Page 38 of With the Assist

“I’ll give you half credit. Maybe.”

She scoffs. “I did not agree to be graded on my hobbies.”

I take a bite of my burger, eyeing her while she squirms under my gaze. “Too bad. Give me something else. Anything else.”

She toys with the straw in her water longer than she should have to. My heart tugs.

“Girls’ nights with Avery and my friend Harper.” Her smile is triumphant.

“Do you talk about soccer at these girls’ nights?”

“Yes,” she says, holding up a finger to stop me from interrupting. “But we talk about other things more.”

Her cheeks turn scarlet. She’s probably thinking about their recent conversations. Whatever they were, she doesn’t want me to know. My grin widens because I’m about ninety percent sure my name was involved.

Knowing that she’s talking about me with her friends does something to me.

“Fine. I’ll accept it.”

Her eyes roll, but her grin stays in place.

She relaxes more after that, leaning forward onto the table as the conversation becomes a rhythm of shared stories. She tells me about pregame rituals, insisting she’s not superstitious even though she dresses in the same order before every game. I tell her about junior leagues and how a prank involving a puppy in the locker room turned into Wyatt owning a dog against his will.

“I’d never be able to handle the shit you guys throw at each other.” She shakes her head.

“I like the surprises.”

Surprises like how well the conversation is flowing with Wesley. Surprises like how much I want to keep talking to her.

“I like control. Knowing what’s coming. Planning for it.”

I watch her neatly align her cutlery when she finishes. “This whole thing must feel like chaos.”

“You have no idea.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m going to try to make things as easy as possible for you. I know we’re both walking a line.”

She meets my gaze and nods. Something unspoken settles between us, a tension neither of us is ready to acknowledge.

When we’re finished, I pay the bill before she can argue. She looks like she might, but then lets it go. I take it as a small victory.

Outside, winter bites at the air, and the pale sky stretches overhead. She tucks her hands into her coat pockets while we walk to the car.

As I pull out of the parking lot, I ask, “Do I get a second date?”

“And a third and a fourth,” she says easily. “If you behave.”

It’s a joke, but my body reacts to her bossiness anyway. Not now. Not now. Not now.

“I’ve been a perfect gentleman.”

It’s true. I haven’t pushed the boundaries, even though the longer lunch went on, the more I wanted to.

“You have.” She says slowly, as if it surprises her.

My grip tightens on the wheel. The fact that being a gentleman is a surprise shows how fake this all is. If it were real, she’d already know it’s the least she could expect from me.

Between the name misunderstanding and my being late, we had a rockier start than I’d like. I hope she is at least starting to believe better of me. Though I can’t quite figure out why her approval matters at all to me.