Page 66 of Scoring Chance
Mel: You two are perfect for each other.
Mel: We can all see it.
Mel: Why don’tyoulet your guard down and give it a chance?
Josie: Low blow, Mel… And it’s not the same at all. He and I are total opposites. We have nothing in common. And if he’s so perfect for me, why is he seen on campus with every beautiful sorority girl BU has to offer?
Josie: Look, I’ve got to go to work, but think about what I said, ok?
Mel: Will do. Love you.
Josie: Love you back.
I promise Josie I’ll consider what she’s saying, but I can’t. And I wish I could get Ian’s perspective on all of this because he has an advanced degree in psychology. But I can’t betray Will like that. On the off chance that Ian would let something slip, Booker could find out that everything Will and I have together is just a ruse. And if Booker finds out Will’s been lying? Well, not only would it be embarrassing, but worst-case scenario… If the team ever found out, he’d never hear the end of it. And Will doesn’t deserve to be made a laughing stock. I fully agreed to this crazy scheme, and I’m not ratting Will out just because I need advice.
And honestly, I’m not so sure I do need Ian’s sage wisdom. I’m not saying my bestie isn’t the smartest, most insightful guy out there—he is. But I’m kind of afraid he’d side with Josie on this one. And I know for a fact that Phoebe would. She’s a hopeless romantic to her core.
I know they mean well, and I love them for it. But Will Franconetti isn’t part of my future, no matter how much fun we had last night, how easily I fit in with his family, or how much I love cheering him on. But it’s just not in the cards right now.
Will Franconetti is the right guy for me. It’s just not the right time for us.
And that sucks. In my storied Cinderella history, I’ve kissed a bunch of frogs and worn too many ill-fitting shoes. Will’s perfect in every way, but I’m not sticking around. And that means no Happily Ever After for me.
Sure, Will feels like Prince Charming. He sure as hell looks the part. And no one makes me laugh harder or smile more. But we’re at such different places in our lives. I’m on the verge of starting my career, and he’s just starting college. We’re bookends in a love story without a happy ending.
He should be free to experience all the fun and debauchery of college without ducking out of a party to see if his girlfriend had a good day at the office.Because I’m practically an “adult”, and he is a college kid. He’s twenty and a freshman in college. Young and stupid are practically requirements for freshman year.And though I’m not even two years older than he is, I feel like I’ve lived a lot more miles.I’m experienced and jaded. I don’t want to hold Will back or slow him down. Even though Chaz was obviously not the right guy for me, I know that, ultimately, I need someone older, more mature.
And that’s why I can’t indulge in my fantasies with Will. I know we said December, but I think we need to end things earlier than planned. We’ll go to the charity auction, strut our stuff, and then it’s over. After that, there’s really no reason to continue. Chaz has been silent for a while and I’m pretty sure I’ve dodged that bullet. Once the charity thing is done, I’ll have fulfilled my commitment and be able to walk away. If my heart shatters in the process, well, it won’t be the first time.
40
Will
It’s Monday afternoon, and we’re in the locker room suiting up for practice. Ollie’s regaling us with a story about his weekend and a party he went to at Kappa. I’m laughing my ass off while he’s describing himself stripping buck naked for the crowd before ripping some curtains off the rod and wearing them as a toga. “Dude, these guys were fucking pissed,” he tells us.
“Yeah,” Santos nods. “Because you fucking wrecked the place. I saw the pictures. You tore those curtains down, the curtain rod, and some of the wallpaper. Their place is fuckinnice, a lot better than our shithole, because they’ve got legacy donors and alumni and shit giving them money just for tax write-offs. What do we have? A guy named Doug who played for Toronto for half a season back in ‘98.”
“Hey, don’t shit on Doug,” Van says. “He’s a good guy. And he always sends a fruit basket at Christmas.”
“He does?” Ollie asks.
“Yeah, but I’m usually the only one around over the holidays, so uh…sorry I eat all the overripe pears and stale fruitcake.”
“Wait,” I say, trying to make sense of what they’re saying. It’s probably pointless, but I’ve gotta give it a shot. “You’re telling me the hockey house is falling apart because some guy named Doug doesn’t pony up the cash for repairs?”
“Woah, keep Doug out of it. He’s our claim to fame so far,” Van says, tying his hair back and suiting up. “It’s like this, ok? If you’re on scholarship, that covers room and board at the hockey house. If you’re not, but you choose to live there, what you pay for housing goes to the general housing fund for upkeep.”
“Yeah,” Kersey, the back-up goalie, agrees. “My girlfriend lives at the Honors frat house and it’s in good shape, but that’s because they don’t live like heathens the way you guys do.”
“Fair,” Van concedes. “And places like Kappa or the basketball team or the engineering house? They’ve got donors with big bucks that pay for additional upkeep and renovations.”
“Dude,” Ollie says, lacing his skates. “I heard the engineering house has a cleaning service. The fuck? We’re missing ceiling tiles in the kitchen, and they’ve got people in once a week to do their damn dishes.”
“We’re missing ceiling tiles in the kitchen cause you assholes took them down to use them as shields in a fake sword fight after we watchedGladiator,” Santos reminds us.
“It’s true, sadly, but it was also fun,” Van admits. “And hey, don’t look at me. I put my tile back.”
“So, what you’re saying is, we need to impress the donors this Saturday at the fundraiser, right? And they’ll take pity on us and give us a fuck ton of money for repairs or set us up on one of those shows on HGTV or some shit.” This comes from Mikalski, who loathes housework more than anyone I’ve ever met. I’m ninety-five percent sure the guy’s never run a vacuum. Well, he definitely hasn’t run one at the hockey house—we don’t have one.
