Page 53 of The Casanova Complex

And a man can dream.

I just would like to know I’m not the only one who’s losing their mind over a kiss.

A kiss that wasn’t supposed to happen. Because I took a vow to myself to get it right this time and to not let meaningless shit keep happening to fill a void.

But Merritt feels like anything but something to pass the time.

Plus, I’m telling myself that kissing is the exception. Only kissing.

Because I need that kiss to keep playing the way I need to. To win.

It’s the exception. The only exception.

Yes, I am actually trying to convince myself as much as it sounds like I am.

Fuck.

My phone vibrates in my hand, pulling me out of my head, and when I look down, Dad’s name is on the screen. I exhale as my thumb hovers hesitantly over the screen.

I need to answer.

I should answer. It’s been days, shit, maybe even over a week since I last spoke to either of my parents, but the last few times have weighed on me for days after.

And then I feel guilty for feeling that way and for dodging their calls.

I love my parents. Seriously, they’re the fucking best.

A bit over-the-top at times, but where do you think I learned it from?

They love me, and they check in constantly. My mom sends me care packages when I can’t make it home, and my dad calls me at least twice a week to catch up on what’s going on in my life.

But…

I hate that there’s a but.

To them, hockey isn’t something I’m going to make a career out of. They’ve always been supportive of me, but they didn’t take my love for hockey seriously. And when I didn’t get drafted, that really sealed their thoughts about it, it seemed. That was about the point that they stopped asking about how hockey was going, when every single conversation turned into them asking about what my plan was when it didn’t work out. A lecture about how graduation was closer than I thought, and I couldn’t put all my eggs in the same basket. How I needed to prepare for the future. How I needed to be realistic.

It hurts, feeling like my own parents have given up on my dream. How instead of cheering me on, it feels like they’re shutting me down because to them, it’s no longer attainable.

I don’t know how else to tell them that hockey is my life and that I’m not giving up on something that I’ve spent my entire life working for, even if they think it’s too out of reach. Especially now that the draft is done.

It feels like when I do talk, it just circles back to the same thing.

So… I’ve been avoiding it.

I swipe and answer the call before I can pussy out, hitting the speaker button.

“Well, hell, my favorite son finally answered the damn phone.” My dad’s deep timbre echoes around the cab of my truck, and a smile flits to my lips.

I chuckle. “I’m your only son, Pops. Makes me the favorite by default.”

“Semantics. What’s been going on? Haven’t heard from you in a bit. Seems like you might be avoiding your old man.”

Guilt claws at my chest, and I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. “Just been busy with class and hockey.” I don’t include the part about the fiery-mouthed, gorgeous girl who’s really been keeping me busy. Even when I’m not with her.

“I get it. You’re in college—these are the best years of your life, and your ma and I aren’t going to chase you down.”

A voice interrupts in the background. “He’s lying. I will absolutely chase you down, Bennett Jude! I’m your mother!”