36 - Wesley
Wesley
The song is slow, but not sad.
It’s the kind of song that fills space rather than demands attention with low bass and a steady rhythm. Nathan’s hands rest at my waist, his thumbs tracing the fabric of my dress mindlessly. Anyone watching us would think we’re comfortable.
I feel the difference, though.
He’s here, but part of him is somewhere else.
I noticed it earlier, the moment Todd asked his question. Nathan’s entire body had locked up. It was subtle, but I didn’t miss it. I don’t miss anything about him. I watched his shoulders tighten, while the easy confidence he wears so well slipped for a second.
I’d stepped in without thinking, not because he needed me to, but because I hated the implication that his success belonged to me in some way.
Nathan doesn’t need anyone to make him better.
He might’ve agreed to this whole charade for my help with cross-training, but I’m not foolish enough to think that he couldn’t have gone on long runs and done new agility workouts on his own.
He didn’t need me. He still doesn’t. If anything, I’ve only made his life more complicated.
Now, on the dance floor, his grip is steady but careful. I rest my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat under the music. The rhythm of it is sure to play on repeat long after tonight ends, so I let it imprint on me. It’s fast, too fast for someone who looks this calm.
I’m not sure how many songs play, but we dance through them all until last call sounds from the bar, and people start to peel out.
I miss this already.
The thought presses in, unwelcome but persistent.
We both know tonight is the end. We’ve avoided talking about it all week, which was surprisingly easy since our mouths were usually preoccupied.
But avoiding it doesn't mean anything has changed. We both have too much at risk to keep doing whatever we’ve been doing.
Coach Bennett and Todd Sawyer’s conversation about Future’s Camp echoes in my head. This is the moment I’ve been working toward for years. It’s the edge of something bigger for me and for my family.
I wouldn’t forgive myself if I let anything derail it. Especially if it’s a man who warned me that he doesn’t date seriously.
Another song starts, but instead of leaning into him like my body longs to, I pull back. “Let’s make the rounds before everyone leaves.”
He studies my face for a second, but gives up when he doesn’t seem to find what he was hoping to. “Yeah. Okay.”
We drift back toward my teammates as they start collecting coats and saying their goodbyes. The party has thinned out, and the lights are turned on a little brighter to signify the end of the event.
Haley hugs me hard and tells me she’s proud of me for reasons she doesn’t explain.
Avery gives Nathan a look that’s too knowing and promises to text me tomorrow, which I refuse to acknowledge.
Becca waves from across the room, already halfway out the door with her heels in her hand and her date trailing after her.
“Don’t be strangers,” Coach Bennett calls over to us, her voice warm as she leaves.
Nathan promises he won’t be, even though I know better. Strangers is all I was ever meant to be with Nathan. Two months of playing pretend doesn’t change that.
Nathan and I linger, talking to the stragglers, helping stack chairs, and thanking the staff. It feels like we’re both hoping the night will stretch on forever, until the ending we both know is coming gets lost somewhere along the way.
Eventually, even the staff starts to leave.
We grab our coats wordlessly, and my heart twists when he doesn’t reach for my hand the way he has been for weeks.
Outside, the air is cold, sobering the moment into something painful. The street glows with traffic lights and passing headlights.
Nathan stands beside me, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders hunched slightly against the cold.
We drove separately when we found out he had a late practice.
The reality of it settles heavily between us as we step onto the sidewalk. This is the part where we split. This is the part where this ends the way we planned it.
I’ve always wanted to make the National Team. To get to the World Cup. It’s what I’ve worked toward my entire life. Standing here with him, it feels like what I want and what I’ve worked for are standing on opposite sides of the street, daring me to choose.
Nathan turns toward me, his expression already serious.
“So, I guess this is…” he starts.
I cut him off. “It’s not midnight.”
My words are rushed and half incoherent. They slip out without rational thought holding them back.
He blinks. “Wes—”
“It’s not midnight yet,” I say, firmer this time. “The day's not over.”
For a second, he looks at me as if trying to decide if I’m serious or if this is a cruel joke. Then his mouth curves into a small, surprised smile.
“So, what should we do for the last hour of our fake relationship?” His lips tilt up mischievously as he steps closer to me. He’s not even touching me, but my body reacts anyway.
This. This is what I needed.
I nod toward the hotel across the street. It’s not fancy, but it’s right here, towering over us. The windows glow warmly against the dark like a beacon.
“Come on,” I say.
His eyes darken, and his shoulders relax. “I’d follow you anywhere.”
I don’t wait for him to change his mind.
I don’t let myself think about the promise in those words.
I grab his hand and take off, laughing as we dodge between cars and jog across the street like teenagers.
A horn blares. Someone yells something we ignore.
The cold air burns my lungs, and my heart feels like it’s trying to escape my chest.
By the time we reach the other side, we’re both breathless and grinning, the tension cracked open by adrenaline and anticipation.
Nathan squeezes my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“Are you sure?” He asks.
“Certain.”
And for the first time all night, it feels like we’re moving toward something instead of away from it.
The hotel room door barely clicks shut before Nathan’s hands are on me. It’s not urgent, but lingering. His hands trail lightly across my skin, causing goosebumps to follow in his wake. I let myself focus on his calloused fingertips as he slides the straps of my dress off my shoulders.
His mouth finds mine as if he’s been searching for it forever. I let my tongue trace over his teeth as I moan against him. We’re both taking our time, as if learning the shape of each other all over again, even though we already know every inch.
The door is cold against my back, but I warm instantly when he presses against me. I squirm against him, my body as desperate for him as ever. His forehead rests against mine for a second, our breath tangling.
“It’s never going to be enough,” he murmurs, voice low.
My eyes open wide to find him watching me. I nod furiously in agreement. My hands slip into his jacket as my fingers trace familiar lines, knowing that I’ll never trace them again.
It will never be enough. There is no such thing as enough of Nathan. There’s only the desperate need for more. It’s terrifying and all-consuming and impossible.
Sure, we could keep doing this temporarily, but we’re not compatible long-term, not with the goals we have. The longer we drag it on, the more it’ll hurt when it all inevitably ends.
But, god, I need it to be real. For tonight, I don’t want to pretend that this is just pretend anymore. It’s not, and maybe it never was.
“Nathan,” I whisper against his ear, while he trails open-mouth kisses along my collarbone. “I know this is the last time and that it’s over. I know why it needs to be...” I trail off, nerves coiled around the confession on the tip of my tongue.
He pulls away, eyes focused on my face, hands steady holding my own, as he waits for me to say something I should absolutely not say. Something that only makes everything more painful.
“Wesley.” It’s a plea that’s so full of hope my chest cracks open.
“I need this to end tomorrow.” I close my eyes and breathe out, trying to ignore the sadness in his eyes.
“But tonight, I don’t want to pretend this is fake.
I don’t want benefits. I just want you. For real.
Not as part of some deal and not to get our coaches off our backs, but because I want you. One last time.”
His eyes search my face, blazing with words unspoken, but he clenches his jaw, biting them back. Instead, he nods and presses a slow kiss to my lips.
“Real. Just for us,” he finally says, before tugging at the zipper on the back of my dress.
We take our time shedding layers, kicking off our shoes without care. Every movement feels intentional, stretched thin by the knowledge that there’s no rush and no tomorrow attached.
He backs me toward the bed, kissing me the whole way. His hands map me like he’s committing every inch to memory. When we fall onto the mattress, it’s with a soft laugh and a tangle of limbs, warmth bleeding between us.
His head is between my legs instantly, his tongue teasing me in endlessly slow circles. I weave my hands into his hair, losing myself in the feel of his tongue and the sounds that he makes as he brings me to the edge.
Having him like this still feels surreal.
Every flick of his tongue against my clit is better than the one before.
He’s not only amazing in bed; he’s generous.
I can’t think of a single time in the past couple of weeks that I haven’t gotten off first on his mouth, his fingers, or his cock. Most of the time, more than once.
He teases that getting me off is one of the sexiest things he’s ever seen. Considering how enthusiastically he’s moving right now, I’m inclined to believe him.
His fingers slide into me, curling up at the perfect angle. I gasp, and he repeats the motion over and over.
My back arches off the bed as the orgasm rocks through me. He slides his tongue along my slit, guiding me through it until I’m weightless.
“That’s right. Come for me, Wesley,” he murmurs against my thigh.
Only once he’s wrung every ounce of pleasure out of my orgasm does he slide up my body, pausing along the way to tease each nipple into points.
My nails scrape along his back, pulling him higher until I can kiss him.
When our mouths finally meet, I exhale against him, losing myself in the kiss with the taste of myself still on his tongue.
We make out for a while, hungry yet patient, both of us wanting to make this last. It’s not like the passionate, quick fuck against his door when I get to his apartment after practice. Or the needy, quiet sex in the dark when we both wake up wanting each other.
This is different. This is something we are both savoring with a desperate need to memorize every single second. Every touch. Every sigh.
He rips the condom packet open and shifts to slide it on. Once he has, I find myself pushing him onto his back until I’m sitting on top of him.
He’s sprawled across the bed, while I straddle him. A wicked grin crosses his face as I lean over him, kissing his neck. His cock brushes my clit when I shift. I repeat the motion until we’re both breathless.
I line him up and slowly slide down onto his cock until he’s seated fully inside me.
“You feel so good.” My voice is shaky as I slide up and down on his cock.
He closes his grip around my hips, his hooded eyes looking up at me with reverence while I ride him.
Will this be the last time he looks at me like this?
“That’s it, baby, take what you need,” he groans, leaning up to suck my nipple into his mouth. The sensation is overwhelming, and I pick up my pace.
Then, he slides his thumb over my clit in slow, teasing circles. I forget everything other than the feel of him on me and in me.
I shift down, my mouth finding its way to his own as our tongues tangle until I don’t know where he ends and I begin.
We left the lights on, bright and fluorescent, giving me the chance to watch every single reaction on his face. He watches me just as closely, like I’m something precious and fleeting all at once.
He takes over, wrapping one hand around my back while the other grabs my ass. He thrusts up into me at the same time I move down to meet him.
Every move feels like a sentence left unfinished. Every touch says what neither of us has been brave enough to voice. It’s devastating, full of pauses where we look at each other, foreheads pressed together as if we’re trying to stretch time by sheer will.
Normally, our desire would take over until we’re chasing the heat and each other, desperate for release.
But tonight, we stay present, letting it burn us alive.
I wonder if he’ll think of me weeks from now when my nail marks on his back are long gone. I know I’ll think of him even after the aches of what his body does to me are only a memory. I’m certain that I’ll think of this night far too much to be considered healthy.
The room is quiet except for the soft sounds we make together, the bed creaking faintly beneath us, and the city humming outside the window.
Our kisses grow messy and desperate. His pace picks up, cock sliding into me faster while I meet him every step of the way.
When he reaches between us, fingers toying with my clit, I spin out, falling over the edge and pulling him right along with me.
Our orgasms feed each other until it’s a blur of sensation and perfection.
We stay tangled together, skin warm and hearts racing. Nathan presses a kiss to my temple, then my cheek.
“Wes,” he whispers.
He stays with his forehead tucked against my shoulder, fingers tracing slow, absent patterns along my arm like he’s afraid stillness will break whatever this is. When he finally speaks, his voice is stripped bare.
“I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow and pretend like these two months haven’t changed something for me.”
My skin tingles where we touch as his voice slides down my spine. I shift to look at him, really look at him, the vulnerability he never lets anyone see sitting right there in his eyes.
Nathan Wilder, the man who doesn’t settle down, might be willing to settle down with me.
“It’s changed something for me too,” I say softly.
His breath catches, and he presses a slow kiss to my mouth, different from before. A question and an answer all in one, like he’s sealing something fragile and sacred between us.
We don’t say anything else, the tiredness from the party and the past hour, lulling us into the quiet place before sleep. As I drift off, I let the seed of hope grow.
Maybe we can have it all.
I curl into him, wondering if he’ll feel the same way tomorrow.
Will our hushed confessions get a chance to see the light of day?