Page 67 of With the Assist

Again.

I slow as I reach center ice, studying her while she skates toward me. She’s flushed, eyes bright, with her competitive spark still flickering even in defeat.

God, she’s good at everything.

For a split second during the backstretch, I thought about letting her win. Not because I wanted to go easy on her, but because I wanted to see what she’d ask for.

I meant it when I said anything. There is nothing she could dream up that I wouldn’t try to make happen. The thought surprises me, but I chalk it up to being friends. I’d do almost anything for most of my close friends. It doesn’t have to mean anything more.

Instead, I picked up my pace, creating a gap, so that I could slide through the finish with my pride intact. If I had let her win, she would’ve known.

Wesley misses nothing. Whether it was in my stride or the way I coasted a turn, she would’ve seen it. Then, she would’ve razzed me about it for the rest of my life.

She stops a few feet away from me now, hands on her hips, still catching her breath.

“You were sandbagging,” she accuses between inhales.

I grin. “You wish.”

She narrows her eyes, studying me like she’s trying to solve something. There’s color high on her cheeks. A strand of hair sticks to her lip, and without thinking, I reach out and brush it away.

My fingers graze her skin.

She goes still.

So do I.

Up close, I can see the way her pulse jumps at her throat. Mine’s not exactly calm either.

“You almost had me,” I say, because it feels safer than whatever else I could say.

Her brow lifts as she pulls out her hair tie, just to gather her hair and pull it up again. “Almost?”

I shrug. “Corner three. You cut it tight. I thought you were going to try to pass on the inside.”

“I was.”

“Yeah. I know.”

A smile curves her mouth, slow and satisfied. “Were you worried?”

“Not even a little.”

She just looks at me.

I shake my head. “Although you were faster than I expected. You might be in the wrong sport.”

“Small confession,” she says, rolling her lips together, “I may have played hockey until high school. Then I had to commit to one sport. Soccer was the only choice.”

A grin tugs at the corner of my lips. Of course she did. It makes me even happier that I brought her here. Every time she opens up, telling me something personal about herself, it’s like getting a new piece to my favorite puzzle.

I haven’t had fun like this in a while. Even with my friends, there’s always looming pressure. This kind of fun adrenaline, without cameras or stress, is addictive.

She steps closer, the toe of her skate nudging mine. The contact is small, but deliberate.

“You don’t let people win, do you?” she asks.

“No.”