Page 28 of With the Assist

Liam: He’s had the jitters worse than a rookie at camp for days now.

Normally, I’d fire back something cocky. Today, the usual bravado isn’t there. It’s hard to pretend when everything feels like it’s dependent on the next hour.

Me: How about you all shut the hell up?

Liam: Uh-oh. Somebody is a little touchy this morning.

I cram my phone into my bag, trying to ignore the fact that they are right. I’m really fucking nervous.

And then she appears, twenty minutes early.

Wesley moves across the frost-kissed grass with a confidence that would make everyone else look like they’re moving through molasses. Her stride is smooth and athletic in a way that’s effortless. The few pieces of snow drifting through the air catch at the ends of her hair, turning a few brown strands white.

My nerves spike, but this time they twist into something warmer; an anticipation I have no right to feel. She’s made it clear that there will be nothing going on off the field. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. Our chemistry is there. At the end of the day, though, I respect it. Her boundaries matter, even if they rain on my parade.

Flirting, though? I won’t be giving that up. I’m not sure I could if I tried.

Her eyes meet mine before darting to the ground. A flush rises in her cheeks, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in her head.

“Morning,” she says, sounding more collected than I feel.

I give her the cup of coffee I brought for her. Not knowing what she liked, I completely guessed. She lifts it to her mouth and lets out a soft groan when the warmth hits her tongue. The sound ripsstraight through me, and I swallow hard, willing my thoughts to behave.

“How’d I do?” I ask, trying to ignore the spark lit low inside me.

“Coffee black?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“You didn’t seem like a sugar and frills kind of girl.”

“You’d be right.”

I mentally curse myself for the hundred sugar and creamer packets in my bag just in case. Pathetic.

“You said you wouldn’t change your mind.”

“Yeah, well. I may have put my foot in my mouth.”

“You?” I tease. “Seems out of character.”

She huffs, and a cloud of breath swirls in the cold. “Very.”

“Are you going to explain or keep me guessing?”

“I told my coach you were my boyfriend.”

I nearly spit out my coffee.

“What am I supposed to say to that?” My mouth feels like sand. Because seriously. What the fuck?

Sure, hitting on her is quickly becoming my favorite pastime, but I haven’t thought of being in an actual relationship in years.

She’s pacing now, sleeves tugged past her fingers. “I know you’re not, nor do I want you to be.”

Ouch. Talk about emotional whiplash.

“Did you call me here to shut me down again? Because I got the message the first three times.”

“No. Shit—” She runs a hand through her hair. “God, this is so embarrassing.”