Page 87 of Practice Makes Perfect
The weight of that responsibility has been hovering over me since our arrangement began. “I know. That’s another reason I’ve been overthinking everything. If we have sex, I’m afraid I won’t be able to maintain boundaries. That I’ll be in too deep.”
“Phrasing…” Mike laughs, and for the first time in months, it feels like my friend is back.
“Asshole.” I grin.
“Seriously though, from where I’m sitting, you’re already in deep,” Mike says. “But you’re pretending you’re not.”
I drain the last of my beer. “I need to double down on our deal,” I say firmly. “Keep things in the arrangement box. It’s better for both of us.”
“Look, man,” Mike says, suddenly serious. “I’m the last person who should be giving relationship advice. I mean, I’ve spent the last few months being a total asshole to everyone who cares about me, and I’ve never had a girlfriend for more than six weeks, but you need to take a page from my book and talk to Em.”
“What, tell her I’m breaking our rules by developing feelings?” I roll my eyes. “That’ll go over great.”
“Honesty, right?” Mike stands and stretches. “Maybe she feels the same? Maybe she doesn’t? But tell her, and figure it out.”
The thought sends a flutter of hope through me that I quickly squash. “Even if she is, I still don’t see how it could work.”
“Not everything needs a perfect five-year plan, although it took me a little too long to learn that myself.” Mike stretches. “I’m gonna crash, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re overthinking this. And that’s coming from the king of overthinking.”
“Night dude.” I sigh. “And Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks…” I smile. “For the advice, and for coming back from Asshole Island.”
He flips me the bird, and as Mike disappears into his room, I’m left alone with my thoughts. If nothing else, our conversation has settled something in me. With Mike acting human again, at least for now, one major pressure is lifted from my shoulders.
But as one source of stress diminishes, my confusion about Em only intensifies.
I tell myself I’m doing the right thing by maintaining boundaries—protecting both of us from inevitable pain. But even as I mentally recommit to our original arrangement, a part of me knows I’ve already crossed lines that can’t be uncrossed.
The way her face looked when I told her I needed to leave early—the flash of hurt in her eyes—will haunt me tonight.
I’ve spent years making women feel special in bed. But maybe that’s been the problem all along. I’ve gotten so used to being the guy who makes women feel good for a night that I can’t imagine being the guy who makes one woman feel cherished for longer.
But with Em…
I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away.
It’s better this way.
Safer.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
twenty-two
LINC
The puck slides perfectlyonto my stick. A split-second hesitation—just enough to draw the defender in—then I flick my wrists and send it to Maine, who’s streaking down the left side, leaving his opponent chasing ass halfway down the ice.
Perfect timing.
The crowd roars as Maine slams it top shelf. Seventy-eight seconds left in the period and we’re up by two. The scoreboard flashes 3–1, and the guys pile onto Maine like he just won us the Stanley Cup instead of scoring against Dartmouth in a regular-season game.
As we skate back to center ice, I catch Mike’s approving nod from the bench. Having him back as captain—with a new attitude—has changed the entire team dynamic. For the better, obviously. Amazing what happens when your leadership isn’t composed entirely of brooding silence and barely concealed resentment.
Coach Barrett signals for a line change, and I gratefully glide toward the bench, my lungs burning. I’ve been sharper tonight than I’ve been all season. My passes are connecting, my shots are on target, and my defensive positioning has been textbook.
