Page 131 of With the Assist

“Yeah,” I say easily.

“Trevor, Becca’s date.” He jerks his thumb vaguely across the room. “I wanted to say, uh, great season. You guys are killing it.”

“Thanks,” I reply, polite and automatic. “Appreciate it.”

He asks a couple more questions about our playoff chances and strategy. It’s all the usual script. I give the usual answers on autopilot, nodding in the right places and offering safe, practiced responses.

My attention drifts across the room.

It always does.

Wesley is there, pulled into a conversation with Coach Bennett and the Tempest team owner, Todd Sawyer. I notice her posture immediately. She’s standing a little taller, smiling brightly. She wants to impress him.

I don’t know how anyone could not be impressed by her. Aside from her dedication and success on the field, she looks like a dream tonight. I was speechless when she answered the door, and I’m not much better off now, hours later.

She’s wearing a dark purple dress that has a slit up to her mid-thigh. It’s elegant and tight against her toned stomach. Her hair cascades over her shoulders, brushing her collarbone when she laughs.The blush on her cheeks is barely there, and the rest of her makeup is natural.

At the gala, she’d seemed miserable, like she couldn’t wait to get away, but tonight, she doesn’t seem to mind the show. Her shoulders are relaxed, and her eyes gleam while listening to her coach tell a story that I’m too far away to hear.

My chest aches a little. She belongs here, in this room, with these people, on the verge of something bigger.

Coach Bennett says something that makes Wesley laugh, her head tipping back slightly. The owner nods along. I watch the exchange play out and feel something warm and complicated settle beneath my ribs.

She’s going to be extraordinary.

She already is.

The guy in front of me finishes his sentence and trails off, realizing he has lost me entirely. I offer a quick smile, clap him lightly on the shoulder, and excuse myself before he can restart the conversation.

I make the decision without thinking too hard about it.

If this is my last night with her, I’m not spending it standing across the room.

I weave through clusters of teammates and their dates. As I get closer, I catch snippets of their conversation about the Futures Camp and her thoughts on the upcoming season. Wesley answers his questions with confidence while still managing to sound humble.

She notices me as I reach her side.

Her expression softens immediately, something private flickering across her face before she reins it back in. She shifts slightly, creating space without looking, and I slide into it using muscle memory, my arm sliding around her waist out of habit.

Her coach glances between us and smiles knowingly.

“We were telling Wesley how proud we are of her,” she says. “Her growth this year has been incredible.”

Wesley ducks her head, embarrassed but pleased. “Thank you.”

The owner nods. “She’s a cornerstone for us. On and off the field.”

I smile, pride filling my chest as I squeeze my arm a little tighter around her. This is what she’s been working toward.

“She is incredible,” I say, letting them continue with soccer while hoping she knows I meant far more than just on the field.

“The coach of this year’s camp, Brian Folley, happens to be in town tomorrow,” Coach Bennett says, pausing dramatically when Wesley’s eyes widen. “He’d love to meet you and maybe do a quick one-on-one session?”

Wesley’s surprise is written all over her face. “Really? Yes, I mean, of course. That would be great.”

“Plan for early around seven. He has to hit the road mid-morning.”

Wesley nods firmly. “I’ll be there.” She turns toward me and smiles brightly. Her body presses closer to mine in a silent conversation between the two of us.