Page 59 of Lovesick
When we breach an opening in the crowd, he makes sure to pull me close to his body, bearing the brunt of the packed mob so I don’t have to push or shove. I feel…untouchable. I hadn’t even realized that his previous grasp on my wrist has metamorphosed into proper hand holding.
I’m impressed when we make it out the other side unscathed, and I find a few members of Crew’s hockey team clumping in an offshoot from the rest of the partygoers. I try to make myself scarce when it comes to my father’s hockey practices. Some of his friends look familiar from the fundraiser committee.
“Merit, I’d like you to meet Harlan, Sutton, and Foster,” Crew introduces, our fingers still interlaced.
Finally understanding the incriminating implication of our hand holding, I sever contact almost instantly, disguising my miniature freakout for what I think is a rather smooth transition into a handshake. “Hi, nice to meet you guys.”
“Oh, soyou’rethe famous Merit,” the brunet with green eyes says—the one who’s currently rocking a laundry basket around his waist.
He shakes my hand. “Hi, I’m Harlan.”
Crew doesn’t…he doesn’t talk about me, right? That would be preposterous.
Even though I’m only two shots in, my stomach roils, and I swallow back a particularly thick glob of saliva.
Crew smacks his friend on the arm. “Dude,” he grounds out through his teeth.
“You’re the girl running the fundraiser!” the largest of the men exclaims, dressed in a toga and looking like the lucky winner of the genetic lottery with his lumberjack beard and equally luscious mullet. He has to have a few extra inches over Crew, and whereas the rest of his teammates are on the leaner side, he’s packing on some bulky muscle, flaunting a little pudge in his midsection.
I’m glad he recognizes me from class andnotthe locker room fiasco.
Heat flares in my cheeks. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
“I’m Sutton. It’s nice to meet you.”
None of them seem to know that I’m their coach’s daughter, which is both surprising and relieving. I can thank Crew for leaving that tidbit out. I can also thank my dad for being impersonal during practices. The last thing I need is for the whole team to roll out a metaphorical red carpet for me.
The remainder of the squad to be introduced is a guy smaller in stature than the rest, who opted for a safer, more conservative banana costume. “This fundraiser is going to be awesome. I can’t wait for auction night.”
I’m grateful for the non-Crew-related subject change. “I hope so. I have no idea if I can even pull any of this off, you know? I’ve never organized an event this large before.”
A frown fractures Crew’s composure, and his tone turns shockingly serious. “Hey, you’re going to do a great job, and we’re going to help you with whatever you need. Isn’t that right, guys?”
“Right!” they all agree in unison.
When I see a regretful pledge carrying a tray of Jell-O shots in my periphery, I impulsively swipe one without him looking, squeezing the gelatin from its plastic container before downing both it and the complementary vodka. I’m riding a faint buzz from the previous drinks, but the nerves are still at large.
Crew and his friends all stare at me. I can’t tell if they’re impressed, disgusted, or a little bit of both.
I cover my mouth with my hand in mortification. “Sorry. Do you guys want some?”
Crew’s spine goes ramrod straight—a somber sentinel that’s light-years away from his normal, carefree demeanor—and his lips purse to form what I’m assuming is a “no” before Harlan beats him to the punch.
“Fuck yeah!”
The rest of the guys rejoice, flagging the unsuspecting pledge down, and I guess the skinny, pimply-faced dude recognizes everyone on the hockey team because he presents the drinks to us like we’re paying customers.
Crew pulls me aside and whispers, “Maybe you should slow down.”
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you,” I insist, wrenching my arm away indignantly.
“You’re acting weird tonight.”
“I’m not acting weird.You’reacting weird.”
He rolls his eyes, huffing in exasperation. “Don’t be childish, Mer.”
Mer.
