Page 62 of Changing the Playbook
“You’re not upset?” I ask, unable to keep the confusion from my voice. “You’re really fine?”
“I’m disappointed,” he admits with a small shrug. “But I’m not entitled to more than friendship just because I want it. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, and I don’t want that to stop. So if that means we stay friends, then I’m happy with that, Sophie.”
The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. “I’ve enjoyed it too.”
“So we keep being friends,” Mike says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. As if maintaining friendship with all this sizzling attraction is easy.
“I should probably head home,” I say, suddenly desperate to escape before I do something stupid like kiss him again. “I have a research paper due.”
“Yeah, I should tackle my growing pile of homework too,” he says with an exaggerated grimace. “I have a case study on rotator cuff injuries that’s been giving me nightmares. Every time I closemy eyes, I see anatomical drawings of shoulder muscles chasing me down dark hallways.”
The mental image pulls a genuine laugh from me, easing some of the awkwardness. This is what I’m afraid of losing—this easy rapport, the way he can make me laugh even when I’m tied in emotional knots. But I know the risk of falling for him has more risk, and right now I can’t afford to jump with no net.
We walk out of the batting cages, and I’m hyper-aware of the space between us. Before, he might have thrown an arm around my shoulders or taken my hand. Now, there’s a careful distance that feels both necessary and painful. In some ways, this feels worse than when he left me at the bar with a kiss on the cheek.
Then, there’d been the promise of more, if I wanted it.
Now, it feels like an end.
I turn to face him, suddenly awkward again. “Thanks for bringing me here. You were right about hitting things being therapeutic.”
“I have my moments of accidental wisdom,” he says with a crooked smile. “Though if you ever repeat that, I’ll deny it. I have a reputation for being a beautiful idiot to uphold.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t suppress a smile, despite everything that just happened and everything that just changed. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
As he turns and walks away, headed to his apartment, I can’t stop watching him, the confident set of his shoulders, the way he moves with casual athletic grace. I fight the urge to call him back, to tell him I’ve changed my mind, that maybe we could try to be more than friends after all.
But I don’t. Because Mike is leaving after this year. Because my mom’s health is unpredictable. Because I have Hazel and school and a million responsibilities that don’t leave room for heartbreak when it all inevitably falls apart. And because, to my surprise, he seems totally fine with my friend-zoning him.
So I stay silent, watching him and wondering why doing the sensible thing feels so much like making a terrible mistake.
eighteen
MIKE
My ankle throbs,and each pulse sends fire shooting up my leg, a reminder that three periods against Northeastern have consequences.
I shift in the stiff leather chair across from Coach’s desk, searching for a position that doesn’t make me want to scream. The medical staff cleared me to play—technically—but that doesn’t mean the joint has forgiven me for last night’s punishment.
It’s my first setback since taking the ice this semester, but I’ll be fine.
It’s theothersetback I’m more worried about.
Seven days. That’s how long it’s been since Sophie kissed me at the batting cages and then yanked herself back into the friend zone. Seven days of replaying that moment, wondering if it was a mistake to ask her if she really wanted me, even though I know the uncomfortable truth.
But every time those thoughts creep in, I remind myself of the promise I made: I only want to be with her if she genuinely wants to be with me. Not because she’s vulnerable. Not because she’s seeking comfort. Because she’s made a clear, deliberate choice.
And maybe it’s for the best anyway. Scouts pack the stands at every game now, their eyes locked on my every shift. My NHL dreams are finally within reach again after last year’s spectacular implosion, and a relationship might be the last thing I need.
I tell myself that enough times that Ialmostbelieve it.
Hockey has been my entire life since I could walk. Dad strapped skates on me at three, and I never looked back. But lately, I’m starting to wonder if there’s supposed to be more. If normal people have lives outside the rink that don’t revolve around ice time and protein shakes.
My fingers pick at the frayed edge of my jersey. “Why the hell did Coach want to see me?” I whisper to myself.
Maybe he’s going to tell me to stay away from Sophie. Because, while Coach doesn’t strike me as the overprotective-father type, maybe he thinks I’m not good enough for her and that she’s been through too much to date me. But before I can spiral further, the door swings open and Coach strides in.
“Mike!” He drops into his desk chair with the ease of someone who never played a contact sport, grinning. “Thanks for coming by.”
