Page 10 of Lovesick (The Minnesota Mustangs #1)

A STRICTLY PLATONIC LOVE AFFAIR

MERIT

C rew Calloway is an enigma.

As much as I (sort of) hate him, I have to give him credit where credit is due: he’s one persistent bastard.

I was expecting to coast by dinner completely unscathed, yet here I am, sitting across from the only man who’s ever made me come while simultaneously sitting adjacent from my bull of a father who would rip the world to shreds if he found out that his goody-two-shoes daughter wasn’t so…

good …anymore. I never thought I’d see Crew again.

I honestly didn’t want to. And right now, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel.

If my life wasn’t already a labyrinth of dead ends and steep bluffs, this just makes things a thousand times more complicated.

If my father sniffs out even the faintest trace of amicability between the two of us, it’s game over.

Not that hating Crew is difficult in any aspect.

Does he seriously think I’m such a priss that I wouldn’t have slept with him if I’d known he was a hockey player?

Is he wrong, though, Merit? You wouldn’t have.

Yeah, but he doesn’t need to know that .

Maybe Crew’s never been royally screwed over in his life, but trusting people doesn’t come easily to someone like me.

Someone who gives and gives and gives even after all the love runs out.

I learned quickly that fragile hearts are the most susceptible to pain, but to live a life with a guarded one is a sentence worse than death.

I don’t have one-sided beef with hockey players because they’re the actual devil’s spawn. I have one-sided beef with hockey players because I was on the receiving end of a nasty breakup with one.

My sophomore year at Rutgers University, I met the sweetest guy at a frat party my roommate dragged me to.

Parties were never my scene. I was a simple gal—my ideal Friday night consisted of some much-needed bed rotting, a serving dish of Kraft Mac he never asked me if I was okay; he never called—he disappeared off the face of the earth.

I only found out about his infidelity when Ashley caught it on video at an exchange.

I was never familiar with devastation until then. His betrayal was like a serrated knife through my gut. A part of me wished that I’d died up on that stage. I was so tired of feeling. I just wanted everything to stop.

When I rallied the courage to confront him after I got discharged, he didn’t even try to sugarcoat anything.

He didn’t try to absolve himself. He told me brazenly that I was dead weight—that he was actually the victim in this situation because his teammates constantly poked fun at the fact that there was something wrong with me.

They gave him grief for being with the sick girl.

He was too much of a coward to stand up for me.

My incident was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Now the whole school knew that I was a ticking time bomb waiting to drop dead at any moment.

There I was, oblivious to the fact that the entire hockey team thought I was a loser and that there was a roster of girls waiting for Felix’s attention the minute he inevitably dumped me. I was nothing but a laughingstock.

I made a promise to myself, fighting for my life in that hospital bed, that I’d never give anyone the chance to hurt me again. I never told my parents the full story. If they knew everything that happened, they’d never let me date again.

After Felix, I don’t trust Crew not to treat me like some breakable burden if he were to ever find out about my heart condition.

Besides, with trust comes a deeper relationship, and a future isn’t really something I think about often.

Growing close to someone is a privilege, not a promise.

That includes marriage and a family. I mean, how am I supposed to potentially walk down the aisle and say “I do” to my future husband knowing that he’ll have to be my caretaker for the rest of his life?

I stab the mixed greens on my plate with a fork, swirling the sodden leaves around in a small lake of balsamic vinaigrette.

I’d normally eat this up in a heartbeat, but with everything that’s come to light tonight, my appetite is nonexistent.

My mother slaved away in the kitchen for hours prior to Crew’s arrival.

If I’d known he was our guest of honor, I would’ve told her to throw him a Pop-Tart and call it a day.

I force myself to eat what little my stomach will allow, and I wince when the nauseating mix of food turns to sludge beneath my molars. Crew, however, is shoveling lemon chicken and orzo into his mouth like the damn plate will be taken from him at any moment.

My father, still thankfully unsuspecting, looks at Crew with a sort of pride that I’ve never seen before—shy, new, and just a tad bit enviable. I’ve seen him grow close to his players over the years, but it’s never been like this before.

Suddenly, indignation licks between my shoulder blades as I tighten the grip around my utensil.

I’d be lying if I said that stabbing Crew hadn’t crossed my mind.

This stupid, clueless hockey player has somehow infiltrated every aspect of my life in less than a week.

My dad likes him, my mom likes him, the whole school probably likes him.

And now I’ll undoubtedly have to see him on a regular basis when I was more than content with tucking him and the memory of that night far into the recesses of my brain.

“You know, with Crew’s talent and skill level, he’ll be signed to the NHL in no time,” my father boasts, compiling a conglomeration of chicken and salad on his fork kabob-style. “If he were still eligible, he probably would’ve been this year’s top draft pick.”

Pish, that’s not that impressive. It’s not like he’s in the NHL.

“That’s wonderful,” my mother gushes, apparently not immune to whatever look-at-me-I’m-so-great signals Crew is emitting like he’s a goddamn satellite dish. “What an accomplishment at such a young age.”

“Uh, thanks,” Crew muffles around a mouthful of food.

Uh, thanks , I repeat in a low, very accurate imitation of his voice in my head.

I mutter under my breath, choosing to fill my piehole instead of using said piehole to divulge just how little I want to be at this kiss-ass party.

My dad claps Crew on the back, jolting his whole body forward and nearly making him choke on his soggy spinach.

“You should see him on the ice. One of the fastest skaters I’ve ever coached.”

He’s also a liar who lures women into his bed under false pretenses.