Hot as Puck(61)

Maybe just maim me a little. Cut off a finger or harvest an organ or something.

Anyway…

I miss you already.

Enjoy your day off, beautiful. Do something fun. I’ll be thinking about you.

The messages send a wave of happy sadness spreading through my chest, mixed with a healthy dose of confusion. My gut says these aren’t the texts of a man who’s planning to break things off with his friend-with-benefits, but my brain cautions that Justin wanting to talk face-to-face doesn’t bode well, and meanwhile, my heart runs around in frantic circles insisting that we should all jump into my car and drive to meet Justin at Brendan’s house right now because an entire day is too long to wait to confess the way we feel.

I haven’t felt this conflicted or confused since the day my mother told me she’d decided it was time to stop homeschooling and for me to join the rest of the kids at our local high school. She’d been happy to be home with me, but she needed to go back to work, and felt that the public school would do a better job of preparing me for college.

I’d been terrified, but excited. Eager to expand my social circle to people outside the group of friends who lived on our street, and simultaneously certain that I would never fit in with normal kids who hadn’t been born with a stutter, higher than average anxiety levels, and a tendency to babble inanely when they were nervous. The only thing that kept me from having a panic attack the first day was that I got to ride to CHS in Justin’s car, with my big sister and my friend in the front seat. By that point, Justin and I had been crochet buddies for years and he felt almost like family. Knowing that at least two people at my new school loved me and believed I could handle freshman year had made all the difference.

Looking back on the past decade-plus of friendship, Justin has been there for me more times than I can count. And I’ve done the same for him. When he was in meltdown mode his rookie season, it wasn’t Laura he turned to for help, it was me. Because we’ve always had a special connection, a quiet, solid friendship that isn’t as flashy or flamboyant as his wild weekends with my sister and their mutual friends, but is every bit as real. He is one of the touchstones in my life, a person I’ve always known I could trust to have my back and to give it to me straight when I need real advice, not meaningless platitudes.

And now I’ve put that at risk. Put us at risk.

How did I ever think this was a good idea? How stupid was I to fool myself into thinking that having sex wasn’t going to change things between us forever?

Even a dumb virgin should have known better, but I didn’t, and now I feel so lost. I can’t talk to Laura, that’s for damned sure, and I can’t talk to Justin, either, at least not until I untangle all the things I’m feeling. And that isn’t going to happen by nine o’clock tonight.

Finally certain about something, I text back—I’ll be thinking about you, too, but I can’t talk tonight. Or tomorrow really. I have to get up early to volunteer at the animal shelter, and then I’ve got lesson plans to put together for next week.

I think we should wait and talk after the game tomorrow night. Just seems like better timing.

Better timing for getting my heart torn into a hundred soggy, sad little pieces.

As if there’s ever going to be a good time for that. But at least Justin won’t be distracted by my messy emotions while he’s trying to focus on the game. I know him. If he has to hurt me, it’s going to hurt him, and no amount of meditation will be able to get him back on track if he’s lost a friend less than twenty-four hours before hitting the ice.

And it will be a friendship lost, I’m afraid. I don’t see a way back to where we were from here. I can’t imagine being in the same room with Justin and not wanting to touch him, kiss him, or see him smile in that way that I know is just for me.

Maybe I can get out practice. The message pops up on my screen, followed quickly by, Shit, no, I can’t. Coach is shuffling the lines. I need to be there.

I text back, It’s okay. Tomorrow night is good. That way you can focus on the game and we can take our time talking things through after.

All right. But remember your promise. If I don’t see some quality Sext Goddess action on my phone after the game, I’ll know who’s to blame for the break in the Badgers winning streak.

I nibble my lip, not sure I’ll be able to work my sexting magic while I’m this uncertain about what the future holds for Justin and me, but nevertheless I type, The Sext Goddess will be on her best—or rather, worst—behavior. And you’re not going to lose. Think positive thoughts.