3 - Wesley
Wesley
By the time I reach my table, my pulse has finally stopped sprinting, and I’m ready to pretend the last ten minutes didn’t happen. The ballroom lighting glitters off crystal chandeliers above, casting soft gold across the tables that are too elegant for the chaos in my head.
Avery is already seated, stirring her cocktail with a knowing smirk like she’s been waiting her entire life to interrogate me.
“That little chat looked interesting.” She arches her brow. “Anything you want to share?”
I focus on my water instead of her face. “Not particularly. A guy talked. I listened. End of story.”
“A guy who happens to be Nathan Wilder. Boston Blade’s forward. Future Hall of Famer. He’s six foot two and the owner of cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass.”
“I don’t care who he is. I’m not interested.”
The lie comes easily, practiced. It’s what I’m supposed to say, but it shouldn’t tremble at the edges the way it does.
Avery rests her chin on her hand, studying me. “You flirted.”
“I’m blaming the dress. It’s cut off my oxygen for far too long.”
I force my face to remain neutral, but inside I’m spiraling. His voice replays, telling me I’m stunning even though I still don’t believe it.
Surely, I don’t stack up to the women who must constantly throw themselves at him. Everyone is obsessed with the hockey hometown hero. The man might as well have action figures made of himself.
There is no way that I’d catch his eye. He’d probably been heading for the bar to get another drink and hit on me out of convenience. Yeah, that was it.
One thing is for sure: the commercials and ads don’t do him justice. They don’t show how broad he is up close or the woodsy smell that lingers when he is close enough.
Flirting back was knee-jerk. A momentary lapse in sanity. I couldn’t help the way my eyes tracked his hand rubbing at his freshly shaven jaw, or how I leaned toward him.
Avery taps my hand. “You know, it’s fine to be interested in someone.”
“I’m not that girl.”
“But you can be tonight.”
I swallow. The suggestion presses against the back of my neck, tempting in a way it’s never been, but I push it away.
“Even if I were that girl, I wouldn’t be that girl with a guy like that.”
“What do you mean?”
I laugh, recalling the way Nathan and Liam ranted about me without realizing it.
“They saw that some guy named Wesley Miller won Athlete of the Year and were pissed.”
Avery’s eyes widen before she leans over, howling. “No way.”
“Oh yes. The outrage was real. Apparently, some nobody stole their spotlight. They don’t see how some guy no one’s heard of could win over them.”
“Did you correct them?”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “I figured the surprise would be more fun.”
“This is why we’re friends.” Avery turns to glance at the Blades’ table, her humor dimming. “The one shoveling appetizers down his throat is looking at me.”
“Ignore him,” I say, rubbing her shoulder. “But Avery, he’s not Damon.”
Her eyes go cold at the name. She dated Damon for a year before they broke up a couple of months ago, but she refuses to talk about why it ended. The ballroom isn’t the place to unravel heartbreak, though, so I let it go.
The lights dim slightly, signaling the start of the ceremony. Presenters shuffle onto the stage as it begins with the usual lineup of awards: community impact, lifetime achievement, and youth coaching excellence. Names are called, and winners pose, smiling for the cameras.
My hands clap along, though my mind drifts in and out. Sitting here surrounded by the hum of the crowd, my nerves have me second-guessing my speech.
I risk a glance across the room, finding Nathan’s brown eyes already on me. He’s relaxed with one elbow propped casually on the table, watching me with quiet curiosity.
I turn back to the stage before the moment can become anything more. I’m only here for my team.
“And now, the Athlete of the Year Award.” The presenter clears his throat.
My hand presses into my thigh to keep my foot from tapping.
“This honor recognizes outstanding performance, leadership, and sportsmanship at the highest level of competition. This year’s recipient led their team to win the NWSL Championship, while serving as captain and center midfielder for the Boston Tempest.”
The room fades until there’s only his voice.
“She recorded the most assists in the league this season and maintained a ninety percent pass completion rate. Her commitment to her team sets a standard for excellence.”
There is a beat of silence before my name is spoken.
“Congratulations to Wesley Miller.”
My table erupts, chairs scraping back in a chaotic chorus. My teammates shout my name as if we scored in overtime.
When I reach the microphone on the stage, I find Nathan’s eyes again and nod at him. This time, his surprise is unmistakable. Embarrassment flickers beneath it, coloring his cheeks. My lips twitch with amusement as he realizes they had unknowingly insulted me to my face.
The speech in my hand crinkles under my tightening grasp. The words written on it no longer seem appropriate. I set the paper on the podium, deciding to wing it.
“Being captain of the Boston Tempest is an honor I carry with pride, not just for the wins, but for the work behind them. The early mornings, the rehab days, and the sacrifices we all make to play the game we love.”
“It reflects every teammate who trusts me, every coach who pushes me, and the young athletes who watch from the stands, dreaming of standing where we stand.”
The faces in the crowd blur as silence grips the room. My eyes stay locked on Nathan for the next part, considering my experience with him tonight sums up the experience of most women in sports.
“This award has never been given to a woman before. I checked,” I joke.
“So tonight, I accept it on behalf of every female athlete in this room. Most of us don’t get the fame, glory, or money our male counterparts do.
The path we take to play the sport we love does not come easy, yet we commit our lives to it anyway.
Because of that, we know better than to take a second of it for granted.
Thank you for trusting me with this honor. ”
I step back as the applause picks up. The mayor takes the stage, saying something into the microphone that stops me cold only halfway back to my table.
“And now, our favorite tradition of the evening, the annual charity auction.”
My stomach plummets.
No.
I forgot about this part.
A spotlight pins me in place. I smile, though I’m sure it looks half-crazed.
“Every year, our athlete of the year donates a day of their time for this auction. The highest bidding athletic team will receive a full day with Wesley, including a walkthrough of training, conditioning, and game preparation. Not only is this a fun way for our sports teams to see how another team excels, but all proceeds will go toward our city youth recreation programs.”
I swallow hard. A whole day dedicated to this means more time away from my training schedule. Normally, I could choke that down, but the glint in Nathan’s eyes causes my stomach to sink even further.
Bidding starts immediately. Our football team, then basketball.
I glare at Avery as if she can help me escape the literal spotlight on me. She tosses out a bid on my team’s behalf, but it’s immediately overtaken by softball. She shoots me a silent apology as the numbers climb higher than what she can afford to bid.
Eventually, the knot in my chest loosens when the bids slow with men’s soccer in the lead. I was nervous about nothing. A ten-minute conversation at the bar doesn’t justify spending over seventy-five thousand dollars on a day with me. Right?
Then a deeper voice carries over the crowd.
“One hundred thousand.”
Every head swivels.
Nathan Wilder sits casually in his chair, hand raised like he’s ordering appetizers instead of publicly buying a day of my time. His teammates exchange looks, a combination of amusement and confusion on their faces.
I glare at him.
He smiles back, looking far too entertained.
Another bidder counters. Nathan raises without hesitation.
Another team joins in.
Nathan matches, eyes never leaving mine.
I can feel the shift in the room as the playful charity tone turns into something else entirely. Reporters lean forward, and phones come out. My palms sweat, but I refuse to show it.
Avery whispers, “Oh my god, he’s doing this on purpose.”
Of course he is. I can’t decide if I’m furious or flustered.
The bidding war escalates until it’s only Nathan and the owner of the Boston Guardians, our baseball team.
When Nathan places the final bid over two hundred thousand dollars, the baseball team bows out. I hate that it makes my body start buzzing. It’s the highest bid ever, according to the mayor.
“To the Blades, courtesy of our very own Nathan Wilder.”
My team erupts. The Blades table claps loudly, already discussing cleats and cardio and ‘whatever soccer people do.’
Meanwhile, I stand frozen with one horrifying realization. Next week, I’ll lead a workout with an entire professional hockey team, Nathan included. I’ll be running them through soccer drills and conditioning. The works.
I glance at Nathan on his feet, bowing and basking in the attention. Satisfaction is all over his face, smug with the glittering knowledge that he has rattled me more than any flirtation could.
My skin prickles when he crosses to me for photos of the award winner and the winner of the auction.
“Hi, Wesley.” His voice dips, warm and teasing.
“Nathan,” I mutter, crossing my arms.
“They want our photo.”
I roll my eyes.
He grins wider. “Smile pretty.”
Arrogant ass.
I want to smack the smile right off his perfect face. He should be groveling for insulting me, not teasing me. I’m about to tell him to shove it when I catch Avery mouthing Coach Bennett’s name at me.
Right. Best behavior.
My jaw works. “Fine.”
I run my tongue across my teeth to keep myself from saying what I’d really like to.
His gaze flicks to my mouth, trailing the motion. Something darkens in his eyes, and desire curls low before I can stop it. That’s a problem. A big problem.
We pose, and his hand settles on my waist. It’s normal contact, not illicit, but my skin lights on fire. His palm is firm against my hip, comfortable even, and it’s distracting in the worst possible way.
The photos are endless, and I manage to smile through them, ignoring the way my body seems to react to him. When the flashes stop, though, I step away fast, desperate for space.
He catches my forearm gently enough to pause me.
“I didn’t realize you were an athlete,” he admits, rubbing his neck. “When we were talking, I mean.”
At least he has the decency to look embarrassed now.
“Yeah, I figured.”
“I wouldn’t have let Liam drag you like that if I’d known.”
“Just Liam?” I quirk my brow.
“Oh, c’mon, I mostly just listened. You could’ve said something.”
“But where’s the fun in that?” I shrug, coating my tone in ice. “Now I have my official answer to your question.”
Confusion knits his brow.
“You asked what I thought of hockey players.” I tap my chin as if I’m thinking it over. “I can confidently change my answer from ‘to be determined’ to ‘not a fan’. A little too arrogant for my tastes.”
“I’m not… we didn’t…” He stammers.
I shouldn’t enjoy it, but I do.
I’m not actually bothered by what they said. My name is unconventional for girls. They made an honest mistake. Besides, it was mostly Liam’s jealousy doing the talking. Nathan really hadn’t contributed much. He seemed more in his head, especially when I mentioned the lack of Stanley Cups recently.
But none of that matters. If I’m going to see him again, I need to set boundaries. I don’t flirt. My stomach doesn’t flutter. My skin doesn’t prickle. I sure as hell don’t think about the hand imprint that’s burned into my hip.
I have more important things to do than flirt with a pretty hockey player who throws around hundreds of thousands of dollars for fun.
“See you next Saturday at seven a.m. sharp.” I grab my purse, then pause, pretending I didn’t notice his eye watching my ass. “And Nathan, don’t be late.”
“Don’t be late?” He raises an eyebrow, not even bothering to hide the way his gaze rakes over me. “Careful, Miller. I might just get the idea that you’re looking forward to seeing me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I turn to go, but then glance over my shoulder. “I’m looking forward to fixing your attitude.”
I stride away from him and out into the cold. Only then does my heart begin to slow.