Page 41 of Lovesick
He pauses, interlocks his fingers together, then points them directly at me. “BestFinal Destinationmovie?”
I roll my eyes, but for once, it’s benevolent. “The fifth one, duh. It has the?—”
“Best plot twist in film history,” Crew finishes, using his crazy hot-guy mojo to read my mind.
It should be illegal to be this sexy, talented,andhave such good taste in movies. Yes, I’m aware that I just mentally complimented Crew on his hockey skills.
When I was watching the game—trying not to rip out of his jersey like a werewolf outgrowing human clothes—he wasmagnetic. The Mustangs as a whole are a top-tier team, but there was something about Crew that held my attention. For two hours. And that’s saying something seeing as I can’t even sit through a seven-second video without scrolling.
My dad wasn’t just kissing his ass for the sake of it—Crew has the chops to go pro. I’ve watched a lot of hockey players in my life—some who specialize in skating, others who specialize in stickhandling—but he’s the most well-rounded. Though I’ll never say it to his face.
My heart quivers like a crocus under a snowdrift, and a part of me (the one beyond saving) wishes there wasn’t a table between us. “Color me surprised,” I remark, trying—and failing—to act nonchalant as I lean back against the booth.
“What? That I’m not some meathead hockey player who only thinks with his dick?”
I know he’s joking, and sure, it’s evident by the teasing in his voice, but there’s an inkling of truth somewhere in there—a shiny, unpolished shard of sea glass in a sludge of fine-grained sand.
“That we have stuff in common.”
His defense lowers like a drawbridge. “Oh.”
I giggle. “Oh.”
Jesus. I’ve never giggled before, and certainly not because of a man. What’s wrong with me?
We eat in silence for a while, and after I demolish my burger, I’m on to ravaging the fries. Though, as I stuff my piehole blissfully, I yearn for a closeness that I’ve never felt with anyone before—a closeness that Crew is more than capable of, and one I would wallow in if the world wasn’t actively working against us.
The truth is, while I was upset at him for infiltrating my life and keeping his profession a secret, I think I was more upset with myself for shattering my good girl image. I wanted someone to blame when I should’ve been looking inwards. Itwas my decision to sleep with Crew. I did it out of rebellion. I did it knowing that my parents would never approve if they found out, whether he was my dad’s star player or some random hookup. And the perfectionism that I’ve poured blood, sweat, and tears into was suddenly unattainable. I threw everything away in a single night. No matter how hard I struggle to reach that snow-capped mountain peak—to conquer the unconquerable—I continue to slip down, down,down.
But could it really have been a mistake if I felt, for the first time ever, cherished by someone other than my parents?
“Why did you help me?” I blurt before I can stop myself. “I mean, aside from the jersey and the date. Which this isn’t, by the way.”
Crew cants his head in amusement. “Right. Of course not.”
But as quickly as the lightheartedness leaves, the soft-spoken sadness arrives, and the tangerine light overhead—nestled in the belly of a stained-glass lampshade—casts a chiaroscuro over his features. “Believe it or not, I used to be one of those kids who couldn’t afford to play hockey.”
Shit. I had no idea, and I was the judgmental bitch who believed that Crew’s life had been nothing but a cakewalk.
My arm jerks reflexively, begging me to reach out and touch him. “Crew…”
He brushes my sympathy off, letting it roll down his back like rain off a waterproof jacket. “It’s fine. My, uh, father left when I was young. Took everything in the divorce. My mom could barely pay rent even though she worked overtime. We lost comfortability; we had to ration food some nights. All while my dad was living it up in his mansion with another family.”
His dad left? I can’t imagine how heartbreaking that must have been. Not only to lose his parental figure but to lose control over his life. It’s crazy how quickly the world can turnon you. One second, you could be on cloud nine, and the next, you could be trying to claw your way up from rock bottom.
The now-cold fries leave an acrid taste in my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
Again, Crew deflects. “It’s not your fault he’s an asswipe.”
Great going, Merit. Way to bring up his traumatic childhood.
I was born into a privileged family. My parents are set for life because their grandparents made some beneficial investments in the past. Generational wealth. I don’t have to worry about retirement like other people. I never had to get a job when I was in high school. Everything I wanted was given to me on a silver platter—designer brands, the latest technology, international trips. I have access to things that people can only dream of.
To think that Crew was barely scraping by while I was importing lobster from Maine makes me sick to my fucking stomach.
I only realize that I’m growling when my chest rumbles. “Still, you didn’t deserve that. Your father is a good-for-nothing douche canoe that can rot in hell.”
Crew offers me a watery smile. “Douche canoe?”
