14 - Nathan
Nathan
It would be impossible not to notice the way Wesley looks tonight.
Her jeans fit like they were designed with her in mind, and her top is simple, but tempting when it reveals a thin line of her belly. It makes her feel untouchable in the way women who know exactly who they are tend to be.
What’s really driving me crazy is the way she moves once we’re inside the bar. Her shoulders have loosened, her smile comes easier, and her laugh is freer. The version of Wesley, with walls higher than her passing completion percentage, isn’t here tonight.
I add this mental picture to my running list of different versions of her.
I can’t seem to keep my hands off her.
Luckily, I don’t have to.
Dating, even fake-dating, comes with certain expectations.
It’s why I can casually put my hand on her lower back when we walk, or lace our fingers when someone looks our way too long.
My palm settles on her hip when I lean in to hear what she’s saying over the music.
All of it looks natural. All of it feels dangerous.
She notices. I know she does.
Every time my thumb brushes bare skin or I guide her through a cluster of people, there’s a split second where her breath changes.
It makes my chest feel tight.
I’ve dated women who cling to attention and push for more, faster. Every single girl I’ve been with in recent memory liked the media attention. In fact, I’m pretty sure some have even leaked our dates to the press to get more of it.
Wesley would never do that. The attention from the press at her game really rattled her. Maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to talk myself into hooking up with anyone since I met her.
No, Wesley doesn’t like the attention at all, but she’s willing to tolerate it. That makes two of us.
She’s surprising the hell out of me tonight.
I planned to stick with water, willing to follow her lead, but then she ordered a beer. My friends all take note of the way my order changes when hers does. I know I’ll get shit for it when we’re at morning skate tomorrow. I just don’t care.
I catch Wesley watching me as I lift the bottle to my lips.
There’s something playful in her expression, like she’s proud of herself for catching me off guard.
When her eyes stay focused on me as she wraps her lips around the bottle, my mind pictures unholy things.
I look away to keep from getting a boner in front of the entire bar.
God, this fucking woman might kill me.
This version of her reminds me of the woman I met at the awards ceremony. The one who’d teased me without hesitation. The one who had leaned into conversation instead of away from it. Seeing her like this feels like being let in on a secret.
The night settles into something easy. Stories are shared. Teammates clash in playful ways. Grayson keeps poking at Avery, who’s acting annoyed, but not walking away. Liam’s hitting on the entire soccer team with no shame, and Wyatt’s somewhere off to the side, watching the night unfold.
Wesley stays close to me, even when she doesn’t have to. Her shoulder brushes mine. Her hand finds my wrist when she laughs too hard. It feels intentional, even if it’s not. Fake, I remind myself. This is fake.
Only when she finishes her beer does she pull away. My eyes track her as she moves easily through the crowd, gaining confidence the longer we’re here. When she reaches the counter, she leans in to get the bartender’s attention.
“Water,” she says.
Of course. After two beers, she’s still as responsible as ever.
The bartender smiles, the kind that lingers. He looks her over like he’s assessing a situation rather than taking an order. I don’t like it.
“Just water?” He asks. “You sure?”
She smiles politely, the professional kind. “I’m sure.”
He doesn’t take the hint.
“Come on,” he says, leaning an elbow on the bar. “First one’s on me.”
I step in behind her, close enough that my chest brushes her back. My hand settles at her waist, instinctive and steady, thumb pressing lightly into the space between her hip and ribs, where her shirt doesn’t reach.
“She said she’s good with water,” I say.
The bartender’s eyes drop to my hand, then back up to my face.
I don’t move it.
In fact, I pull her back slightly. Mine, at least for tonight.
“And I’ll have one too,” I add easily.
Wesley tilts her head, glancing back at me. I can feel the pause in her body, registering my presence and then deciding not to pull away.
The bartender’s smile tightens, professionalism snapping back into place. “Coming right up.”
When he turns away, Wesley looks up at me, her brows raised.
“I can order my own drink,” she says quietly.
The bar is loud enough that she has to lean in slightly, her shoulder brushing mine as she speaks. Music pulses through the floor relentlessly, while laughter and overlapping conversations fill every inch of space around us.
“I know.” My hand stays where it is.
“Well, thank you, boyfriend.” Her voice stays even, but her pulse betrays her. It flutters fast beneath my fingers, a rhythm that doesn’t match her composure.
The bartender slides the drinks across the counter, glass clinking against wood this time without the earlier commentary. Condensation gathers instantly, dripping down the sides.
Wesley shifts her weight, just slightly, and my hand adjusts without thinking, fingers flexing to keep contact like it’s instinct instead of choice.
When she turns fully toward me, her eyes flick down to where I’m touching her.
“You looked a little jealous.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “Did I?”
“A little.”
I consider that for half a second, leaning one shoulder against the bar. “Guess I’m committed to the role.”
Her lips twitch. “You’re very convincing.”
Something about that makes my pulse kick harder.
“Why’d you change your order before?”
She reaches for her water, fingers wrapping around the glass as she stares at it for a second longer than necessary. Her teeth catch her bottom lip, worrying it slightly.
“Being out like this feels different,” she says finally. “The pretending, the teams, the noise… all of it. It’s nice not being me for a night.”
The words land more heavily than they should.
Wesley Miller, the most fascinating person I’ve ever met, wanting to step outside of herself, even for a few hours, feels like an injustice.
“But this is still you,” I say, quieter now. “Just a different part. You don’t have to shut one off to be the other.”
She has to know that she’s perfect as she is. Ordering a beer and hanging out with friends doesn’t have to be some mask she pulls on.
She glances up at me, really looking this time, like she’s trying to decide how much of that she believes.
“I’m not really good at juggling.”
Her gaze sharpens, focus narrowing, and I can practically see the calculation happening. Deciding what to say and what to keep to herself. Finally, she sighs.
“In college, junior year, I let loose a little.” She huffs out a small laugh. “Hardly at all really, but enough that I got busted at a party the night before a game.”
Her fingers trace the rim of the glass as she talks, slowly.
“I wasn’t even drinking. I was the DD. But I wasn’t twenty-one and was holding a beer in the images that floated around. I was on a full-ride scholarship. It looked bad.”
I nod, hoping she’ll keep talking.
“I almost lost my scholarship,” she continues. “It didn’t matter that I was sober. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t mine.”
The lights above us flash, casting her face in brief shadows, and for a second, she looks younger. Less untouchable.
“What happened?” I ask.
“Nothing.” She shrugs.
My face twists with confusion.
“When I thought they were going to pull my scholarship, there was this split second of just full body relief.”
That surprises me.
“No more pressure. No more expectations.” Her voice softens. “I had an out.”
Okay, yeah. That I get. More than most people would.
“It makes sense. You’ve spent your whole life committed to one thing.”
“Yeah.” She nods faintly. “I felt like shit about it after.”
She takes a sip of her water, then adds, “A week later, my dad got laid off. My sister’s college fund went into holding us over for the next year.”
I nod, the versions of Wesley all blending together into the one in front of me.
Her mouth curves into a small, almost disbelieving smile.
“The next year, I got my rookie contract. Helped pay off the house and get Emma’s college fund back.” She glances at me. “If I’d lost that scholarship, I don’t know what would’ve happened to my family.”
The weight of it settles between us, heavier than the music, heavier than the crowd.
“Do you even like it?” I ask, my voice low enough that it barely carries past her.
“Soccer?”
I nod.
“I love it,” she says instantly without an ounce of hesitation. “I love it so fucking much.”
“That whole thing sounds small,” she adds, “but it showed me exactly what I have to lose.” Her eyes meet mine. “And how careful I have to be not to lose it.”
“It doesn’t sound small,” I say.
My hand slides down from her back to her hand, fingers threading with hers. It’s all in the name of our fake date, but honestly, I just want to touch her.
Behind us, a familiar voice cuts through the noise, breaking the tension.
“So,” Liam says loudly, climbing out of his chair. “Who wants to dance?”
One of the girls from Wesley’s team stands, luring Liam onto the floor. Eventually, the empty dance floor is completely full of teammates and strangers dancing to whatever pop song pounds through the speakers.
Wesley stiffens almost imperceptibly.
I turn to her, keeping my voice low. “Dance with me.”
She opens her mouth to say no. I can read it on her face.
Harper nudges her side, smiling like she knows exactly what Wesley’s thinking.
Wesley hesitates, then sighs. “Fine.”
I don’t let her obvious distaste for the idea stop me from trying my luck. When I take her hand and lead her toward the floor, she doesn’t pull away.
The first song is upbeat. She turns her back to me, moving easily and laughing when Avery says something to her from across the floor while dancing with some guy I don’t recognize.
We move to the beat. I keep my hands respectful, light on her waist, more for show than anything else.
I’m actively willing myself to behave and not press against her more firmly.
She smells good, like citrus and cinnamon. Her hair brushes my chin when she tilts her head back, and I close my eyes, letting myself pretend this isn’t for show.
The song changes, and the lights dim, setting the tone for something slower.
My hands adjust as she turns to face me, toying with the bottom of her shirt, letting my fingers trail across her bare skin. Her arms come up, resting loosely around my neck. We sway more than dance now, bodies close in a way that feels different than before.
I look down at her. Her lashes cast shadows against her cheeks, and there’s a crease between her brows like she’s thinking too hard about this.
I want to kiss her.
I don’t want to scare her off.
Before I can decide what to do, Liam’s voice cuts through the moment.
“Your teammates are watching pretty closely.”
Ever the wingman, he nods his head across the room to a cluster of girls who’re watching Wesley, as if her being here is too strange to be real.
“You really never come to this kind of thing?” I ask, trying to understand why she refuses to let herself have fun.
“No, not really. That’s probably why they’re looking at me like I have three heads.”
“Do you think they’ll report back to your coach?”
“No, I don’t think so. We get along fine. I’m just nervous they’ll see through this charade. It’s embarrassing.”
I lean in, my forehead resting briefly against hers. “Go with me here,” I murmur.
My head lowers until our breath is mixing. Her breathing hitches when she realizes what I’m about to do, but she doesn’t back away.
I close the distance, letting my lips brush against hers. It’s brief and controlled. It’s not nearly enough to sate the need for her that’s screaming through my body. But this is fake, so one brush against her soft lips is all I can take.
Until her hands slide into my hair, fingers curling as she kisses me again, deeper this time. It’s the kind of kiss that makes my brain short-circuit. My grip tightens reflexively at her waist as I sink into the feeling.
I pull her to my body, every curve of her fitting perfectly against me in a way that drives me crazier. It’s heat and want, shooting straight through the resolve I’ve been carefully holding onto.
She breaks away first. My heart is pounding, and my hands feel like they don’t belong to me anymore. She grins easily up at me, but there’s something guarded behind it.
“That should sell it.”
I lift my lips in a small smile even though my head is spinning. “For sure.”
She bumps her hip into mine before stepping back, reclaiming enough space to remind us both what this is.
The rest of the night is unbearable.
All I want to do is taste her lip balm again. Instead, I mix and mingle, half-heartedly listening to conversations.
If Wesley feels even a hint of what I am, she hides it easily. It’s like the kiss didn’t affect her at all. She laughs when she should and adds to the conversation with ease. Meanwhile, my eyes keep finding their way to her.
I remind myself that it’s okay to stare. I’m supposed to be her boyfriend. We want people to think we want each other. So, I let myself want her openly.
I sit closer. My hand laces with hers while my thumb traces shapes onto her knee at the booth. Except no one can see that.
When the bar starts to thin out and people begin to gather their things, Wesley leans into me, head resting briefly against my shoulder.
I freeze, pulse stuttering.
Eventually, she offers me a small smile. “Ready?”
“Yeah,” I say, even though I’m not sure I am.
At some point throughout the night, my location was leaked to the media. Paparazzi line the sidewalk, and the cameras start going off the second we walk out.
We rush onto the sidewalk, both focusing on my car parked a couple of spots down the road. My grip tightens on her hand, and she leans into my shoulder, letting me guide her through the crowd. Their voices get louder the longer we ignore them, but neither of us takes the bait.
Once I get her safely into the car, as a good boyfriend would, I head for my side. In the ten seconds it takes for me to walk around the car and climb in, I replay the feel of her lips, the sound of her laugh, and the way she leaned into me when we sat at the booth.
Either she’s phenomenal at acting, or this is turning into something I’m not prepared for.