Page 19 of Hooking Up with the Hockey Player

Because let’s face it, even if he does call me, even if we go out again a time or two, he’s only here on vacation. This was good practice, but that’s all it can be.

Once I’m in my car and about to back out of my spot, he holds up his hand in a wave. I wave back before looking behind me, pulling out, and driving away.

I spend the rest of the day restless, unable to settle into my usual routine of laundry, cleaning, knitting, and TV. It’s like Troy has short-circuited some key part of my wiring that’s been keeping me going for years.

I’m not sure I like it.

While I enjoyed our date, I’m scared of what seeing him again will do to me. If one drink and one brunch are enough to have me this discombobulated and unable to find enjoyment in the things I normally like, how much worse will it get if this continues?

And then what happens when he leaves?

After Jared, I was a disaster. A heartbroken wreck who couldn’t keep it together at all. The fact that I had two weeks of vacation scheduled was the only reason I didn’t get fired before quitting because I couldn’t have managed to go into the office at the car dealership his parents owned and ran and face everyone. When I did eventually return, because two weeks wasn’t enough to find the new trajectory for my life, especially when I spent the entire first week sobbing in my bed, it was as awful as I feared it would be.

I’ve never felt so alone as I did then. I was mortified, humiliated, and I pushed everyone away. My parents still give me more space than they used to, and I never figured out how to close that gap. Not that we were exceptionally close before, but even now, our weekly phone calls have a certain perfunctory quality that they didn’t before.

Or maybe it’s me. Maybe that event changed me so much that I haven’t been able to let anyone in since then.

Look at me now. I’ve moved to a new city, lived and worked here for four years, and I have a few acquaintances, but no real friends. The friends I had from college, I’m now only friends with on social media. The combination of moving away and not reciprocating their efforts to reach out effectively strangled those relationships. It’s a wonder I haven’t managed to do that here, too. Maybe it’s just because there are so few people to form relationships with in a small town that Brit hasn’t given up on me. Or maybe it’s because she feels lonely and adrift after her best friend moved away, so she’s trying again with me. Or maybe she just likes collecting friends.

And I’m terrified of getting at all close to the one man who’s shown genuine interest in me in years.

“Ugh!” I say aloud, groaning at the clothes as I’m putting them away. “What is wrong with me? I decided to change, to stop hiding, and now that I’ve poked my head out of my gopher hole, I’m ready to burrow back underground again? The whole point was to change! To do different things! And I did something different, and now my old things don’t feel right anymore, but the new things are too scary to lean into. What am I going to do with myself?”

Just then, my phone chimes with a text message.

Troy

Brunch was delicious. Thank you for inviting me.

My heart lurches at the sight, which seems like a bad sign. How is this guy affecting me this much already? That shouldn’t be possible.

I’m a master at keeping people at a distance. And yet …

I don’t want to with Troy.

I had a nice time too. Thank you for paying. That wasn’t necessary, since I invited you

Troy

It was our first date! Of course I paid. I told you I wanted to give you a more positive first date experience than a night out at a bar

The grin on my face is irrepressible, but I still feel the need to cover my mouth with my hand, as though hiding my smile will somehow dampen the joy I feel at a few simple texts.

It was much better than a date at a bar, though I did enjoy spending time with you in the bar last night

Troy

Me too

Heaving a deep breath, I finally drop my hand from my face, letting my smile free. Suddenly, I’m capable of accomplishing all of my usual weekend tasks, happily floating from laundry to dishes to cleaning the bathtub with no trace of the anxiety that plagued me before the texts from Troy.

Some part of my brain realizes that’s not actually better, and could in some ways be considered worse, but right now I just want to bask in the happy feelings and not worry about anything else.

When I sit down with my knitting in front of the show I’m currently binging—a rewatch of Parks and Recreation—my phone chimes with another text. My stomach swoops with momentary disappointment when I see it’s not Troy.

Brit

Hey! How’s your weekend going? I heard you were spotted at Cascade Cafe with a spectacular specimen of a man. Was it the same guy from last night?

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