Page 8 of With the Assist

She saunters away, and Liam’s eyes trail her across the room.

I feel a little sorry for him after dragging him over here. That being said, my mystery girl hasn’t shut me down yet. I shove the ceremony program from the bar top into Liam’s hands, so he can act distracted while I keep shooting my shot.

“Your friend’s… fierce.” I nod in the direction of the redhead, now surrounded by a group of girls across the room.

She smiles, taking a sip of what looks like water. “Avery’s not a fan of athletes, especially hockey players.”

“And you?” I ask.

Her eyes widen, and she shifts on her feet. I find myself focused on her red nails that are toying with the straw of her drink.

“To be determined.” She bites her lip.

“Maybe we can exchange—”

I don’t get to finish before Liam starts waving the program in front of me. “Did you see this shit?”

“Dude.” I glare at him.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Um, sorry to interrupt. But seriously, look at this.”

He shoves the program into my hand. I lock eyes with my mystery girl and give her an apologetic smile. She nods as if understanding the pain of over-the-top friends. Considering Avery’s exit a few minutes ago, she probably does.

“They have some fucking nobody winning athlete of the year. Who the hell is Wesley Miller?” Liam points to the center of the program.

Clear as day, it says:2025 Athlete of the Year – WesleyMiller.

“I’ve never heard of him,” I say. After ten years of playing professional sports in this city, I know most teams and their players.

“The guy doesn’t even sound like an athlete. More like a finance bro.” Liam shakes his head in frustration.

She chuckles into her drink, letting us rant about our broken streak as the recipients of this award. Normally, I’d be as worked up as Liam, but I can’t help grinning at her.

“We brought home the Stanley Cup,” Liam mutters, face scrunched up. “And some random guy gets the nod?”

I try not to wince. To be fair, last year Wyatt won athlete of the year. The year before was Grayson. I was the year before him. I’m sure Liam had his hopes up.

“The Stanley Cup was four years ago,” the girl says smoothly, taking a sip of her drink. “It’s Athlete of the Year, not Athlete of Four Years Ago.”

Ouch. But fair. I swallow my guilt, knowing our team’s setbacks happen to correlate with my personal slump. My team deserves the cup. Knowing that I am a huge reason we keep missing the mark fucking sucks.

“She has a point,” I concede, patting Liam on the back.

“Still, some unknown name getting it doesn’t sit right.”

“Definitely not,” she adds, sympathizing with him. Something is glinting in her eye. “He’s probably a loser with a name like that.”

“Oh, he’s definitely a nobody.” Liam looks around the room as if the guy will have an arrow above his head, pointing him out.

Alright. Enough of this. I still need her number, and my chance of getting it is shrinking.

“Anyway, your name?” I ask, flashing my flirtiest smile.

She sucks on her bottom lip, eyes glinting mischievously. I’d do just about anything to know what she’s thinking right now.

The program announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, signaling the start.

Without answering me, she turns toward her table.