Page 88 of On His Team

Usually, the person is the least important part. The crush is mostly mine. I can carry it around by myself and have fun with it until I get bored.

But Rowan is already in this one.

He was in it before I knew there was one.

He knows what I order when we get food. He knows when I’m pretending not to be nervous. He knows how I get when I’m excited about something and lets me talk until I run out of air. He calls instead of texting sometimes. He notices when I leave things at Hawthorne. I know the exact sound of his laugh when I catch him off guard.

There is too much actual person in this crush. That is deeply inconvenient.

At a red light, I glance at my phone lying faceup on the passenger seat.

Nothing.

I immediately get annoyed with myself again.

He is probably at Hawthorne now. He has a life. College. Hockey. Friends.

Also, what exactly am I expecting?

“Rowan: Been thinking. Turns out I’m madly in love with you. Thanks for letting me know.”

I laugh once in the car. He would never! Then the laugh dies. Because that isn’t what I want either. I don’t want him to suddenly turn into somebody else because I said three words. I like Rowan because he is Rowan. Which feels suspiciously close to another thought I am not prepared to have. So I stop there. Absolutely not.

When I finally get home, I have accomplished nothing except making myself significantly more aware of a situation that did not exist this morning. When I close the door behind me, my phone lights up. My heart reacts so fast that I hate it before I even look.

Rowan: You left your water bottle.

I stare at the message. Okay. Just my water bottle.

Me: Keep it. I can never return to the rink again.

Three dots appear.

Rowan: Seems dramatic.

I stare at the screen, smiling despite myself.

Me: I confessed feelings at my place of employment.

Rowan: You said you like me.

Me: DO NOT REPEAT IT, ROWAN.

His reply comes almost immediately.

Rowan: Okay.

I close my eyes. “Motherfucker.”

Then another message comes through.

Rowan: Sure.

And I lean against my counter in my empty apartment and laugh like an idiot. Which does absolutely nothing to solve the problem. If anything, it confirms it. I like him enough that being embarrassed in front of him is still fun. That has never happened to me before.

Then Lucy walks out of the hallway, and I scream.

“What!” she gasps.