Page 46 of With the Assist

“Yeah,” she says. “When were you planning on telling us you have a boyfriend?”

My head snaps up. Tonight was supposed to be a soft launch. She shouldn’t know anything about it.

“Well, um…” My heart starts racing. “It’s early and not exactly official.”

I glance at Avery, trying to figure out how the team seems to already know, but she looks just as surprised.

Haley pulls out her phone, scrolls, then turns the screen toward me. “Seems pretty official. At least for him.”

The video is already playing.

Nathan sits beneath bright arena lights, answering questions with the calm confidence he brings to everything. The angle shifts, and I’m on the screen, mid-laugh, caught in a moment I thought belonged only to us.

Then his voice fills the room.

“She’s my girlfriend.”

The words echo far louder than the phone should allow.

My breath catches, sharp and involuntary, the post-game high shattering as anticipation gives way to spiraling anxiety.

What the fuck?

Avery’s head snaps up. “Oh my god. He didn’t.”

Becca whistles low. “Damn. Nathan Wilder claimed you on ESPN.”

Haley drops her head back. “I need a boyfriend to drop two hundred thousand dollars on a day with me. It’s so hot.”

I scan the room and catch sight of Coach standing in the corner. I can’t deny it or minimize it. I’m cornered.

Why would he say that? I asked him to help sell it, sure, but I assumed that would be discreet dating, not a national announcement. Not this.

Avery nudges me. “Panic later. They’re watching.”

I take a steadying breath and force a laugh. “He was planning to announce us next week after we met each other's friends and teams, but I guess he couldn’t wait.” I lie, smiling as if it’s charming and not my worst nightmare.

“Wait,” a rookie yells. “He’s meeting us?”

“Tonight, I’m coming out with you guys.” I nod.

My team erupts in excited chatter, highlighting how right Coach Bennett is about the way I’ve isolated myself.

Coach flashes me a smile before she exits, and I drop mine the second she’s gone.

I pull out my phone to check for a message explaining why he’d jump the gun like this, without at least talking to me. There’s nothing new, just his good luck text from this morning. The one I left on read when I should’ve at least said it back. But I didn’t, my mind screaming that it would blur lines I didn’t want blurred.

I open my Instagram and watch the numbers climb. Thousands of new followers, all adding me after his announcement. My direct messages are clustered with girls either wishing to be me or saying the cruelest things they can think of.

I swallow, realizing my expectations for this entire charade have been tossed into the wind.

Avery waits until the locker room clears before gripping my shoulders. “Hey, are you okay?”

My eyes water against my will. “When I told Coach we were dating, I didn’t think it would turn into this. Now, people are watching me. Not for soccer. And this is fake, but now it has to look so real, and—”

“Wes,” she cuts in. “Breathe. You’re fine.”

“How is any of this fine?” My voice cracks.