Page 26 of Forecasting the Forward

Warning bells go off in my head.

Details … details …

StickUM92: My name is Jax.

StickUM92: And I guarantee we’ll be meeting soon, NerdGirl. Now how about you tell me your name?

I don’t answer, because my phone slips from my fingers, dropping to the tile floor, and shatters the screen.

StickUM is Jax. My Jax. My Jacob.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. My luck is abysmal.

I waited for a while.

I could say it was only because I wanted to be a good friend to NerdGirl, but that wasn’t the only reason.

It’s Becca. Ithasto be.

That’s why I started dropping personal details. I figured if it wasn’t her, whoever NerdGirl is would ask some questions. Want to know where I play, what my last name is, and if I’d like to meet up. Knowing the little I know of Becca, I’m not surprised she clammed up.

If I could have willed my phone to ding with a new message from NerdGirl, I definitely would have done it. I hope it was coincidental timing. It’s the middle of the day. She’s clearly at work if she just got yelled at by her boss.

That little voice in the back of my head, however, is letting my self-consciousness come to the front. I told her my name and that I play hockey, and she goes radio silent.

I thought Becca was starting to like me.

Maybe not.

A week goesby with no messages from NerdGirl or Becca. From the moment I told NerdGirl my name and that I play hockey, I never heard from Becca again. I thought she’d at least acknowledge when I sent her the bouquet of hyacinths, considering her profile image on ChatBook is a picture of an incredibly similar floral arrangement. Hindsight, however, tells me I recognized her personality all along. Both Becca and NerdGirl are peaceful. Soft. Encouraging. Both make me want to be around them more. So why the radio silence? Am I that awful of a guy that Becca can’t fathom interacting with me in person?

I texted her good morning a handful of times, but received no response. My self-confidence took a sizable beating, that’s for sure.

Probably could also be because I talked about sex. I blame that mostly on the beautiful meteorologist who has taken up residence in my brain a good chunk of the day. Seeing how bashful Becca got when we talked about porn at dinner that night, I wanted to see if her online persona would also be shy.

I’m sure there’s an element of the chase with Becca, because I’ve never had someone dislike me so quickly. But it’s also just her. Dinner with Becca was a breath of fresh air. Puck bunnies want to talk about hockey. Money. Fame. I could immediately tell that Becca didn’t care about any of that. We talked about pizza and bad dates, for fuck’s sake.

I sent her flowers again, as well as a pizza from the restaurant I took her to. It’s as if she never received anything. Hell, maybe she didn’t.

Not wanting to bug Becca too much, I stop initiating texts. I don’t want her to forget I exist, though, so I continue to send her flowers each week. I may not be texting Becca, but I always send her a note with the flowers asking if she’ll go on another date with me. Fortunately, training camp is starting up, so I’ll have lots of things to keep my mind off of both BeccaandNerdGirl.

By the third week of September, I remember why I hate training camp. It keeps me really busy, which allows me not to think about the beautiful woman I’ve had on my mind since we last spoke four weeks ago. But I’m fucking exhausted.

I try to stay active during the off season, and I continue with four to five workouts per week. But it’s nothing compared to what the coaching staff throws at us the closer we get to the regular season.

“Jesus, I’m getting old,” Grant pants as we rest against the wall outside the cardio room. “Six miles is ridiculous. We don’t go that long on the ice.”

“It’s called conditioning for a reason, dickhead,” Gabe drawls as he strolls past us. Asshole looks like he didn’t even break a sweat.

“How are you not exhausted?” I ask, taking deep breaths as my heart rate begins to slow down.

Gabe gives us a leering smile. “I get good cardio every day. Sometimes twice a day. My stamina is unbeatable.”

“Jackass,” Grant mutters.

“Green isn’t your color, Nally,” Gabe shouts as he continues down the hallway.

“The fuck does that mean?”

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