Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I’m not unhappy with Logan. If anything, I want more of him. I miss my boyfriend.
“The time apart is tough,” I tell Daisy.
“I can imagine. But what’s your solution? It’s not like he can quit hockey. And you’re not dropping out of college with only five months left in your senior year.”
“No,” I agree.
“And you don’t want to break up.”
I’m appalled. “Of course not.”
“Maybe you should get married.”
That gets a smile out of me. “That’s your solution? Get married?”
“I mean, we both know it’s going to happen eventually.” She shrugs. “Maybe if you guys had a more permanent commitment, it would make this stressful transitory period easier for you. Like, whenever you’re feeling the distance, you won’t have to stress about drifting too far apart because that extra-solid foundation is there to keep you stable.”
“It’s not a terrible idea,” I admit. “And I do want to marry Logan, absolutely. But our problem is time. Even if we wanted to elope, when would we have the time?” I sigh miserably. “We’re always busy and/or in different states.”
“So then I guess you have no choice but to suck it up,” Daisy says.
She’s right.
It’s difficult, though. I miss him. I don’t like coming home from class to an empty apartment. I don’t like turning on the TV in order to catch a glimpse of my boyfriend. I don’t like cramming for exams and being too tired to go out and see a movie or have dinner with him. I don’t like Logan returning home after a particularly tough game and crawling into our bed, bruised and sore and too exhausted to even cuddle.
There simply aren’t enough hours in a day, and it’s even worse now that I’m running the station. When I started college, I wasn’t sure what line of work I wanted to go into after I graduated. Originally, I thought about being a psychologist. But then I got a job sophomore year producing a campus radio show, and it made me realize I’d like to be a television producer. More specifically, I want to produce the news. Now that I’ve picked a career path, it’s harder to blow off class or call in sick to work if Logan suddenly has a free hour or two. We’ve both got other commitments that are important to us. So, like Daisy said, we just have to suck it up.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t mean to be such a bummer. Logan and I are good. It’s just hard sometimes—”
My phone beeps with an incoming text. I glance at the screen and smile at Logan’s message. He’s letting me know the team landed safely in California. He did the same thing yesterday when they got to Nevada. I appreciate that he always checks in like this.
“One sec,” I tell my friend as I type out a response. “Just sending a quick text to wish Logan good luck on his game tonight.”
He answers instantly.
LOGAN: Thanks, babe. I really wish you were here.
ME: Me too.
HIM: I’ll call you after the game?
ME: Depends how late it is here when you call.
HIM: Try to stay up? We only talked for like 2 minutes last night :(
ME: I know. I’m sorry. I’ll drink a bunch of coffee today so I’m more awake!
But although I keep the first part of that promise—chugging coffee like a fiend—the caffeine only makes me crash harder when I get home from campus that evening. I’m dead on my feet. Barely have enough energy to eat dinner and take a shower.
By the time Logan texts me at midnight to chat, I’m already fast asleep.
4
Logan
GRACE: How’d the press conference go?
ME: It went OK. I blew it on a couple questions, spoke too long. G answers everything short and snappy. He’s an old pro, tho.
HER: I’m sure you did great <3
ME: Well, Coach didn’t pull me aside afterward to fire me, so I assume I passed the media test.
HER: If he fires you, I’ll kick his ass.
I smile at the phone. I just got back to the hotel after tonight’s game against San Jose, and I’m still feeling energized. Eventually the exhaustion will crash into me like a tidal wave, but the adrenaline of a game typically takes a while to drain from my system.
ME: Anyway. EAM.
HER: EAM? I’m too tired to try to decode that.
ME: Enough about me. Tell me about your day.
HER: Can we talk about it tomorrow? I’m in bed already. It’s 1 a.m. :(
I check my phone display. Dammit. Of course she’s in bed. It might only be ten p.m. here, but it’s way past her bedtime on the East Coast.
I imagine Grace all snug and warm beneath our flannel bedsheets. It’s freezing in New England right now, so she’s probably sleeping in her plaid pants and that long-sleeved shirt with the words SQUIRREL POWER! on it. Neither of us knows what it means, because the shirt has a pineapple on it. She won’t be wearing any socks, though. She sleeps barefoot no matter the temperature, and her feet are always like little blocks of ice. When we’re curled up in bed, she presses them against my calf because she’s evil.