Page 101 of That's Too Pucking Bad

When she’s out again, I sit on the edge of the bed, staring at her like an idiot.

She loves me?

The thought won’t leave me alone. It’s like a loop, playing over and over in my head.

I stay there until the sun starts creeping through her blinds, my head a mess, my chest tight. When her alarm goes off, I shut it off before it can wake her.

She needs to sleep, not deal with this mess.

But I need air. Space.

I write her a note, leaving it on her nightstand.

I set your alarm. Don’t miss class.

And then I’m gone.

The second I’m home, my phone’s ringing.

“Yeah?” I answer, not even looking at the caller ID.

“Zane,” my dad’s voice booms through the line. “I’ve got a meeting in Thailand. Missing this week’s game.”

“Okay.”

“Coach will record it, and I expect you to play your ass off. Got it?”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

He hangs up without another word. Typical.

I toss my phone on the counter and grab a water, trying to focus.

Practice starts in an hour, but my head’s not in it. All I can think about is her.

At practice, it’s a fucking disaster.

“Zane!” Coach yells. “Get your head outta your ass!”

“Got it, Coach,” I snap back, skating to the next drill.

But I don’t got it. I keep screwing up plays, missing passes, and pissing off my teammates.

Noah skates up beside me, his brows furrowed. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Bullshit.”

“Drop it.”

He gives me a look but doesn’t push.

I’m a fucking mess. My body’s here, but my head’s somewhere else. Somewhere with her.

Her laugh. Her touch. Her goddamn words.

She loves me.

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