Page 5 of Top Shelf
The guy hadn’t even been in a steady relationship during his tenure with the NHL. He had one thing and one thing only on his mind—getting the puck into the net.
He was kind of an inspiration.
And oh shit, I’d just left him on read!
Me: Uh sorry. Yes. Yeah.
Me: I mean yes?
Me: I mean, I can totally come over. I don’t drive though. Is it okay if it takes a while? It’s pissing rain and none of the bus stops are covered.
I was about ninety-eight percent sure he was going to ignore me after that mess of a text.
Quinn: I can pick you up. Send me a pin.
Oh shit. Oh god. Ohhell.
There was no stopping my panic attack. There was only riding it out. Putting my face in my pillow, I held it firmly and screamed as I rocked back and forth. For me, these things were like an old boiler with too much pressure. I had to release something in my chest, or bad things would happen.
My parents called them temper tantrums.
My therapist called them meltdowns from overstimulation.
I called them a giant fucking inconvenience because they overwhelmed all of my senses until I could let go of all the feelings pent up inside me. But I’d learned to cope quietly and hold it in until I was alone—which, luckily, I was.
It only took a minute until I was calmer, but of course, Quinn had already texted again because leaving him on read was apparently a thing I was doing.
Quinn: Cool if you don’t want to. But I’m not a serial killer or anything.
Me: I live in a frat house. Probably a few future serial killers here. It’s fine. Give me a sec.
Me: I’m not a serial either killer by the way.
Really? Was that what I just said to him?
I sent the pin, then waited for him to tell me never mind, because why wouldn’t he? Instead, he sent me a thumbs-up, and I had to remind myself that he was older and thumbs-ups weren’t sarcasm to his generation. Just like the cry-laugh face wasn’t sarcasm.
He wasnotmaking fun of me.
“Knock knock.”
I glanced up, my heart hammering, and found Colton staring at me with a confused frown. “Hi. Hey. What’s up?”
He walked in and folded his arms over his chest. “You’re crying.”
“What? No, I—”Oh. I guess I was, kind of. I wasn’tcryingcrying. But I was definitely leaking.
He took another step closer. “I’m in the mood to hit someone. Who was it?”
“No,” I told him with a sigh. “I just got overwhelmed for a second. My routine is all off. It’s raining.” I waved my hand uselessly at the window like he needed me to point out that water was falling from the sky. That was a better excuse than the guy I’d been crushing on since the photoshoot wanted to hang out and I was still an awkward mess because in the six weeks since I’d decided to lose my virginity, I still hadn’t.
Which was going to make the hangout totally awkward. I was going to have, like, six inappropriate boners, and he would probably—definitely—notice.
Colton sighed and sank down next to me, pulling the half quail out of my lap. “What is it?”
“Button quail. With a hat and a Spanish guitar.”
He smiled. “Can I have it when you’re done?”
