Page 109 of With the Assist

I swallow, my body taking in how good he looks while remembering how perfectly our bodies fit together. It isn’t the sex that scares me. It’s how easily I can imagine letting it become routine, letting him take up space I’ve been guarding for years.

If things were different or if the timing were better, maybe I’d let that happen. But now, with where I’m at in my career, with my captaincy on the line and an invite to the Futures Camp at risk, there’s no way I’ll let him get that close.

My legs stretch out in front of me as if I can outrun the memory of how right it had felt to have him inside me.

You should probably go.

I’d meant it when I said it. The words had masked the panic crawling up my spine. The lines had blurred, the air shifting from something casual to something full of implications. Kicking him out had been the only move left that still felt like mine. So, I’d sent him into the cold before I could want more than I was willing to risk.

Nathan slows, matching my stride easily. “What are you doing back here?”

“It’s scrimmage week,” I say, keeping my eyes forward. “We have practice too, so I’m taking it easy.” It was a plausible excuse, far better than saying I was checking out his ass.

Which, well, who wouldn’t?

“San Francisco, right?” he asks.

“Thursday,” I confirm. “They’re fast and young. We didn’t play them last season, so they’re coming in annoyingly confident.”

He laughs under his breath. “I’m sure you’ll fix that.”

I glance at him and immediately regret it. His expression is open and relaxed without any sign of conflict. It’s as if this isn’t complicated for him at all. For him, maybe it’s not.

Just because the sex was earth-shattering for me doesn’t mean it was anything out of the ordinary for him. He wasn’t the one who’d gone over four years without sex. Surely, he had an endless list of amazing nights with beautiful women to compare me to. If I compared at all. I cut off that train of thought before it gets too self-deprecating.

“You’re in New York this week?” I ask because talking about schedules is safe. Schedules don’t have feelings.

“Yeah,” he says. “Away game. They always have a big crowd, and they hate us. The usual.”

“If you keep playing how you have been, you’ll take them easily.”

“My agent thinks so too.” His smile drops an inch.

I’m tempted to dig in and figure out why, but that’s a line I shouldn’t be crossing. Instead, we fall into an easy silence, the kind that would feel comfortable if I weren’t hyperaware of him. Every thought circles back to the one very specific night I have no intention of repeating.

I tell myself that again. Firmly.

We work through our standard mobility drills, both used to the routine and oddly in sync. We’re taking it easy. He’s in the thick of his season, and with any luck, I’ll be trying out for the National Team soon. Neither of us wants to end up with an injury.

My focus is on muscle memory, precision, and the satisfaction of getting things right when everything else feels dangerously close tounraveling. I take the movements slowly, ensuring that every step is perfect. The repetitive motions bring a steady calm to my head.

I catch Nathan watching me more than once. Not openly, but curiously. My palms sweat as my mind tries to piece together what it could mean.

Probably nothing.

After our cooldown, we stretch at the end of the field, the late morning sun warming my back as I lean into the grass. I can’t wait until it’s warmer all the time. One nice day is not enough.

I focus on stretching every muscle in my leg, isolated and then with movement.

“Are you heading home for the holidays this weekend?” Nathan asks as we pack up, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Not this year.” I mimic his actions. “I’m flying my family out, instead.”

His eyebrows lift. “Your dad and your sister, right?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “They don’t make it out here often, but since I just went there, it seemed like a good time to change that.”

“That’s really nice.” There’s a soft edge to his voice, teetering between jealousy and kindness.