Page 19 of The Import Slot
I know deep down, I shouldn’t pursue this, he’ll end up breaking my heart. I reflect on my time with Nathan, how that panned out, and how I crave excitement now. We broke up because I’d had enough of how he spoke to me; he always found reason to criticise me, call me dumb, and make jibes at my weight. Nathan threw about remarks on my failings rather than my successes, even when I tried to improve things. It took me a while, but I woke up one day; literally woke up and decided I was done. Things could have gotten a lot worse.
My mind flicks back to Ryan; perhaps we could have some fun while he’s here and keep feelings out of it. The turmoil twists in my gut.
“I’ll just see how things go—no pressure,” I say to Becca, but more to myself, if I’m being honest. We say our goodbyes, and I hang up, tossing my phone back on the bed. It pings again; Ryan this time. Seeing his name pop up makes my heart leap. When he saved his name, he added a hockey stick emoji messing with my whole formatting, but I can’t bring myself to delete it.
Ryan:Thanks for the accept on Insta. That picture of you in your jersey - hot.
My heart hammers. Does he think I’m hot? I definitely haven’t been called hot before.
I leave it on read, not sure how to follow up. I know he’s going through my photos, though, because when I flick back to Insta, a new like pops up from Ryan Preston every few seconds. Hesitating for a moment, I wonder if I should flirt back. Come on, Jen. Think.
I’m unsure if it’s the right thing to do, but I pick a photo I like of him and send it over, repaying the compliment.
Jen:This picture of you in your jersey is hot.
I attach the link to his draft photo, my hands shaking with nerves. The ticks turn blue, and the status changes to ‘typing…’.
Ryan:Ah yeah, that was a good day. I’m surprised you like that one. #GoJets.
His reply makes me laugh, and we message back and forth for a bit, our tones flirty and then a pang of self-doubt ripples through me. Why am I setting myself up for heartache? But a small part of me thinks it could be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
I debate having another snoop through his profile but decide against it. Instead, I watch old Jets games because that seems less stalkery. I’ve lost count of the number of games I’ve watched over the years, and I can’t believe I haven’t noticed him before. Though the Senators only play them twice in the regular season, he feels like someone I should have seen. He demands attention when he’s on shift. He’s quick, agile and doesn’t waste time.
I drag myself away to pack more boxes and make myself dinner before setting up my laptop at my dining table. I need to make progress on the job hunt and hand my notice in on this place since I have four weeks until I’m officially jobless. Leaving things until the last minute is not my style. I ping over a note to the estate agent with a heavy heart before opening my C.V. to get it updated.
I spend some time browsing job sites and sending a few applications before my mind drifts back to Ryan. Already, I feel like there’s something there: a spark, a connection, something.
I’ve let myself get too attached in the past. Letting guys use me for sex and then being completely devastated when they didn’t want commitment, even though I always knew that was the case.
I know why I let guys use me. I used to settle because I thought no one else would want me. My self-consciousness kept me from having a choice. Ryan’s admission lingers in my thoughts. But there is a little voice in the back of my mind that says ‘He’s an NHL superstar, he wouldn’t be interested in you, and he could have anyone he wants.’ That same voice also reminds me that he gave me his number and said I was his type, unless he’s only trying to get in my pants.
A few hours later, I decide to just play it cool. I’ll try not to get too into the flirting, try not to get my hopes up, and I’ll keep my eye on my dating app, just in case the love of my life shows up.
I apply for a few more jobs before closing my laptop for the night and taking a quick shower before bed. I climb in and check my matches, swiping through with a less critical eye just in case my aforementioned future love isn’t using his best photo.
I give up after a while, feeling sorry that my Saturday nights have come to this.
I text Becca asking if I can borrow her car next weekend to drop off some boxes at Danny’s place, and she replies with a link to a new TikTok video Vicky has posted today. It’s the team at practice this morning. Vicky has added a caption to highlight Ryan’s arrival, even though the video doesn’t focus on him in particular, not until the end anyway. The end of the clip shows the camera zooming in on Ryan. He’s standing next to Johnny, having a chat before he glances away, his attention taken elsewhere, and his face lights up. He’s beaming, and my stomach fills with butterflies. I can’t even cope; he’s too much. By looking at the comments section, the public also agrees that this is not just a regular cheerful face.
I open my WhatsApp chat with him, seeing he was last online a few moments ago, and I send him the link.
Jen:You look happy.
I see the ticks change to read, and his status flashes to online; my heart hammers in my chest. He must be watching the video because it’s a few minutes before he types a reply.
Ryan:There’s only one reason I’m smiling like that.
Jen:Pray, do tell.
Ryan:You.
Suddenly, it’s sweltering in my bedroom. Just one word causes a ripple of emotion through my whole body. I’m glad I’m lying down because I probably would have keeled over otherwise. I re-read it a few times before watching the video again. My heart is still pounding and there’s an ache in my core that I’ve never felt before. Maybe he does like me.
My hand wanders south, slipping into my underwear. Fuck, when did I get so wet? Have I ever been this aroused before? I couldn’t remember a time, but I pull my hand back and roll over, fully intending to go to sleep.
I last a full three minutes before I give in. My mind is replaying the video, and the look on his face is one I can’t forget. I rummage in my drawer for my bullet and it’s a further two minutes before I’m finished with it, shoving it back in my drawer with frustration.
It hasn’t helped even a little. I’d argue that it’s made things worse. I feel more wanting than ever, something else that’s never happened before.
