Page 35 of Crazy Pucking Love
I wasn’t quite ready to give up the idea of a backup, but my main goal was still NHL, and if I had to drop classes that would make it my only option.
Which meant I needed to focus on hockey.
No matter how sexy the distraction was.
Chapter Seventeen
Megan
In a lot of ways, I felt like I was rocking my Fresh Start Checklist.
1. No more holding back who I am to try to fit in
2. Start working on my math degree, exact field TBD, probably with an emphasis in engineering.
3. Make good, not-fake friends, who’ll have my back instead of stab it
4. Discover all the best places to go in Boston
5. Find a guy with boyfriend potential
a. Likes me for me
b. Common interests
c. Understands me—or at least makes an effort to
d. Great sense of humor
e. Makes an effort to be with me
f. Honest & loyal
6. No more doing stupid things for attention, especially self-destructive things
Only a month into college, and I’d checked off, or was in the process of checking off, most of my items. Of course, stupid number five stood out as I scanned down the page, which undoubtedly had a lot to do with the fact that Valentine’s Day was tomorrow, and all the pink and red hearts plastered everywhere.
I mean, if I wanted to get super literal, I could say that I did find a guy with boyfriend potential, one who hit every qualification.
Deep down, I thought that maybe Dane and I were meant to be, despite what he claimed about not doing the relationship thing. We connected. I knew he was attracted to me. I’d seen him staring when I zipped up my boots on Saturday—not to mention I’d felt just how attracted he was the morning we woke up together.
A surge of heat traveled up my core as I remembered the delicious sensation of his hard length pressing into me. Whenever my friends talked about being horny, or gossiped about how big a guy was, I faked interest, thinking that while I was a fan of kissing, I could give or take sex.
But now I knew what it was like to feel a combination of thrill and aching.
Unfortunately, I also knew what it was like to have three ignored texts and one unreturned phone call. Even in class, he showed up late and bolted out, and the one time I’d caught up he’d blown me off with an “I can’t talk. I’m in a hurry.”
I’d visited the diner twice after eight, only to find myself eating alone. I’d slept even less this week than usual, and the seven hours I snagged with Dane almost two weeks ago—while rare and gloriously refreshing—weren’t nearly enough to carry me through fourteen days with very little shut-eye.
So yes, I found a guy with boyfriend potential. He just didn’t want to be my boyfriend, because he didn’t do the whole relationship thing, and lately he hadn’t made time for me, or even done much of the friend thing.
My chest ached at the realization, the loneliness I felt all week digging its claws deeper into me. There it was, confirmation of the cold hard truth I hadn’t wanted to face.
While procrastinating my homework the other night, after I sent a text to Dane that went unanswered, I looked up statistics on college relationships. Math facts usually calmed me.
But the ones I found were on the not-so-calming side of the spectrum.
I dug into my bag of Peanut M&M’s, scowling at the red and pink candy shells—even my chocolate threw my lack of a love life in my face—and pulled up the article I’d bookmarked for torture reasons. As if not having him text or call, and not even getting so much as a “hey” or a stupid wave after the game last Sunday wasn’t torturous enough.
