Page 118 of The Casanova Complex

Merritt and I have spent the last couple of weeks enjoying what was left of winter break and stealing every free second we could get together.

But I’ve had games and conditioning and practice.

And she’s been picking up extra shifts at the pottery studio since they cut her hours at the bookstore on campus while the majority of students weren’t there for break.

Even though it can be challenging because our schedules are so hectic and sometimes opposite, it kind of just makes me appreciate the time that we do get together even more.

I fucking swear every single time I think that I can’t get any crazier about her, I do.

I discover something new about her, something that, until meeting her, I never would’ve thought twice about. Like how she’s obsessed with banana peppers on her pizza and has all of these colorful crystals scattered around her bedroom because she believes they all have a purpose. How she still packs Elliott’s lunch every single day, even though he’s twelve, and could do it himself. She loves taking care of Elliott and Dad. Even when she’s exhausted and running on empty, she makes time to put them first.

“I always get nervous going back to school like I’m in kindergarten again and it’s my very first time. You’d think that after all these years, I’d lose that anxious, overexcited energy, but nope, the night before the first day, I toss and turn and barely get any sleep. My hands are clammy, and I’m jittery. I’m such a weirdo,” she groans and takes another bite of her pizza.

“Cute,” I correct her. “I think it’s adorable.”

There’s a long, thin string of melted mozzarella trailing from the pizza to her mouth, and she giggles as I reach out and pull it free. She opens her mouth to let me drop it in.

See what I mean by cute? I never imagined being in a relationship could be this… natural? This effortless.

Maybe it’s just that way because it’s with Merritt.

We’ve been sitting on her bedroom floor for the last thirty minutes, scarfing this pizza down.

And honestly, I’m waiting for her to take that last fucking bite so I can kiss the shit out of her.

Earlier, she mentioned she’d been craving pizza… So, I, trying to be the world’s best boyfriend, decided to make it happen.

I texted Elliott, asked him if he’d be cool with having pizza tonight, swung by Jack’s, and picked up two extra-large pizzas.

“You know, I’ve just been thinking about how crazy it feels that this is the last semester of our college careers. We’re graduating, Bennett.”

The wry grin I force probably doesn’t reach my eyes because my chest feels tighter when I think about it.

I know that I could tell her about how I’m feeling. I know that if there’s anybody who would understand, it would be her.

Another thing I’m really not looking forward to about classes starting again is having even less time with her this semester, now that we don’t share any classes.

I mean, what can I say. I’m a man obsessed with his girl.

And I’m not fucking ashamed of it.

Merritt purses her lips. “Do you ever get nervous when you’re about to step on the ice? Knowing all of those people are watching? I can’t imagine the pressure.”

I shrug. “Not really. Before every game, I put my earphones or some earplugs in, and I give myself the pep talk of a fucking lifetime. I push everything else out, do some deep breathing. I tell myself that everything works out for me. I can fucking do it. And I swear by it. No one can hype you up the way that you can for yourself. It’s all about mindset. So no, I don’t get nervous,” I say, swallowing the rest of my pizza. “Except about Creative Writing projects where I’m supposed to write a romance with the stabby girl who can’t stand me. I was real fucking nervous about that. I still can’t believe we passed with a B on it.”

“B plus Bennett,” she sputters. “I mean, it’s not an A, but…”

When she trails off, I reach over and press my fingers into her soft side, in that spot that makes her squirm, until she’s giggling and begging me to stop.

“My girl, always the overachiever,” I muse, tossing her a smirk.

But I know now that’s because of how important it is for her to maintain her GPA.

How much she had riding on it.

I’m fairly certain that the only reason we passed with that B plus in the first place is because Merritt wordsmithed and proofread the fuck out of what I wrote. She pored over it, editing it, making sure it didn’t sound like a bunch of gibberish on the page.

As much as I hated having to do the project in the first place, it’s kind of kismet, right?