Page 40 of Lovesick
Lust bites into me, razor-sharp, like a pinchbeck ring against tender flesh. I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Since I was five. I was a restless kid, and my parents needed to distract me with something. They’d always turn onSo You Think You Can Dance, and I’d pretend to spin around in my frilly princess dress while these incredible talents leapt across the floor. It was then that I realized I didn’t want to pursue anything else in life. After lots of begging, they enrolled me in my first ballet class.”
“Wow. That’s incredible, Merit. What exactly drew you to dance?”
Suddenly, my hard-earned food isn’t sitting so well. I can’t exactly say, “Well, dancing distracts me from the fact that I’ll probably die before I’m thirty,” because that would be a total mood killer.
As hard as it is to accept, I’ve always known that no matter what health precautions I take, death will always be a plausible outcome. Fighting fate only makes things worse.
“I view dance as a form of self-expression. It’s a way for me to process things I’ve been through and transform them into positive experiences. I feel so happy and free when I dance, you know? Like nothing else in the world exists—not my overbearing parents, not my grades.”
I’m not sure how I was expecting Crew to react, but an unspoken understanding flits across his face. He’s still holding his burger in midair as a pickle slops onto his plate, followed by a landslide of mayonnaise.
“I know exactly what you mean. Hockey makes me feel the same way.”
Wait…we actually have somethingin common?
“It does?”
“Yeah. Sometimes I use it to channel my aggression, sometimes I use it to accept my grief. It’s been the number one constant in my life. When I step onto the ice, it makes me feel like I’m a part of something bigger. Like my trivial problems are just that—trivial,” he explains. “And it was the only thing that I was good at when I was younger.”
I pretend to gasp. “You mean to tell me thattheCrew Calloway wasn’t a kid genius?”
He laughs for the second time this outing. Why am I keeping track? Oh, God. I think I’m losing it.
“Not even close. I still pronounce the ‘L’ in salmon.”
“To be fair, those silent consonants will get ya.”
A smile blossoms over Crew’s mouth, and the urge to kiss him is nearly unbearable, bringing me to a fever pitch that won’t be sated by Maple Grove’s famous cookie chunk milkshake. I want to taste him again. He does something unspeakable to my psyche—leaves me comatose in the best way possible. If I had to subsist on a one-man diet for the rest of my life, maybe Crew would suffice.
Maybe.
I seal my lips over the tip of my straw, slurping at my milkshake while unintentionally holding his gaze. I don’t even realize the action is suggestive until he awkwardly adjusts himself under the table, dipping his head to hide the blush sprawling over his freckled cheeks.
Who knew the captain of the hockey team wasn’t so arrogant after all?
I’m surprised whenI’mthe one to initiate the next topic of conversation. “Do you have other passions outside of hockey?”
He swirls around another French fry before tossing it down his gullet. I swear that man is like a garbage disposal.
“I’ve always loved horror. Movies, shows, books, video games.”
I lean forward with my hands on the table, unable to mask the note of excitement in my voice. “Really? I love horror too. It’s my favorite genre.”
Irelyn hates horror. Aside from getting spooked by the smallest of things, she thinks every horror movie is some undercover excuse for devil worship. She refused to sleep by herself for days after I forced her to watchThe Conjuringwith me.
Crew pelts me with rapid-fire questions.
“Favorite film studio?”
“A24.”
“Favorite movie?”
“The Cabin in the Woods.”
“Best franchise?”
“Final Destination.”
