Page 68 of The Assist
“So…” he says, all innocence and smiles. “You gonna tell me why you were radiating ‘I’ve been emotionally compromised by a woman’ energy all session?”
I shoot him a look. “Maybe I’m just tired.”
“Mate,” he says, deadpan. “You’re playing like your heart’s been shattered into approximately twelve jagged pieces and you’re skating on the remains.”
“Remind me why I talk to you?”
He smirks and grabs his water bottle. “Because I’m the only one who tells you the truth. Also, I’m delightful.”
I grunt a laugh despite myself and lean forward, elbows on my knees. He’s not wrong. Iamdistracted. I haven’t stopped replaying the way Mia looked at me when I touched her cheek this morning, soft and unsure like the ground might vanish under her. And the kiss last night, her mouth hot and urgent on mine, like she’d reached some breaking point and let go.
The scariest thing? I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to leave her flat. Ilikedwaking up in her bed. I liked the feel of her leg brushing against mine beneath the sheets and her sleepy voice saying my name.
It’s new. It’s addictive. And it’s absolutely a terrible idea.
After training, I hang back in the changing room. The others slowly file out, ribbing each other on their way to showers or lunch. Murphy claps me on the shoulder on his way out.
“Tell Mia I said hi. And that she clearly has terrible taste in men.”
“You’re a dick,” I mutter, chucking a roll of tape at him.
Once it’s quiet, I dig my phone out of my locker and scroll to her name. The screen lights up with that picture of her I snapped during team physio day, her laughing at something Ollie said, hair tied up, eyes crinkling. She didn’t even know I took it.
I hit the call button, trying not to second guess everything.
She picks up on the second ring. “Hey.”
Her voice is soft, but wary.
“Hey,” I say, pressing a hand to the back of my neck. “Training ran over. Just finished. You still want a lift to get your car?”
“Yeah, that’d be great. I’ve been staring at my inbox for an hour pretending I’m not waiting on your call.”
That makes me smile. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
It’s late afternoon by the time I pull up outside her flat. The rain’s stopped but the sky is still bruised grey, threatening to pour again. Mia’s already waiting near the entrance porch, arms crossed over her chest, her coat tugged tight against the wind.
She climbs into the passenger seat and fastens her seatbelt in silence.
“Everything alright?” I ask as I pull away.
She nods. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
Always thinking. Overthinking, if we’re being honest. Which makes two of us.
The garage where my mate’s working on her car is just down the block, so I asked him to drop her car back at the rink when he’d fixed it. He’s left it round the back, behind the rink where the players’ cars get parked and the maintenance vans are kept. Her hatchback’s there, tucked in one of the back spots.
I shift into park. “Give me a sec. I’ll check the keys are where he said.”
I hop out and grab the spare from the lockbox tucked in the fence behind the rink, then turn to head back, but she’s already out of the car, arms folded again, watching me with that unreadable expression.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No. Just this feels weird.”
“Weird how?”
She steps closer, close enough that I catch the faint scent of her shampoo again, something citrusy and clean. “Like we’re on the edge of something and pretending we’re not.”
