by Cindi Madsen
Yeah. Coming from money is an understatement. Trust fund is about as mythical as a unicorn where I come from.
This was good. I could focus on all the reasons it wouldn’t work out. All our differences.
I’d grown up with second-hand clothes, my hockey gear the only splurge, but that was also in better times, when my parents weren’t quite as strapped for money. With my sisters getting older and closer to college age, I was sure that only caused more stress.
I had a responsibility to my family to pay them back for letting me take this opportunity, even though they needed me at home. The backup plan was already taking several hits—I had about a week to drop classes without it screwing over my GPA, and I might have to do that.
I wasn’t quite ready to give up the idea of a backup, but my main goal was still NHL, and if I had to drop classes that would make it my only option.
Which meant I needed to focus on hockey.
No matter how sexy the distraction was.
Chapter Seventeen
Megan
In a lot of ways, I felt like I was rocking my Fresh Start Checklist.
1. No more holding back who I am to try to fit in
2. Start working on my math degree, exact field TBD, probably with an emphasis in engineering.
3. Make good, not-fake friends, who’ll have my back instead of stab it
4. Discover all the best places to go in Boston
5. Find a guy with boyfriend potential
a. Likes me for me
b. Common interests
c. Understands me—or at least makes an effort to
d. Great sense of humor
e. Makes an effort to be with me
f. Honest & loyal
6. No more doing stupid things for attention, especially self-destructive things
Only a month into college, and I’d checked off, or was in the process of checking off, most of my items. Of course, stupid number five stood out as I scanned down the page, which undoubtedly had a lot to do with the fact that Valentine’s Day was tomorrow, and all the pink and red hearts plastered everywhere.
I mean, if I wanted to get super literal, I could say that I did find a guy with boyfriend potential, one who hit every qualification.
Deep down, I thought that maybe Dane and I were meant to be, despite what he claimed about not doing the relationship thing. We connected. I knew he was attracted to me. I’d seen him staring when I zipped up my boots on Saturday—not to mention I’d felt just how attracted he was the morning we woke up together.
A surge of heat traveled up my core as I remembered the delicious sensation of his hard length pressing into me. Whenever my friends talked about being horny, or gossiped about how big a guy was, I faked interest, thinking that while I was a fan of kissing, I could give or take sex.
But now I knew what it was like to feel a combination of thrill and aching.
Unfortunately, I also knew what it was like to have three ignored texts and one unreturned phone call. Even in class, he showed up late and bolted out, and the one time I’d caught up he’d blown me off with an “I can’t talk. I’m in a hurry.”
I’d visited the diner twice after eight, only to find myself eating alone. I’d slept even less this week than usual, and the seven hours I snagged with Dane almost two weeks ago—while rare and gloriously refreshing—weren’t nearly enough to carry me through fourteen days with very little shut-eye.
So yes, I found a guy with boyfriend potential. He just didn’t want to be my boyfriend, because he didn’t do the whole relationship thing, and lately he hadn’t made time for me, or even done much of the friend thing.
My chest ached at the realization, the loneliness I felt all week digging its claws deeper into me. There it was, confirmation of the cold hard truth I hadn’t wanted to face.
While procrastinating my homework the other night, after I sent a text to Dane that went unanswered, I looked up statistics on college relationships. Math facts usually calmed me.
But the ones I found were on the not-so-calming side of the spectrum.
I dug into my bag of Peanut M&M’s, scowling at the red and pink candy shells—even my chocolate threw my lack of a love life in my face—and pulled up the article I’d bookmarked for torture reasons. As if not having him text or call, and not even getting so much as a “hey” or a stupid wave after the game last Sunday wasn’t torturous enough.
I tried to play off the last one as Dane having to be careful around my brother. But nope, the damn statistics were right, and while I usually loved math for being so black and white, I hated it for the same reasons now.
College students prefer short-term, casual relationships over long-term relationships because it allows them to focus on their academic and career goals.
After we left Bodega the other day, Dane mentioned he really needed to focus this week so he’d know for sure if he could keep up with the hard classes he’d considered dropping.
Deadline for that drop was Monday. I might hold out hope things would go back to normal after that date passed, but the article wasn’t done with depressing stats.
By senior year, 72 percent of students have experienced a one-night stand.
Further proof the guys here weren’t all that interested in being my potential boyfriend. They wanted casual hookups instead.
I’d accidentally been one in high school, and I didn’t want to repeat that. Then again, maybe my list was unrealistic. I should have attainable goals for my fresh start.
Either way, I knew where Dane stood. He was a hot hockey player who had girls constantly hitting on him, and he didn’t want a serious relationship. For all I knew, this past week he’d been hanging out with other “late-night friends” who were more like booty calls. Maybe even more than booty calls, but if I went down that black hole of sadness, I might never come back from it.
Still, it’s time to admit that he’s not the boyfriend I’m looking for, even if that fact makes my heart shrivel up into a tiny, sad knot.
The finality of the thought made sharp, cutting strings of panic bind my lungs, and for a second I felt that out-of-control desperation that’d led me to shoplift. To replace my sorrow with adrenaline; to finally have someone listen when I called instead of half-ignore or placate me with empty words when I tried to get their attention.
In spite of how hard I worked on replacing bad thoughts with healthy, positive ones, a dark one crawled up and whispered that maybe if I called Dane from jail, he would at least pick up.
Number six leaped out at me, reminding me I was no longer doing self-destructive things for attention. I don’t think that way anymore. Bad attention isn’t the same as good attention, and if you crack now, you’ll undo all your progress.
I didn’t give out my trust easily, and I still hadn’t earned 100 percent trust back from Aunt Tessa. Beckett had looked past my shoplifting indiscretion, and I didn’t want to disappoint him again—honestly, that’d been worse than jail.
Time to refocus. Keep busy with good activities.
I eyed the shelf that held my comic books. I had my classic collection from when I was younger, but after I decided I didn’t know who I was anymore, and that I wanted to be a better person who didn’t resort to stupid stunts to cope, I’d added more of the girl-power ones, like Bitch Planet and X-23. So technically there was a bit of lawbreaking in them—which I was wholeheartedly onboard with avoiding in real life—but it was all about the characters’ tragic backstories. They became stronger from them so they could fight the good fight, and at a time I really needed it, it made me feel like I could do the same.
I considered rereading some of my favorite issues, but an antsy sensation worked its way through my limbs. I needed to do something. To act.
I grabbed my Boston hot spots list off my corkboard. Going alone wasn’t ideal, but I could do it. It would be better than waiting for a text or call that wouldn’t happen.
Vanessa walked in, tossed her backpack to the side, and then flopped back on the bed. �
��Ugh, guys are the worst!”
Amen, sister. “Did something happen with Justin?”
“He’s busy with another girl tonight.” Vanessa rolled to her side, her eyes glossy with unshed tears. “I tried to be open to it, but I don’t want to see anyone else, so I hoped he wouldn’t, either. We started casual, but I kind of got used to the idiot, and I thought we’d become…more.”
I almost spouted off statistics on how apparently that was all most college students wanted, but they hadn’t made me feel any better, so I decided to disregard that instinct. “I’m sorry. That sucks.”
I twisted a strand of my hair back and secured it with a bobby pin. “I know you didn’t ask, but I don’t think he’s good enough for you. From what I’ve seen, he’s got the personality of a pet rock.”
Vanessa snort-laughed. “He is kind of boring. Except for the sex.”
“Well, while I’m sure that’s nice, I bet there are guys out there with the whole package.”
“That also have nice packages?”
I laughed, but then I found myself thinking of straddling Dane again. Bad thoughts. Bad, sexy thoughts that’ll only get me in trouble.
I smothered the longing that’d risen up to taunt me and said, “I’m actually going to this improv show tonight. You wouldn’t maybe wanna go with me? I’m not sure how many guys we’ll meet, but with any luck we’ll laugh enough to keep from caring about our guy-less night.”
“Your hottie friend isn’t going with you? That guy looked like he had the whole package.”
My lungs squeezed, painfully tight.
Vanessa sat up. “I hope that didn’t come across as…it was just hard not to check him out, but girl code is a big deal to me. I know you introduced him as a friend, but I saw there was more. From both of you, I thought.”
“Apparently it’s more one-sided than I hoped.” I scooped up my red purse, the one Beckett told me I should get rid of because the bright color basically begged someone to steal it. Tonight, feeling strong and invincible was more important than his silly warning. “So, no. Dane’s not going with me.”
Vanessa jumped off the bed and opened her closet. “Then hold up, because I am.”
…
“That was awesome,” Vanessa said as we came out of the improv theater. “I wanted to stay back at the dorm and sulk, but I didn’t at the same time, you know?”
I dug my gloves out of my coat pocket and slipped them on. “I do. It’s why I was desperate enough to go out alone if I had to.”
“I’m glad that I came along for the ride.” She glanced back at the theater with the glowing sign again. “I think I want to be an actress now. Or maybe I’ll go full comedienne. Except I’m not really on-the-spot funny. So, yeah, let’s stick with actress.”
“What are you studying? I feel like a horrible roommate for not knowing that yet.”
“Undeclared right now, actually, with a minor in trying-not-to-freak-out-about-it.”
I laughed. “Well, I think you’d make an awesome actress. You’re certainly pretty enough.”
“Aww, thanks.” Vanessa tightened her coat against the chilly air. “What about you?”
“Math—I’m not sure which field I’ll concentrate in yet, but there are a lot of engineering options that look really fun.”
Vanessa looked at me like I had a few screws loose. “Fun? I knew there was something I didn’t quite trust about you.”
I gave her a playful shove and she laughed, white puffs of air forming in front of her face.
“Seriously, though, I was kind of a jerk when you first moved in. Ciara and I were friends, and I hated to see her go—I actually thought she’d change her mind, which obviously she didn’t. So I didn’t give you a fair shake, sure I’d never like you as much, and determined not to make friends with anyone who might up and leave. And then you were so cool tonight when I really needed a friend.”
“Admittedly, I’ve had enough mean-girl interactions that I don’t fully trust girls in general. But after hanging out tonight, I think I’ve been missing out not trying to get to know you better.”
“Word. We’re going to fix that. Clearly Justin’s out as a friend, and I need someone with more personality than a pet rock—seriously, just you saying that makes me feel better about how things went down.”
“You know, it could be just because Valentine’s Day is coming up, and he’s lacking the balls to go with the, um, big package you mentioned.” Maybe this wouldn’t make her feel any better, either, but it was another article I’d come across in my search of sucky statistics about relationships. “Apparently right before V-Day is one of the most likely times to breakup. That way the other person doesn’t have to feel guilty about not making reservations or buying a present. They figure dumping is better than disappointing their no-longer-significant-other on what’s supposed to be one of the most romantic holidays.”
“Well, the holiday and Justin can both kiss my ass.” Vanessa tugged me toward a noisy pub. “Come on. Let’s grab some food.”
Since I’d been too busy feeling sorry for myself earlier and ended up skipping lunch and dinner, my stomach grumbled at the mention of food.
We found a table in the corner, and there were certainly a lot of cute guys our age crammed into the place tonight. A quick glance at the TV, and I had a guess as to why. The Bruins were playing.
One of the guys in yellow and black faked, passed to his teammate, and his teammate took the open shot. I cheered right along with the rest of the crowd as the puck soared across the goal line, adding a loud two-finger whistle, and a few of the guys who’d had their attention trained on the TV screen turned our way.
“Mmm.” Vanessa checked out the guys seated on the stools along the bar. “Looks like I need to become a hockey fan.”
I sighed. “Dane plays hockey for BC. And so does my brother,” I quickly added when Vanessa raised an eyebrow. “I go to their games all the time—at least the home games. Yesterday’s was at UMass and I didn’t feel like driving almost two hours.” Not for someone who can’t even bother to return a text.
I could’ve hopped in the car with Lyla and Whitney and gone to support my brother I supposed, but he’d understand me missing a few games, especially when he had his girlfriend in the stands to cheer him on. “Anyway,” I said, getting back around to the point I’d meant to make, “if you ever want to go with, just let me know.”
“I’ll seriously consider it.”
Within a few minutes, a trio of guys came over and offered to buy us drinks. Vanessa told them she’d rather have a burger, and just like that, she and I had our meals paid for.
We watched the game with the guys, and when I yelled at the ref for a crap call, I found several surprised expressions aimed my way.
“Sorry, I get kind of into the game,” I said.
“Don’t apologize,” Stuart, the guy nearest me, said. “It’s hot.”
Hot? Looks like he checks off one of my desired qualities. Well, I hadn’t added attracted to me, but still. Plus, shared interest definitely fit, and maybe a little more conversation would extend that to interests.
The problem was, I couldn’t stop comparing him to Dane. The guy was more pretty boy than athletic, with an edge of preppiness that I used to find attractive but couldn’t quite summon up the desire for now.
When the guys were trying to calculate how much their coupon would take off their order, I rattled off the answer as Stuart pulled up the calculator on his phone. Then I attempted a “don’t worry, three out of two people have trouble with on-the-spot calculations” joke that didn’t land with anyone—not even Vanessa. Either no one realized what I said, or they thought I was stupid. If that were the case, none of the guys seemed to care. Stuart even flashed me an ain’t she adorable grin.
But I enjoyed the game and my food, and it at least served as a reminder that there were other guys in the sea who seemed genuinely interested in me.
Still, when Stuart moved from just sitting super-duper
close to putting his hand on my thigh, it didn’t give me butterflies. Honestly, it only gave me the urge to scoot away, so I pushed back and excused myself, claiming I needed a trip to the restroom.
Once inside, I pulled out my phone. No new calls; no texts. I scrolled to Dane’s contact information and tapped the message bubble. Those three unanswered texts stabbed at my heart. It was one thing for him to not want a relationship, but slamming the door on our friendship was a shitty thing to do, and it sent the ache deeper.
I’m going to go out and flirt and enjoy my weekend.
No more thinking about Dane Kowalski.
Chapter Eighteen
Dane
For at least the tenth time tonight, my phone was in my hand, Megan’s name pulled up on-screen. For an entire week, I’d done so well avoiding her. But with classes and practice on hold for a couple of days, our big game won with one second to spare, and several sleepless hours both behind and in front of me, I wanted to talk to her.
To see her pretty face; to hear her laugh. To see which earrings she was wearing.
Resist the urge. You know that once you see her in person you won’t be able to.
Ox walked through the living room and crossed into the kitchen, and I pressed the X button on the PlayStation controller in my hand to pause the screen. A few months ago, Hudson had been sulking and wasting all his hours day and night playing this stupid zombie videogame. It was a bit mind numbing, but I needed either more numbness or more of a challenge.
“Hey, you want to play me?” I asked my roommate as he opened cupboard doors and peered inside.
“The Bruins are on. I’ve been watching it in my room.”
More hockey. Of course. Not that I didn’t enjoy watching the games, but tonight I’d seen it on TV and couldn’t muster up any excitement. Since I needed some kind of company, I turned to the game.
Ox came over with a bag of potato chips and offered me some.
“Dang, that was tight,” I said through the crunch of the chips.
“Yeah. You should’ve seen this play they pulled off in the second period.” Using the most words I’d ever heard him string together, Ox explained it in excruciating detail.