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About as much asI want a hole in the head.

Me

No.

Okay, well, I’m here if you want. But you need to talk to her, buddy. Bottling this kind of shit up isn’t healthy. You two have been toxic since I can remember, and now I find out you like her? Funny way of showing it.

Like? Nah. Try obsessed, try infatuated, try fucking insane with need. But how much of this is just lust, a craving to get her in my bed as many times as I can? Half the time, she pisses me off, and the other half, I’m doing the same. There’s no denyingmy need to fuck her every way to Sunday. My need to fuck her out of my system. But I also can’t deny the insane attraction runs deeper than my dick. Each time I’ve looked at her, I see past those faux smiles and cold blue eyes. There’s pain there. I feel it in her. I feel it for her. And that shit makes me feel all kinds of confused.

I said I’ll talk to her.

Okay.

Sitting at my kitchen counter, coffee in hand, I close out our message thread and scroll down to Kate’s contact information. We haven’t called or texted each other since I sent her a ton of wink emojis that night when she turned up to the game wearing my jersey.

The number of times I’ve scrolled back through those messages. When I changed my phone, I made sure they got transferred over, like a fucking simp.

Me

There’s some cute blonde in the arena wearing my jersey. Happen to know who she is? **ten thousand wink faces**

Kate

**Blushing faces** Surprised you spotted me from the other side of the ice.

I’m not. You were the first and only thing I saw.

Fuck me. Where did all this go wrong?

I take a sip of coffee and then start typing out a vanilla message asking her to meet up or at least reply so I can explain,but who am I kidding? The only reply I’m likely to get is my second,“Go fuck yourself.”

So instead, I tap on the top right, tentatively put my phone to my ear, and wait.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three rings.

Four.

She’s not going to answer.

Voicemail.

I cut the call and begin typing out a message.

Me

Hey. I tried to call, but it went to your voicemail. Listen, can we talk? There are some things I need to say.

Like I dream about you nightly.

Sent.

I toss my phone to the side and groan. What a fucking mess. I don’t expect us to be best friends, but if I’m going to bear the torture of being around her, then I need to at least get to a place where she doesn’t want to rip my head off.

Rising from my stool, I head for an ice-cold shower but only get as far as the hallway when my cell buzzes.