Page 27 of Lovesick
“No, because you blush any time I say anything remotely sweet to you.”
As if to corroborate my statement, an adorable, pinkish tint occupies her cheeks. It’s like life itself has bottled its very essence into her five-foot-two body, and every time I’m near her, I get this invigorating rush to soak up her light for as long as I can before I’m fated to crawl back into the darkness.
This is good. We’re getting back into the swing of things. And per the swing of things, now is the time when I use humor to deflect from the fact that I’m beginning to feel very real, scary feelings.
“Are you sure we’re allowed to be seen together? I’d hate to ruin your image,” I quip lightheartedly.
I’m expecting her to snipe me down with her famous scowl, but she doesn’t choose violence—a rare occasion, I’ve come to notice.
“Do you know what my dad would do if he found out Isleptwith his star player?”
After discussing book porn and being graced by her in that otherworldly dress, the last thing I need to think about is the unforgettable night we spent together.
Come on, Crew. You’ve got this. Just act cool.
And…cue the cool guy pose. I pretend to look off into the distance, stretching my arms over my head so that the hem of myT-shirt rides up. “I’m more interested in seeing if I’m a star lover.”
A snort billows out of her, but she doesn’t defuse the tension electrifying the air around us. “I’d give you two stars on Yelp. And that’s being generous.”
“Really? That’s not what you were saying that night. Or ismoaningthe right word?”
Expecting a stubborn rebuttal, it’s not surprising when Merit eats the distance between us, furls her fist in the collar of my shirt, and pulls me into her so that I’m at her very mercy. I’m so caught off guard that I stand there, half-hunched over, fully leashed by the girl who spellsTROUBLEin big, bold words.
Holy shit. She’s touching me. Kind of. She’s touching my shirt. I’ll never wash this bad boy ever again.
“That’s before I knew you were a hockey player, and I’m not a puck bunny. So why don’t we both stop wasting each other’s time, okay? Nothing more can ever happen between us,” she reiterates with a growl, gunning me down with those aquamarine eyes—the ones that tempt me like the juiciest, most delectable forbidden fruit. There’s a hunger that carves my stomach out, that makes my mouth water in some twisted, Pavlovian response.
A cautionary warning I should heed but don’t.
I know a declaration like that should dissuade me from pursuing her, but if there’s the slightest chance I can change her mind, I have to take it.
Surprisingly, my nerves are nowhere to be seen, and my gleaned confidence reclaims its rightful throne. “Go on a date with me,” I say.
Merit appears to be at a loss for words. I’m just grateful that she’s not using said words to rip me a new one. Her fist quivers in my shirt, and for the first time in a long time, her eyes aren’t cold, nor are they weathered by insurmountable expectations. They’re as wide as saucers, innocent, almostyearningto beseen. This kind of blue is different, warmer, reminiscent of a clear, sunlit sky following the aftermath of a snowstorm.
Her arm falls away, and she uses it to hug her midsection. “You know I can’t do that, Crew.”
She almost sounds…remorseful. And fuck, does it hurt a lot more than a hate-fueled rejection would.
I don’t know what she needs right now, but I stockpile as much reassurance as I can, hoping that it’ll be enough to at least make a dent in her fortitude of worry. “Then I’ll wait, because deep down, I think you want this just as much as I do. And the thought of that terrifies you.”
9
NAKED AND AFRAID
MERIT
Love isn’t in the cards for me. I have too much at stake, and I’m not about to throw everything away for the first guy who wants to give me the world. I’ve heard the spiel before. I’d rather never experience any romantic relationship again than have to feel the slow atrophy of my heart—how it was drained of compassion before necrosis infected what little remained.
Crew’s sentiment was shocking, but that’s all it was—a sentiment. Words don’t carry the same weight as actions do. I need to focus on what’s important right now, and that’s getting this fundraiser off the ground. My whole marketing class is counting on me.
So, I metaphorically grab the bull by the horns, imbue myself with as much confidence as I can, and head straight for my father’s office with a color-coordinated PowerPoint in tow. But to breach said territory, I first have to claw my way through a battlefield of flaccid penises. Will I possibly scar myself with what I’m about to see in there? Yes.
This is a suicide mission. I, Merit Lawson, may never be the same again if I manage to make it out alive.
When I barge my way into the men’s locker room, I’m immediately hit with a waft of sweat, Old Spice, body odor, and a mustiness that’s probably already seeped into the drywall. Despite there being plenty of showers, it smells like nobody in here has ever heard of soap or water.
Resisting a gag, I careen past naked hockey players, ignoring their scandalized shouts as I narrow my gaze on my father’s emblazoned door sign glimmering from ten feet away. Steam clots the air, coddling the room in a moist heat that’s nearly tar-like to breathe through. The competing side conversations raise an octave, blurring together into one nonsensical clamor of noise.
