Page 18 of The Goalie

“I’m the same way as you,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower. “I haven’t found anyone else who’s like you.”

“Oh?” I hated that my voice cracked. I hated that it was filled with hope.

I should have told him I didn’t care whether or not we were alike, that it wasn’t going to erase years of mutual hatred and annoyance and frustration.

But I couldn’t help it.

The thought that we had something in common gave me a strong sensation of hope. Of how maybe this would work out.

I nearly rolled my eyes at my inner dialogue.

This? What was this anyway?

He nodded his head, dropping his eyes to my lips. Before I could stop myself, I bit my bottom lip. I wasn’t sure what the hell I was doing. I felt like I never outgrew my awkward teenage girl phase. But his eyes widened. It could have been my imagination, but I swore they darkened as well.

It was the same way he looked at me in the bedroom.

I wanted to go back there right now.

God, I was pathetic.

“So,” he said slowly, “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought.”

“This?” I brought my eyes up to his own.

While he responds, can you stop repeating one word he says and turning it into a question? You graduated with honors, for crying out loud. Make your degree mean you have a much better vocabulary than what you’re showing here.

My cheeks warmed. It wasn’t like the voice in my head was wrong. I was acting like an idiot who seemed to suddenly forget all of the words I collected over the course of my life.

“You and me,” he said. “I know we haven’t exactly been on each other’s good side for the longest time. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say since last night in the locker room, something has changed between us. I don’t know what it is. But I don’t want to stop, either.”

I swallowed. My mouth had gone dry. I took a breath and then another.

“I’m not saying I love you,” he continued, curling a stray strand of my hair around his finger. “But I’m not saying I don’t, either. I want you, Sam. I want you in bed and I want you in front of a TV. I just want you.”

I still had no idea what to say. But I did not look away from him. I just needed time to figure this out.

“I have to get to my game,” he said. His eyes dropped to my lips again. I wanted him to kiss me. But I didn’t. I didn’t know what I wanted. “Think about it. Let me know.”

He leaned forward, but he didn’t kiss me. It was like he thought better of it.

With that, he disappeared into the bedroom, grabbed his stuff, and left. I was alone with my thoughts and I had no idea what to do.

9

Dan

I shouldn’t have leftthings like that. I owed her more of an explanation. I knew I did.

But I was chickenshit.

I also had a game I needed to get to.

I stopped by my place and made myself spaghetti. As surprisingly tasteful as Sam’s eggs were, they weren’t going to fill me up the way I needed them to for a game. I needed carbs—lots of them.

As I ate, I couldn’t help but think about whether I was making the right decision or not. Me and Sam? In some kind of relationship? It seemed preposterous. Unlikely. Impossible.

And yet, there wasn’t that twinge of regret that normally accompanied a decision I knew I didn’t want to make. In fact, it felt…right.