Page 71 of With the Assist

“We both know that doesn’t apply to Harper.”

She’s right. I sigh, sinking back into the booth. “He almost kissed me.”

“Wait,” Harper says. “Who almost kissed who? I need details.”

“There are no details,” I insist. “We were ice-skating.”

“Why were you ice-skating?” Harper’s confusion laces her tone.

“Because I am stupid.” I squint my eyes at her as if it’s obvious. “Anyway, he leaned in. I left.”

Avery stares at me as if I’ve admitted to a felony. “You didn’t tell me you left.”

“Well, I did.”

“You panicked.”

“Yes.”

Harper crosses her arms. “Why? You kissed at the bar.”

Avery mumbles under her breath, “Yeah, and then she fled the state.”

There’s a bang, and Avery flinches. Harper must’ve kicked her. Good.

“Wes,” Harper tries again. “Please tell me you didn’t literally run away.”

“Not exactly.” I think back to being with him, how I let my guard down and flirted, how cute he looked when I called him a good kisser. How attractive it was when he kicked my ass in the race instead of letting me win. “I slowly made for the bench, took off my skates, and then left. We still made plans to train again after their away trip.”

They both exhale, like that’s better than expected.

If my best friends are this shocked that I didn’t physically run away from him, what does that say about me?

“I still want to know why you were ice skating. That is not part of the arrangement.” Avery wiggles her brows.

“We’re friends. Friends skate.” I echo Nathan’s words to them, but they sounded infinitely more believable when he’d said them.

“Why did you panic?” Harper asks gently, like I’m a caged bird.

Because it scared me. Because no one was there and it would've been real. Because I’m not sure I’d be able to stop him.

Not sure I’d want to.

I pick at the edge of a napkin. “I can’t afford distractions right now.”

Avery groans. “You’re already distracted.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t,” Harper says. “You’re already thinking about him. Training with him. Pretending to date him in public. And apparently, hanging out in private. Somehow, you think kissing him is where the line is.”

The idea settles uncomfortably in my head, too close to something true.

“It changes things,” I say quietly.

“How?” Avery presses.

“It makes it harder to walk away.”