20 - Nathan
Nathan
Friendsgiving is a generous term for what’s happening in my apartment.
There’s takeout spread across the counter in mismatched containers, a grocery store pumpkin pie that no one bothered to eat, and Wyatt has already claimed the couch like he’s guarding it in the crease.
Liam and Wyatt are deep into some hockey video game, Liam yelling at his on-screen player while Wyatt critiques every missed save as if it’s actually him between the posts. Meanwhile, Grayson sits across from me at the kitchen island. My laptop is open between us with our game tape paused mid-play.
It’s loud, but comfortable and exactly the kind of night I needed.
“Run it back,” Grayson says, leaning closer to the screen.
I hit the spacebar and the clip rewinds. Tomorrow’s opponent cycles the puck along the boards, with their defense pinching aggressively.
“That’s where you’ll be,” Grayson says, tapping the screen with his knuckle. “Left side instead of right. You come down earlier. Don’t wait for the lane to open.”
Wyatt snorts from the couch. “Listen to Captain Sunshine. He’s already planning the Cup parade.”
Grayson grins without missing a beat. “If you’re invited, you can bring your bad attitude.”
Liam pauses the game long enough to glance over his shoulder at me. “It’s still kind of wild that Coach is moving you, though.”
I shrug. “Someone got hurt. It’s temporary.”
Wyatt snorts. “Temporary until you score twice and he pretends it was the plan all along.”
“He’s not wrong,” Liam adds cheerfully. “You’ve been unreal on the ice lately.”
Grayson nods. “The way you’ve been playing the past two weeks is what got you the contract in the first place.”
I don’t say anything. Acknowledging it feels like tempting fate.
They’re right. I’ve been playing better, feeling more myself, and the stats show it. I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Sure, I’m more excited to get on the ice, and my body feels more challenged and ready, but it needs to last.
Grayson notices, lifting an eyebrow. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say automatically. “Just thinking.”
About Wesley. About how my game improvement seems directly tied to the guarded brunette who enjoys kicking my ass in our workouts.
Her breath caught when I leaned in. I’d come so close to kissing her, but she stood up and bolted as fast as she could. I’ve replayed that moment more times than I should in the two days since it happened. Every version ends the same way, with me certain that I’ve misread everything.
Until my phone buzzed earlier tonight.
I hadn’t expected her to text me, and definitely not first. The relief coursed through me, settling low in my gut the second I saw her name.
“What’s with the face?” Liam asks.
“I don’t have a face.”
Wyatt mutters, “You always have a face. It’s annoying.”
Grayson clears his throat. “Alright. Back to the tape before Wyatt finds new ways to insult us.”
I lean in, refocusing on the screen as the play restarts. The players shift across the ice, and I track it, imagining myself on the left instead of the right.
It’s probably overkill at this point. The game’s tomorrow, and I’ve practiced on the left all week, but Wesley’s obsessive nature seems to be contagious. I don’t want to let the team down. More importantly, I don’t want Coach to have another reason not to renew my contract.
“Here,” Grayson says, pointing at the person in the tape who’s playing my position. “You read the ice better from the left anyway. We should’ve done this ages ago.”
“Call Coach up,” Wyatt interrupts. “I’m sure he’d love to know you think he sucks at his job.”
Grayson shrugs. “Fuck off, Knox.”
“I don’t care who plays where as long as we win. I need to get laid, but it looks bad after a loss.” Liam laughs.
I snort. “It looks bad regardless.”
Liam’s hookups land him in the tabloids more than most celebrities. Hell, they’ve landed me in the crosshairs more times than I can count. Playboy by association.
I’ve never minded, not until Wesley thought it was true.
Wyatt adds, “Why girls still willingly hook up with you is a mystery I never want to understand.”
“I’m charming.” Liam kisses the air in Wyatt’s direction.
He grunts and hits play on the game, scoring on Liam before he has a chance to pick up his controller.
“I’m grabbing a drink.” I head into the kitchen, open the fridge, and stare inside far longer than necessary.
The noise from the living room fades slightly, replaced by the hum of the refrigerator and my own thoughts.
Wesley’s texts replay in my head. She was flirting. At least I think so. Does that mean I have a chance?
Do I want to have a chance?
Flirting is one thing. It’s harmless. Anything else is a bad idea, even if I do find myself thinking about her too much to be casual.
Liam wanders in a second later, interrupting my spiraling thoughts. “So.”
I glance at him. “So.”
He smirks. “You going to tell me what’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You haven’t partied with me in weeks. You’re not forcing shots on the ice. You stopped doing whatever the hell that thing was, where you tried to dangle through three guys every shift.”
“Just development,” I say dryly.
“Uh-huh.” He watches me for a beat. “And?”
“You know how serious I am about getting my contract renewed.”
“Yes. You always have been. What’s changed now?” He pulls water out of the fridge, taking a long swig. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. Do you think I’m an idiot?”
I don’t answer.
Liam laughs quietly. “You know that silence is an answer.”
“I almost kissed her.” I cringe when the words burst out against my will.
His eyebrows lift. “You mean you did. At the bar. We all saw it.”
“No. A different time.”
“For real?”
“Yeah. But then, she left.”
“Did she sprint? Or exit like a normal person?”
I exhale. “She exited the ice immediately and then left. Like nothing happened.”
“But she’s still texting you.”
I look at him, eyebrows scrunching.
He grins. “You check your phone like every five minutes. I’m not blind.”
“Shut up.”
He sobers slightly. “You like her.”
It’s not a question.
“I don’t do serious,” I say automatically.
“Did she propose or something?”
I flip him off, but he just smiles. “I mean it.”
“You can mean it and still like her.” Liam shrugs.
I don’t respond.
“Why is this a problem?” He asks.
“I don’t want to complicate things,” I say. “My game’s finally clicking. Coach is talking contract stuff after the holidays, and this whole fake relationship ends then.”
I think about her and the way she carries pressure as if it’s second nature. Then I think about how she looks at me when she forgets to guard herself.
“She has shit too,” I add. “Her own reasons for staying focused, for not letting anyone get too close.”
“You’re inventing problems.”
I hate that he’s not entirely wrong.
“Spending time with her, training and stuff, it’s all platonic, and it’s helping my game. If we cross the line from fake to real, we both have a lot to lose. Also, I don’t think she’s interested in anything more, considering she literally ran away.”
A knock sounds at the door. Loud enough to cut through the noise of the game and the low murmur of the game tape still playing behind us.
Wyatt pauses the controller. “That’s got to be the pizza.”
“It’s too soon,” Liam yells back, pushing off the counter.
Wyatt’s already on his feet. “I’ll get it. If it’s cold, I’m complaining.”
I take another sip of water, trying to refocus on literally anything else.
Grayson rewinds the tape again, mumbling something about neutral zone pressure, but my attention’s split now, stretched thin between the knock and the conversation I was having with Liam. Between contracts and lines and Wesley’s lips.
It’s one and a half more months. I can ignore my desire for that long, especially with our long away stretch coming up. Easy. Then, I can move on.
Liam glances back at me. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I say.
Another knock, but slower this time.
Wyatt groans. “Jesus, relax. I’m coming.”
“So,” Liam says, judgment bleeding into his tone. “You’re going to make yourself miserable until you guys call it?”
Yes.
Wyatt’s voice cuts in, louder now. “Uh. It’s not the pizza!”
Liam shakes his head disapprovingly and heads for the door.
“It’s…" Liam trails off. “Dude. Wilder. It’s for you.”
I turn the corner and stop.
Wesley is standing in my doorway.
For half a second, my brain refuses to catch up to what my eyes are seeing. It’s like she’s a trick of the light, or I’ve somehow carried her with me from the earlier texts and delivered her to my doorstep.
She’s wearing jeans, sneakers, and a sweater that clings in a way that feels unfair. Her hair is pulled back, but loose strands have escaped, framing her face in a way that is a little messy and a lot sexy. Her cheeks are pink, not from cold alone, and she looks nervous.
Really nervous.
Attraction crashes in, curling low in my gut as I take her in slowly, helplessly.
Her eyes meet mine and widen slightly, like she didn’t expect me to be standing in my own hallway.
She’s here, at my place, unexpectedly and utterly by choice. Regardless of the hesitancy written all over her face, I choose to cling to the fact that she sought me out.
I’m aware of Liam beside me and Wyatt hovering awkwardly near the door, but I’d blink them away if I could. Hell, I’d shove them out the door. Maybe I will.
All I can think is that she came here.
Wesley swallows. “Hi.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
I’ve faced sold-out arenas, contract negotiations, pressure that crushes people, and none of it compares to standing three feet from her, in my apartment, unsure of what comes next.