Page 52 of With the Assist

He laughs. “You’re exactly how she described you.”

I’d only mentioned Harper briefly last Sunday on our date. I was telling him about a time when Avery, Harper, and I missed the bus home from our game because we got lost. Our coach warned everyone she wouldn’t wait, and left us to Uber the two hours back to campus.

He’d not only remembered her name, but how I described her. I beam, leaning into his side without thinking. His arm tightens slightly around me, subtle but deliberate, and my heart does something stupid.

Whether his hand settles on my back, his fingers brush mine, or his knee presses lightly against mine when we sit, his touch never seems to leave me entirely.

I’m aware of all of it.

When I look up at him, catching his gaze as the room buzzes around us, he smiles like he is exactly where he wants to be. God, he’s good at this. At pretending.

I pinch my arm as if to wake me from the dream I feel like I’m in. This isn’t my life. But pretend or not, I find myself wanting the night to drag on. For the second time in a week, I’m having the kind of fun that I haven’t allowed myself in years. And again, it’s because of him.

14

Nathan

It would be impossible not to notice the way Wesley looks tonight.

Her jeans fit like they were designed with her in mind, and her top is simple, but tempting when it reveals a thin line of her belly. It makes her feel untouchable in the way women who know exactly who they are tend to be.

What’s really driving me crazy is the way she moves once we’re inside the bar. Her shoulders have loosened, her smile comes easier, and her laugh is freer. The version of Wesley, with walls higher than her passing completion percentage, isn’t here tonight.

I add this mental picture to my running list of different versions of her.

I can’t seem to keep my hands off her.

Luckily, I don’t have to.

Dating, even fake-dating, comes with certain expectations. It’s why I can casually put my hand on her lower back when we walk, or lace our fingers when someone looks our way too long. My palm settles on her hip when I lean in to hear what she’s saying over the music. All of it looks natural. All of it feels dangerous.

She notices. I know she does.

Every time my thumb brushes bare skin or I guide her through a cluster of people, there’s a split second where her breath changes.

It makes my chest feel tight.

I’ve dated women who cling to attention and push for more, faster. Every single girl I’ve been with in recent memory liked the media attention. In fact, I’m pretty sure some have even leaked our dates to the press to get more of it.

Wesley would never do that. The attention from the press at her game really rattled her. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to talk myself into hooking up with anyone since I met her.

No, Wesley doesn’t like the attention at all, but she’s willing to tolerate it. That makes two of us.

She’s surprising the hell out of me tonight.

I planned to stick with water, willing to follow her lead, but then she ordered a beer. My friends all take note of the way my order changes when hers does. I know I’ll get shit for it when we’re at morning skate tomorrow. I just don’t care.

I catch Wesley watching me as I lift the bottle to my lips. There’s something playful in her expression, like she’s proud of herself for catching me off guard. When her eyes stay focused on me as she wraps her lips around the bottle, my mind pictures unholy things. I look away to keep from getting a boner in front of the entire bar.

God, this fucking woman might kill me.

This version of her reminds me of the woman I met at the awards ceremony. The one who’d teased me without hesitation. The one who had leaned into conversation instead of away from it. Seeing her like this feels like being let in on a secret.

The night settles into something easy. Stories are shared. Teammates clash in playful ways. Grayson keeps poking at Avery, who’s acting annoyed, but not walking away. Liam’s hitting on the entire soccer team with no shame, and Wyatt’s somewhere off to the side, watching the night unfold.

Wesley stays close to me, even when she doesn’t have to. Her shoulder brushes mine. Her hand finds my wrist when she laughs toohard. It feels intentional, even if it’s not. Fake, I remind myself. This is fake.

Only when she finishes her beer does she pull away. My eyes track her as she moves easily through the crowd, gaining confidence the longer we’re here. When she reaches the counter, she leans in to get the bartender’s attention.