Page 19 of Lovesick
Oh my God. Did he seriously justthreatenhim?!
I can’t believe this. I could accept the fact that I was going to see Crew at hockey games, but to have him be involved in policing my love life? Seriously? First off, I can date whoever Iwant. Second off, if Crew thinks I’ll go along with this idiotic arrangement, he’s got another thing coming.
The rest of dinner is unsurprisingly quiet—and thankfully uneventful. I have thepleasureof walking Crew to his car and airing out the house of his cologne. It’s a miracle I got through dinner without gagging.
The night sky is bruised in alternating shades of violet—a pointillism of stars sprawling across a nebulous backdrop—and the gibbous moon hangs over our heads, illuminating the ribbon of road underneath our feet. The whole street is quiet save for the chirp of unseen crickets and a susurration that slithers through the gnarled branches of dogwood—ones that harbor flaxen leaves curled and moth-eaten from the changing season. The bone-deep chill sparks goose bumps on my exposed arms, but I don’t mention it. Despite Crew being parked across the street, the walk seems tiresome.
“Sooo…” he begins, interrupting the beautiful, beautiful silence.
I don’t bother looking at him. My only job is to get him from Point A to Point B, and I don’t “C” a need for conversation. Annoyance brews in my stomach, acidic enough to scorch a hole through the lining completely.
“Just because you’re buddy-buddy with my dad doesn’t mean we’re going to be,” I tell him with clipped breath, crossing my arms over my chest to try and conserve heat. Thanks to the cold, my nipples are the equivalent of small torpedoes, and if Crew evenjokesabout it being a bodily response to his charisma, I’m going to throw myself in front of an oncoming car.
When his voice rends the air, it crackles like a bank of embers catching on peeling, parched timber. “I promised I’d look after you.”
“No, you promised to keep the hockey team away from me. Which, by the way, is a ridiculous request in itself.”
The crunch of pebbles and gravel underfoot stops, and I make it a few strides before realizing that he’s halted in the middle of the goddamn road. I hate to admit it, but his little trap works at snaring my attention because I finally meet his gaze. The color of his eyes seems darker in the mood lighting—no longer blue, but a gray akin to winter slush.
Crew raises his hands in surrender. “Look, I’m not trying to get on your dad’s bad side.”
Instead of compromising and backtracking, I stand my ground, facing him. “Mine is worse,” I insist, flashing him a glare that could freeze hell over.
“Oh, please. You seriously expect me to believe that you, a pocket-sized princess, are going to evoke a wrath stronger than the man who has the ability to tank my entire hockey career if he sees fit?”
A growl coils in my chest. “Don’t call me that.”
“I’m sorry, would you rather I refer to you as ‘your royal highness’?” Sarcasm clings to that forked tongue of his, as thick as caramelized sugar. Everything about him strikes a match on my very flammable nerves.
“You won’treferto me as anything because we’re not on speaking terms.”
“Uh-huh. And what am I supposed to tell your father?”
“Is that really how you want to live your junior year of college? Being my dad’s pack dog?”
“You’re one to talk,” he retorts, and the sharp, piercing truth unmoors the once-unshakable foundation beneath my feet.
Red eclipses my vision, rage coursing through my bloodstream. My fists clench of their own volition as cotton clogs my ears, drowning all sound beneath a ruthless river of whitewater. “What the hell does that mean?”
Finally, Crew’s good guy guise splinters, and I witness the first sliver of unadulterated hatred peeking out from a jagged façade. “You think I didn’t notice the way you agreed witheverything your dad said? You didn’t protest about coming to the game, and you sure as shit didn’t protest when he practically appointed me as your unofficial bodyguard.”
I open my mouth to counter his argument—with what, I have no idea—but he doesn’t allow me the chance to speak.
“You want to know what I think, Merit? I think you’re scared of disappointing Daddy. I think that the real reason you hate me isn’t because I’m a hockey player, but because I have the freedom to live my life in ways you can’t. This pettiness is nothing but a smokescreen for your goddamn jealousy,” he snaps, the tendons in his upper body writhing as he crosses his arms over his hulking chest. There’s a newly lit fire blazing in his eyes, and I was stupid to think that carelessly throwing around gasoline wasn’t going to have dire consequences.
I lose my grip. As simple as that.
I stomp over to Crew with my self-destructive tendencies, closing the figurative and literal distance between us until I’m no more than a few inches from his smug face. “You know what? You’re right, Crew. I am jealous. I’m jealous that life seems to besoeasy for you, and that you can just go around swinging your dick without any repercussions whatsoever.”
Despite being so close to him, there are no butterflies fluttering around in my stomach, and aclearly misguidedpart of me mourns that sensation.
What am I doing? Why am I being so mean? Do you think he plotted this whole scheme as some ploy to get back at you for ghosting him, Merit? God, are you really that self-centered? You don’t know anything about him, and making assumptions isn’t going to get you anywhere. Whether you like it or not, you two have to coexist under your father’s surveillance.
And then, in the midst of my hotheaded tirade, I see it—the tiniest iota of hurt lodged deep in his slate eyes, snuffing that initial flame of indignation out in one swell move. They’relackluster as I stare into them and address the disproportionate reflection of myself in his pupils.
“I’m honestly not surprised you think that of me, considering the whole world revolves around you, right? I mean, it’s not like you made an effort to get to know me.” His voice is hollow, and it doesn’t wrap around me in the way that it did at the bar. The tension in his shoulders deflates, the hold of his jaw softens, and his defensiveness sloughs off onto the cold, hard asphalt.
I feel an abysmal ache in my gut, pulsating like a tumor.
