Page 101 of That's Too Pucking Bad
When she’s out again, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at her like an idiot.
She loves me?
The thought won’t leave me alone. It’s like a loop, playing over and over in my head.
I stay there until the sun starts creeping through her blinds, my head a mess, my chest tight. When her alarm goes off, I shut it off before it can wake her.
She needs to sleep, not deal with this mess.
But I need air. Space.
I write her a note, leaving it on her nightstand.
I set your alarm. Don’t miss class.
And then I’m gone.
The second I’m home, my phone’s ringing.
“Yeah?” I answer, not even looking at the caller ID.
“Zane,” my dad’s voice booms through the line. “I’ve got a meeting in Thailand. Missing this week’s game.”
“Okay.”
“Coach will record it, and I expect you to play your ass off. Got it?”
“Yeah, sure thing.”
He hangs up without another word. Typical.
I toss my phone on the counter and grab a water, trying to focus.
Practice starts in an hour, but my head’s not in it. All I can think about is her.
At practice, it’s a fucking disaster.
“Zane!” Coach yells. “Get your head outta your ass!”
“Got it, Coach,” I snap back, skating to the next drill.
But I don’t got it. I keep screwing up plays, missing passes, and pissing off my teammates.
Noah skates up beside me, his brows furrowed. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
“Bullshit.”
“Drop it.”
He gives me a look but doesn’t push.
I’m a fucking mess. My body’s here, but my head’s somewhere else. Somewhere with her.
Her laugh. Her touch. Her goddamn words.
She loves me.
