Page 55 of Game Plan

“It’s even worse, now that I’m your test subject.” I hid my face in the crook of my elbow. “Can aliens come and snatch me now?”

“Stop being dramatic. Come on, it can’t be that bad. How do you feel about him?”

“Mason?”

“Who else? Yes, Mason.”

“I love being with him. It’s like a drug I didn’t know I was missing until I had a taste of him again, but for some reason, I don’t believe we have a future together. All I see is heartbreak coming our way. I can’t go there with him. It’s too risky. I just broke up with Jay. I need time to sort things out. My feelings are messy.”

“Will you go on a date with him if he asks you?”

I shook my head and pulled the sleeves of my sweater over my hands, rubbing the soft, knitted fabric between my fingers. “No. Like I said, it’s too complicated. There’s so much history between us…and many bumps in our road. What if being with him sends me back down the rabbit hole? What if I end up going back to putting pressure on myself and relapsing? What if I can’t deal with being with him that way? See? Just thinking about all the what-ifs and I’m panicking.” I blew out a breath. I was wearing a cream sweater and soft mocha-brown velvet leggings, but right now, they felt spiky and suffocating. “Things are never simple with Mason, and it scares me. I’m doing so much better these days. I can’t risk it.”

“Mel, relax. Don’t get worked up over hypothetical scenarios that don’t even exist. From what you’ve told me, Mason has always been good to you, no?”

I nodded multiple times.

“He has always cared for you, right?”

I nodded again.

“Did he ever do anything to make you feel bad about yourself?”

“No.” My voice was low. “Never. It was my own doing. All of it. I’m the only one responsible for the pressure I put on myself by trying to look perfect for him…or what I imagined perfection looked like in his eyes. I messed up. Not him. Still, I’m afraid he’ll trigger the broken part of me somehow. I can’t go through that again.”

“All right. Are you still attracted to him?”

I shrugged.

“Mel.”

“Fine. Yes. I am. Happy?”

“Do you wanna be friends with him?”

“I wish I could give you a straightforward answer. Like I said, it’s not simple with him.”

“It could be.” Cassidy enveloped my hand with hers. “We’ll talk about it later. I need to go back to work. Try to forget about him for today. At least, until the meet is over. Then, decide if friendship is something you’re willing to share with him. If the answer is yes, you two can build something new together based on honesty and respect. If it’s not, no harm done. Talk to him. Explain where you stand. If he really loves you, he’ll understand. Even if now isn’t the right moment, it doesn’t mean later won’t be. Learn from your past mistakes. And Mel? Putting pressure on yourself won’t bring anything good. Live in the moment instead of worrying about catastrophic scenarios that might never come true. From everything you’ve told me, Mason loves you for who you are. Don’t try to be—or look like—someone else because you think it’s what he finds attractive, because clearly, it’s not. You’ve been through a lot. Give yourself some slack. Baby steps, as they say.”

“Yeah. Maybe. I hate it when you make sense. Anyway, you speak like a real psychology major student.”

Cassidy poked her tongue out and moved to stand. “You need anything else?” She pointed to the counter filled with baked goods behind her.

“A croissant, please. Ham and cheese. I don’t usually eat that before a meet, but this morning I need some comfort food. My head is a mess.”

“Right on it. I’ll warm it up. Give it a minute.”

“Thanks, Cassie.”

“Anytime. And everything will be all right. You’ve come a long way since high school. I don’t see any reason why it would all go to hell now. You possess a strong support system around you. If Mason really cares about you, he’ll be one more player on your team. Think about that.”

I watched her as she returned behind the counter. Seconds later, Carl, the math major guy who seemed enamored with my best friend, entered Hot Shot and stood in line in front of Cassidy’s station. He was about five foot ten, had longish, wavy red hair, and chestnut-brown eyes. Wearing a beige plaid shirt underneath a brown knitted cardigan and matching corduroy trousers, he was the complete opposite of my friend with her outgoing persona and gothic appearance. Her Hot Shot uniform, consisting of a black T-shirt, mocha apron, and dark jeans, fit her wardrobe perfectly. People said opposites attract, and I had no idea if it would turn out to be true in this case. From the red hue coloring Carl’s cheeks and the way he fidgeted with the strap of his book bag while watching Cassidy serve the customers in line ahead of him, I could tell he was nervous.

I smiled as I sipped the last of my latte.

Cassidy caught my attention when she gestured for me to pick up my order. I reached the counter, and she handed me a tray with a warm ham and cheese croissant and a cup of green tea.

“Tea?” I asked.