempting in a way it’s never been, but I push it away.

“Even if I were that girl, I wouldn’t be that girl with a guy like that.”

“What do you mean?”

I laugh, recalling the way Nathan and Liam ranted about me without realizing it.

“They saw that some guy named Wesley Miller won Athlete of the Year and were pissed.”

Avery’s eyes widen before she leans over, howling. “No way.”

“Oh yes. The outrage was real. Apparently, some nobody stole their spotlight. They don’t see how some guy no one’s heard of could win over them.”

“Did you correct them?”