Page 56 of The Assist
“She makes me feel like I can breathe,” I say suddenly.
Murphy turns to look at me. “Mia?”
“Yeah. But at the same time, I feel like I can’t breathe around her either. Like I’m waiting for the moment she realises I’m not worth it.”
“Diesel—”
“It’s not just about her. It’s about everything. Him. The pressure. The whole thing. I never really feel good enough. Even when I’m winning.”
Murphy nods. “Then you gotta figure out if you’re going to keep running from that, or let someone help you deal with it.”
I stare at the beer in my hand. “I want to be that guy,” I admit. “For her. But I don’t know if I know how.”
“You learn. That’s what being with someone is. It’s not about showing up perfect. It’s about showing up.” He picks up the TV remote from his bedside table and starts flicking through the channels silently. Like he hasn’t just set the world to rights.
He finally falls asleep around eleven thirty, and it’s nearly midnight when I finally leave my room. Making my way to the elevator I punch the button for the floor below and watch as the doors slowly slide shut. Minutes later, I’m staring at her door, trying to convince myself this is a good idea.
I finally knock and wait. There’s no answer the first time so I knock again, a little louder this time. I’m about to walk away when I hear the chain slip on the door and it opens a fraction. Just enough for her to see it’s me, and not some knife wielding maniac out to murder us all in our sleep.
The door pushes shut again briefly and then she opens it fully. And she’s standing there in the cutest PJs I’ve ever seen. “Dylan?” Her voice is sleep-laden and I’m struck with a little guilt that I’ve woken her up.
I take a deep breath before I lean in and slip my hand around the back of her neck, and pull her closer. As she opens her mouth to protest, I bring my lips down on hers. Silencing her with a kiss. It’s gentle at first but then I feel her relax into me. Taking that as a green light, I deepen the kiss and bring my other hand in to rest on her hip. Mia’s hands come to rest on my chest and I feel the burn right through my tee.
Pulling back a little, I look deep into her round, dark eyes. There’s confusion and lust all rolled into one.
“Goodnight, Mia,” I whisper. Then I turn and walk back to my room, knowing I’ll dream about her.
Knowing that whatever comes next, I’m already in too deep to walk away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MIA
My lips are still tingling.
The game is over and the adrenaline’s worn off. The sting of cold air clings to my jacket as I step onto the coach, but none of that matters.
Because all I can feel ishim.
Dylan Winters. Diesel. The man who kissed me like he couldn’t stop himself, then pulled away like he remembered he should.Goodnight Miaand then he was gone, leaving me with nothing but confusion and desire all rolled into one. How was I supposed to deal with that? Had he expected me to run after him and beg him to do it again?
Because that is not what happened next. Nope, I watched him walk down the corridor towards the lift and then he disappeared out of sight. And, like the good girl I am, I closed my door, turned the lock and slid the security back into place. Once I was safely back under the covers, I switched off the light and lay there in the dark. Hours passed as I replayed the moment over and over again in my mind.
Fast forward a couple of hours, and now we’re all waiting to board the coach home. And I’m strategically trying to avoid the powerhouse that is Dylan Winters. Thankfully, he’s making it easy for me as he’s currently late.
The coach rolls to a standstill in front of us and there’s aquiet movement to find a desirable seat. I settle into a seat near the middle of the bus, tugging my coat tighter around me like it’s a shield. My mind is a tornado of thoughts, none of them helpful. The inside of the coach hums but not with the usual post-match noise, the players obviously celebrated the win a little too hard last night. Although, I can hear Danny trying to convince Murphy he should’ve been captain years ago.
But all I can focus on is the weight of that kiss.
I press the heel of my hand to my chest like I can steady the wild pulse there. What are we even doing? I’m his physio. A professional. I’ve fought hard to be taken seriously in this job, to earn respect in a world that was never built for women like me. And yet every time Dylan looks at me, touches me, speaks to me in that low, raspy voice, my entire body betrays me.
I can’t stop replaying the look in his eyes right before he leaned in. Like I was the only thing in the world that made sense to him. And God help me, I felt the same.
There’s a last-minute flurry of activity and the aisle fills with movement as the last few players pile on board. I sit up straighter, schooling my expression into something neutral.
And then I see him.
Dylan climbs on last, shoulders slightly hunched, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets. His face is unreadable; broody, tired, and maybe a little stormy. He glances down the length of the coach, scanning for a seat, and his eyes land on mine.
