Page 39 of With the Assist

“We’ve already agreed on training twice a week when we’re not on an away series. In the mornings,” I add reluctantly, hating getting up before eight when I don’t have to.

“At seven.” She smiles as if my pain brings her joy.

“Yes, seven.” I glare at her. “What about on your end? How often do we need to be seen in public?”

“As often as we can spare until the party.” Then, as if realizing the implication, she adds, “without cramping your style, obviously. No formal statement or anything.”

“It doesn’t cramp my style.” I turn the heat down a little. Being this close to her is more than enough heat without the car warming me up further.

“We should probably go out a couple of nights with the girls on my team.”

“You’ve thought about this.”

“I think about everything,” she says dryly.

“When’s the next night out?”

Her street comes into view, and I’m tempted to circle the block.

“Next weekend. We have a home scrimmage on Friday. Win or lose, the girls always go out after.” She fidgets in her seat, fingers tapping on the center console.

“Do you usually go?

“No. That’s why I’m in this mess.”

“Why not?” I know she’s dedicated, but it’s not like she doesn’t have friends.

She glances up at me, chewing on her lip while contemplating her answer.

“I try to keep it all as a job. My family needs me to succeed in this to support them. I don’t want to get involved with the team personally and offset the balance. It’s better to stay focused.”

I understand that weight instantly, even if our lives look different on paper, we both have something to prove. Before I think better of it, I take her hand, stopping its restless movement. Her head jolts up, eyes locking with mine.

“You can succeed in soccer and still let yourself live a little.” My voice is gentle as I pull up to her place.

“No. I can’t.”

There’s more to that answer, but her tone makes it clear that she doesn’t plan to tell me.

For a few aching seconds, I get caught up in the feel of her fingers against mine. I should let go. Hell, I should’ve never grabbed her in the first place. Instead, my fingers trail up her wrist. I drag them up her arm, relishing in the way her breath hitches.

She’s not looking at me. Instead, she’s watching my hand with determined focus.

“What about touching?” I force myself to pull back, returning my hand to my lap.

She coughs, my question catching her off guard like I hoped it would. “Huh?”

“Well, if we’re dating, then people will expect touching.” I tilt my head, forcing a professional expression onto my face even though my heart is beating out of my chest at the thought of getting my hands on her.

“Holding hands, arms around each other, and hugging. That’s all okay by me.” A red tint takes over her cheeks.

“And kissing?” I’m pushing the boundaries, and I know it.

She folds her arms as if she knows it too. So, I give her a second, rounding the car to open her door. Her eyes burn into my skin, watching me with curiosity.

As I open the door, I lean in using my arms to brace myself against it, caging her in. “Well?” I ask.

“If the moment calls for it.” Her eyes dart to my lips as she slowly climbs out, bringing us eye level.