Page 48 of The Assist
One minute she’s pushing me away with that cool professional front, and the next she’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the room who really knows her.
And maybe I am.
Or maybe that’s just the story I want to believe because I’ve made her into something bigger than she really is. Because I don’t know how to want something withoutneedingit.
And I need her. That’s the problem.
Not in the casual way I used to need things. Not in the easy, low-stakes, strip-off-your-clothes kind of way. This is different. It’s like needing oxygen after holding your breath too long.
I drop onto the bench underneath my shirt number, elbows on knees, and head in my hands.
What the fuck am I doing?
I can’t keep doing this with her. Teetering on the edge. One minute I’m inches from her mouth, the next I’m pretending like I haven’t imagined what she’d sound like saying my name in the dark.
This isn’t about lust anymore. It hasn’t been for a while.
There’s something bigger pulling at me. Some part of me that wants to beseenby her. The broken shit, the messy stuff, the parts I keep locked down so tight it’s a miracle I can still breathe.
And I don’t know if I can handle that. I don’t know if she’d still want me if she saw the truth of what I’m carrying around.
The creak of the locker room door startles me.
I glance up, expecting our trainer, Jonno, or worse, Coach, but it’s Murphy. He’s got a six-pack in one hand and a paper bag in the other, like some twisted angel of mercy.
“Tried calling. You ghosting me or just brooding in peace?” he asks, strolling in like he owns the place.
“Both,” I mutter.
He sets the bag down with a dramatic sigh and pops open a beer, tossing one to me without asking. I catch it one-handed, crack it open, and take a long swig. It’s ice-cold, but it’s not enough.
“You were electric tonight,” he says after a beat. “But that hit you took in the second period? Jesus, mate. Thought Mia was going to leap over the barrier.”
My eyes flick up at her name, and of course he doesn’t miss it.
“There it is,” he says, grinning. “That look. The one where you’re trying not to think about her but your brain’s already halfway to a wedding Pinterest board.”
“Fuck off.”
“Not denying it, though.”
I shake my head and lift my beer to drink again.
Murphy drops down beside me, elbows matching mine, both of us hunched over like old men. “So what’s the damage? She treat you then give you the cold shoulder again?”
I blow out a heavy breath. “Worse.”
His eyebrows lift. “Worse than Mia Clarke and her wall of ice? Lay it on me.”
“She touched me, and we were close, so fucking close, and then nothing. She stepped back like she didn’t feel it. But I know she did.”
He nods slowly. “And?”
“And what?”
“And why does it matter so much?” he asks, his voice is a little too calm. “You’ve had women falling over themselves to get near you for years. Why’s this one got your head tied in knots?”
Because it’s not aboutherfalling for me.
