Nate POV

Seeing her in secret was the best and worst idea I ever had.

Best, because every time Riley looked at me like I wasn’t a name or a number, I forgot about the bullshit, the fame, the pressure, the brand deals, the weight of always being “on.” Worst, because every time she kissed me like I was just Nate, not Number 17, I knew I was lying by omission. And the longer it went, the worse it got.

I canceled plans. Ghosted hookups. Ignored the unread DMs stacked like unpaid bills in my inbox. The usual distractions didn’t even register anymore. All I wanted was her. And I was in too deep to pretend it was casual now.

We’d meet up late, sometimes at her café after close, sometimes in my car down some back street like we were teenagers hiding from curfews. She’d bring leftover muffins. I’d bring excuses for why I couldn’t tell her more. She never asked directly. But her eyes did. Every time.

“You’re a good guy,” she told me once, half-asleep against my shoulder.

I kissed her temple and said nothing, because I didn’t want to be the one to ruin that sentence.

It wasn’t just the sex, though holy hell, the sex. It was the way she saw through my armor. It was the calm in her laugh. The way she didn’t care who I was supposed to be. She didn’t worship the image. She cut right through it like it wasn’t even there. Made me feel like I could become the guy she already believed in.

And that? That scared the shit out of me.

Because I knew it was only a matter of time before the truth punched through the bubble we built. One selfie. One news clip. One player’s name drop. And she’d find out. She’d look at me like everyone else does, like I’m not a person, just a position.

Tonight, she was curled into me on my couch, her legs tangled in mine, reading a dog-eared novel she kept insisting I “needed” to experience. I wasn’t reading a word. I was memorizing her. The slope of her nose. The way her lips moved when she got to a good part. A hoodie swallowed her frame. Her hair was damp from a shower, leaving wet patches on my shirt. She smelled like vanilla and whatever expensive soap lived in her bathroom.

I didn’t want to lie anymore. But I didn’t want to lose this.

“You okay?” she asked, eyes flicking to mine.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,”

I smirked. “Only when I’m sober.”

She rolled her eyes and scooted closer, elbow pressing into my ribs like she belonged there. Like this was just another night. Like I wasn’t slowly coming apart.

Then she dropped the grenade: “So… Avery’s dragging me to this charity auction thing next weekend.”

My stomach dropped.

“Yeah? It’s already been a month?” I said, voice way too casual. “Sounds… fun.”

She groaned, throwing her head back against the cushion. “Doubt it. I thought she would forget about dragging me along, but nope. I will have to deal with a bunch of jocks pretending to care about the community so they can look good for sponsors?”

I choked on a laugh and turned it into a cough. “Guess I’ll try not to punch anyone.”

“Don’t. I hear the goalies are fragile.”

I froze. She had no clue. None. She was about to walk right into my world in heels and sarcasm, totally unaware that I was the main event.

And I had no clue how I was gonna keep her from walking away once she finds out the truth.