Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
It slows me down but doesn’t stop me from trying to find Zach and my brother. I eventually spot them in a dark corner.
Zach’s got his back to me, but Seth sees me coming and nods for Zach to turn around.
I wrap my arm around his waist. “Hey.”
“Hi,” he mouths. Maybe he actually speaks, but I can’t tell because the music is so loud.
I lean in. “Are you hiding from me or all the other people?”
He frowns. “What do you think?”
“I hope to fuck it’s everyone else.”
His lips form a thin line.
“Are we cool?”
He shrugs awkwardly out of my grip. “Of course. Go have fun and celebrate with your teammates.”
“Are you sure?”
“I already have a babysitter. Thanks.” He gestures to my brother.
“Why don’t you two come hang out with the team?”
“It’s okay. Really. We’re cool. Casual. Whatever.”
I’m confused. “O-okay. Will you be around later? I have the day off tomorrow for the first time in two weeks, and I was thinking—”
Zach nods. “Come find me.”
Leaving him feels wrong, but I do it because it’s obvious he wants space. Though after not seeing each other for a while, that can’t be a good sign, can it?
It’s possible he’s the unicorn of boyfriends who’ll let me do my thing. Not that we’re boyfriends yet, but I’m hoping it’s at least heading in that direction. In past relationships I’ve had—if you can call them that—my partners have hated this side of hockey. And in their defense, it’s not like I cared if they were at my games or with me at after parties.
No, that’s a new thing I only have with Zach.
I don’t understand why it matters except I like him. Really, really like him.
I go back to the team and do my thing, losing track of time easily. It gets late fast, and when I check my phone again, it’s almost two in the morning.
And as expected, when I go looking for Zach, both he and my brother are gone.
24
Zach
That didn’t go exactly as planned. I wanted to make sure Foster knew I wouldn’t smother him, so I’d tried to act completely chill. Relaxed. Aloof …
I might have overdone it on the aloof thing.
He’d said he was coming back, and like an idiot I’d believed him. Seth and I had waited into the early hours because somehow it had taken me that long to see it as the obligatory offer it was as much as Seth tried to claim otherwise.
In my defense, I struggle to think clearly in Foster’s presence. Combine that with the arm he had around me and last night was torture. After almost two weeks without contact, I was starting to fool myself into thinking I could move on, then the hockey game happened.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
He was amazing. The type of incredible talent everyone in the room is drawn to, and when he took off his helmet and dragged his fingers through his sweaty hair, then winked at me, I melted.
Who needs porn when you have images like that to get you through?
I head to the library early Sunday morning to try and refocus, but I give up when I realize it’s impossible. I think my brain is broken.
It’s starting to get colder out, and I wrap my arms around myself as I hurry back across campus.
My ringtone cuts through the quiet morning air.
“This is Zach.”
At first there’s only a heavy puff and then, “I missed you last night.”
I stop walking. “F-Foster?”
“Who the fuck else?”
“I-I, ah—”
“Where are you?”
“Heading back to my room.”
“Good, I’ll meet you there.”
The call ends, and I’m left staring at my phone. He’s coming over? Now? I desperately want to turn on my heel and flee back to the library. Except now I’m curious. I gave him space, an easy out, but now he’s coming to me.
Is this what usually happens? Is he mad? Why does he want to see me? Oh, is this … is this a booty call?
Please let it be a booty call.
I walk so quickly back to my dorm that I’m almost jogging, and I promise my poor lungs this is their cardio quota for the month.
My nerves are thrumming by the time I get back to my room and change into clean sweats and a T-shirt. My hair is a spikey mess, but I attempt to tame it anyway, combing my fingers through it again and again until it almost looks normal.
I don’t know why I bother, but even acknowledging that can’t make me stop.
I’m expecting him to call when he gets here, so the loud knock on my door makes me jump. How does he keep doing that?
Maybe this wasn’t a great idea. Maybe I need to climb under my covers and stay there forever instead. It’s the much safer option. It’s the smarter option.
I open the door anyway.