Page 54 of Puck to the Heart
I retrieved my phone from my bag to find my screen covered with texts from Olivia.
Olivia
So
I had the WORST day
Meeting was ABSOLUTE SHIT
But I have a question
Why does Brad think you guys are bros?
Like wtf
Sorry this is a million texts
Oh my God I’m so annoying. Sorry
Barnes, you can text me all you want. I was taping my stick.
Is that a euphemism?
Do you want it to be?
I…don’t know what it would be exactly
Come home with me after my game and we can figure it out together.
Cold shot through my limbs as I realized what I sent her. It was bound to happen eventually, right? Sex? Logically, I knew the other things we did equated to sex. But on some level, despite how much casual sex I’d had in the past, taking one step further with herterrifiedme.Becauseof the connection we shared. Being in Olivia’s orbit left me wanting her with an intensity I’d never experienced, so there was no questioning how explosive sex would be. And I knew she didn’t care about my past hookups any more than I cared about hers.
Sowhywas I hung up onnotcrossing the final threshold with her? I wanted to share the final piece I’d reserved with her, but… some sad, broken little shard deep inside me cried to keep her sated physically, and to make itonlyabout her, so she’d stay.
How sad was that? The larger, more logical part of my brain knew better. Knew if she cared, she’d still want to be with me. But a smaller, meaner part screamed louder.
I hated how uncomfortable I got thinking about it, how much I wanted her, but the shades of reluctance still held on.
She wasn’t pressuring me, so why couldn’t I get over myself?
Was it too late to tell Olivia about this? Tell her how despite the persona I created and subsequently wrapped around myself, all those old hurts still lingered like the scent of bad cologne. The fault was not hers, but the wound remained, no matter who caused it.
“Wilder.” Coach Olsen’s voice scraped through my spiral like a skate sharpener.
“Coach?”
“Let’s talk.”
Inside the glass-walled office, Coach sank into the chair and rested his elbows on the desk. The graying hair at his temples and in his bushy mustache caught the light, and a pang shot through me when I realized our fearless leader was aging.
My chest squeezed uncomfortably as Coach considered me silently for a few moments.
“Ash. What’s going on with you?’
“Just trying to keep my head in the game, Coach.”
“Your head is not in the game, and it hasn’t been for a while. So, again, what’s got your laces in a knot?”
The dad joke set my nerves at ease. At least a little. But I didn’t know what to say.
