7 - Wesley
Wesley
I might have lied to Coach Bennett and told her Nathan Wilder is my boyfriend.”
Avery freezes mid-chip dip, and Harper nearly drops her wine bottle. I shove a throw pillow over my face as if I can smother the words back into my mouth.
This is how our emergency girls’ night begins.
We’re at Harper’s townhouse, curled up in her living room, where everything is soft tones and candlelight.
A diffuser hums in the corner, pushing out vanilla and lavender like we’re supposed to be meditating, not spiraling.
The coffee table is a battlefield of snacks, including cheese, chocolate, and a bowl of chips that Avery is singlehandedly annihilating.
“You told her he’s your what?” Harper asks from her place on the rug next to me. Her legs are curled up under her with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
“My boyfriend,” I mumble through the pillow pathetically.
Avery shrieks. Actually shrieks. “Wesley, really? Oh my god, our little captain has finally cracked.” She rolls from her back onto her stomach on the couch so that she can look at me.
“It was an accident.” I throw the pillow at her, knocking her twisted bun of red hair into something messier.
“You accidentally gave yourself a famous hockey player as a boyfriend?” Avery arches a brow. “That’s not an accident, it’s a manifestation.”
“I panicked. She was lecturing me about balance and how, as captain, I need to have a life. I told her I did. She saw him leaving, and I went with it.”
“Wait.” Harper pauses mid-glass refill. “What do you mean she saw him leaving?”
Heat crawls into my cheeks. Damn it.
“He came to the field and asked me to do more training sessions with him.” I try to sound indifferent, like my pulse wasn’t sprinting when it happened.
Avery snorts. “More like, he wanted to see all the different ways you can make him sweat.”
“Don’t start.” I shift, leaning my back against the couch and straightening my legs out in front of me. “Anyways, now she expects me to bring said boyfriend to the team party.”
“In January?” Avery brushes at the chip crumbs she’s dropping onto the couch.
“That’s the one.” I pat my hands against my thighs.
Harper sets the wine bottle down and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Wes, sweetheart, you could’ve said you go to trivia night, or take pottery, or volunteer at a shelter. Something normal. But a fake boyfriend? And a famous one? That’s… bold.”
Avery smirks. “Honestly? I love it. Finally, you’re using that brain for chaos instead of memorizing film.”
I groan, pulling my hair out of its sweaty ponytail and redoing it. My usual anxious tick. “You weren’t there. She looked so disappointed. She was already demoting me in her mind.”
“And instead of accepting constructive leadership feedback,” Avery says, swinging her legs off the couch and sitting forward, “you conjured a romance.”
I glare at her. “Shut up.”
Harper hands me a sparkling water, her eyes warm with concern. “Coach Bennett cares about you. She’s not trying to ruin your life. She’s worried you train too hard and isolate yourself. She wants more for you.”
“I know.”
“But also,” Avery interrupts, “I’m thrilled you lied.”
“You would be.”
“You’re always the responsible one, the structured one, the girl who eats protein bars for dessert and schedules her emotional breakdowns.”
“I don’t…”
Avery lifts a brow.
“Fine. Once. But it was during finals.”
She grins victoriously. “See? Iconic.”
Harper rests a gentle hand on my arm. “What now? Tell her you broke up before the party?”
“I’m pretty sure she already thinks I lied. If I show up without him, it’ll confirm it.”
“So take him,” Avery says simply, as though recruiting a famous athlete to go on a fake date with me is as casual as adding almond milk to coffee.
I laugh, a borderline hysterical sound. “Yeah, I’ll take the famous hockey player who has no idea I’ve lied and said he’s my boyfriend. I look like a fan girl.”
Avery shrugs. “Some guys are into that.”
Harper swats her. “You’re going to have to tell him if you want his help.”
“I don’t want his help.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t sound like you have a lot of options.”
She’s right. I don’t. If I show up without my very fake boyfriend on my arm, then I’ll look like a liar. Which I am, but Coach can’t know that. The only choice is getting Nathan to agree to helping me out.
Avery interrupts my train of thought. “You could use the distraction. A short-term, no-strings type of distraction.”
“You are encouraging her to use and lose him,” Harper says, unimpressed.
“Precisely. She needs to loosen up.”
I shake my head. They don’t even know that he propositioned me for exactly that last week. If they did, they’d never let it go.
“It needs to be a purely professional arrangement. I keep working out with him as he asked, and he gets seen in public with me enough times to look convincing.”
As I fiddle with his phone number in my pocket, Harper’s husband wanders through the living room hunting for his keys. He glances at the three of us and offers a strained smile. Harper walks over to him, and they have a brief conversation, all mumbled words and biting edges.
They trade a look I can’t decipher. I nod at Avery, and she widens her eyes as if sensing it too. The silence he leaves behind is awkward, but Harper smooths it with a practiced smile.
“Sorry. He’s been swamped at work.”
We nod, pretending we believe that’s all it is. Married couples probably argue all the time. As someone who has avoided a relationship for five years and hasn’t had sex in four, I’m in no place to assume anything.
Avery senses the tension and, bless her chaotic heart, changes the subject instantly. “Back to our fearless, lying captain. How are you going to get a hold of him? Show up at a game with a sign? Barge into the locker room wearing nothing but a coat?”
I laugh despite myself. It’s ridiculous. This whole thing is ridiculous.
“You need to get your mind out of the gutter,” I tease.
“I need to get laid. Unfortunately, my only prospect is your fake boyfriend’s teammate.”
After dropping that bomb, Avery hops up off the couch and darts to the kitchen.
“Who?” I yell, trailing after her with Harper following closely behind.
“Grayson Shaw followed me on Instagram after the award ceremony. He tried to slide into my DMs that have been otherwise empty as of late.”
Harper crowds Avery, peeking at her phone on the kitchen island. “The Grayson Shaw?”
“He’s hot,” I admit, flanking her other side.
Avery smirks, pulling a tub of ice cream out of the freezer. “Interesting how you can admit Grayson is hot, but not Nathan.”
“I never said Nathan wasn’t attractive,” I argue weakly, mind jumping to how he looked this morning. My pulse betrays me. That’s going to be a problem.
“Grayson liked an old post.” Harper motions to the screen. “That’s deliberate.”
“It’s stalking,” Avery counters.
“Why haven’t you responded to him?” Harper pulls out spoons for us all, but I leave mine on the counter.
Avery waves a manicured hand. “I don’t like hockey players.”
“And?” I press, knowing damn well there’s more to it.
“And nothing. I’m not interested.”
Harper asks the question we’re both wondering, “Is this about Damon?”
Too many emotions ripple in Avery’s eyes, from hurt and anger to something like fear. “Please drop it.”
Harper nods, and I don’t push. Avery has always been more of a closed book when it comes to her feelings. Besides, some wounds are never healed enough to poke.
We lean back. The room crackles with quiet, and the only sound is their spoons clanking together in the tub of ice cream.
My heart beats an anxious, stubborn rhythm.
Finally, I whisper, “I’ll text him.”
Harper gasps. “You have his number?”
“Why didn’t you start there?” Avery locks her phone screen, tossing it away and giving me her full attention.
I pull out my phone, which feels heavier than it should. Am I really going to do this? This morning, I told him no. My heart stutters and then plunges at the idea of spending time with him. Training is bad enough, but pretending to date him?
It’s ridiculous.
We’d have to seem together in a way that I hadn’t let myself be in a long time. I can’t tell if I’m twisted from the lie, the distraction of working out with someone else, or if it’s because of Nathan himself. Probably a combination of all of the above.
I blow out a breath. “What do I even say?”
“Be hot,” Avery says.
I try typing out everything, but when I get to the fake boyfriend part, I chicken out. Typing out that I told my coach we were dating is an embarrassment I’m not sure I’d ever recover from. So, I split the difference. My thumbs shake while I type.
Me: Hey. About helping you train… I’ll do it. But on one condition.
I don’t bother letting him know it's me.
Avery fans herself. “That could be interpreted in so many ways.”
“It’s not even flirtatious.” Harper reads over my shoulder.
“I can’t say it in the message, it’s too embarrassing,” I groan.
“Right, get him in front of you, then flirt your way into a yes,” Avery says.
I hit send before I lose courage. “No one is flirting here. Not him. Not me.”
He replies immediately.
Of course he does.
Nathan: One condition? Should I be worried?
Me: Probably.
Three dots blink.
Nathan: And here I thought you were the reasonable one.
My pulse stutters. I hate that it does.
Nathan: Tell me the condition.
Me: Meet me at the field again on Tuesday at 7am.
There’s a beat.
Nathan: Bossy. I like it. I’ll be there.
A flush crawls up my neck. God help me.
“Right, no flirting,” Avery squeals. “He’s so into you.”
Me: And this time? Don’t be late.
Nathan: I’ll be good. Promise. Winky face.
I drop my phone like it's on fire. Nathan always seems to know exactly what to say to fluster me.
My skin seems to have caught flame as my entire body heats up in response to his text. I need to set boundaries as soon as I see him. Whatever he’s thinking will happen, won’t.
Avery nearly levitates. “That’s basically second base.”
“It is not.”
Harper nudges me. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’m in deep shit.”
Avery grins. “Correction: deep, sexy shit with brown, messy hair that begs to have your fingers running through it.”
I shake my head. “It’s only until the party. Then I can say we broke up and figure out other ways to show the balance coach wants.”
Harper studies me. “Are you trying to convince yourself or us?”
“I’m not trying to convince anyone.”
“There are worse things than fake dating the hottest man in this city,” Avery chimes in.
She’s right. There are worse things. Things like being too tired after training with Nathan, causing me to practice like shit with my team.
Or straining a muscle while I work out with Nathan and having to sit out of a scrimmage.
Or missing a meeting with Coach because Nathan won’t stop flirting with me while we pretend to date.
Getting too caught up to remember who I am. Who I have to be.
Am I being dramatic? Probably. Knowing that does nothing to stop the anxiety swirling in my gut.
“I’m doomed.” I rub my forehead.
They laugh.
I try to reassure myself that I can do this. I can help him save his career and show up to some social events with him to save my captaincy. I am disciplined and focused. Someone like Nathan Wilder, who is seen with girls all the time, is not going to knock me off center.
Even if a whiff of his cedar soap sends my heart spiraling. Even if he’s made it clear that knocking me off center is his new favorite hobby. I’m the one in control.