Page 110 of The Boyfriend Goal

“I’ll take care of it,” I say, beaming as I picture the display already. I can show the hardbacks but also put up a placard with info on where to download a free text-to-speech app as well as the audiobooks. And as a bonus, maybe all this effort I’m putting into the recs will make Thalia’s reference for me stand out even more.

Thalia smiles at Wes, then sticks out a hand. “I’m Thalia. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he says, shaking. “I’m Wesley.”

“Oh, I know who you are. And I’d appreciate it if you’d destroy Colorado tonight. I hate their team so much,” she says with a growl that reveals some serious vitriol for his opponent.

“Me too,” Wesley says. “So, count on that.”

She gives a crisp nod—my boss, who’s evidently a hardcore hockey fan—then heads off while Wesley turns from me to serve another family.

I’m a little amazed by this man and his hidden talents. But perhaps more awestruck at my matchstick reaction that came out of nowhere. At my unexpected desire to protect him.

But as I watch him, his ease with people, his charm, I realize my reaction didn’t truly come out of nowhere. It was born from the last month and a half of getting to know him.

Later, after we’ve cleaned up, we head to the car. “We can mark off number six now,” I say.

Wes shakes his head, sad boy face in effect. “No, we can’t.”

“Why? That was volunteer work for you and me.” I’m confused. Why wouldn’t we cross it off?

He sighs deeply, and once we’re alone in the car, he runs a hand down my leg. “Doesn’t count. I said yes because I was feeling jealous and possessive.”

My reaction is slow—a blink, then a long stare. Before Tom even arrived at the book display, Mister Hockey was jealous of the attention I might have received from the firemen? “You showed up today because you were pre-jealous?” I’m secretly fizzy from this revelation as we leave, pulling into traffic.

“And justifiably so,” he says, owning it. “But we still need to work on the list.”

It’s a good reminder that we have a project to focus on. Wes is around for a few more days, then he travels again for a stretch of games. Time will run out if we’re not careful, and we won’t get to finish the list.

“What if we volunteer at a dog rescue for the next month? Seems we should do the volunteer part more than once anyway. So it should be a month-long thing,” he says as he drives along a hilly city street.

A warm, hazy sensation spreads in my chest. A month feels like it means something. It feels like a part of figuring this out. Like it’s somehow something that connects us even more to each other.

Settle down—you’re living together for at least another month. That’s all it means.

“We should,” I say, keeping my voice even so I don’t read something that isn’t there at all in the let’s do it for a month idea. “And a dog rescue feels right. For both of us,” I say, trying to ignore the flutters in my chest. Then I notice the sticker curling at the edges of his shirt. “Did you wear this sticker, too, to stake a claim on me?”

He nods, proud and certain. “I did.”

Funny—there’s something I want to stake a claim on. Something I’ve been imagining since I moved in with him.

Maybe it’s something I can do after the game. And just like that, I have a plan for tonight—what to do during the game, and what to do after.

34

THE GLEAM AND THE GLOW

Josie

As I get ready for the game, I can hear Greta’s voice loud and clear. There’s only one thing to do with a baggy shirt. Belt it, baby.

I tighten a peach crocheted belt around my waist as I peer in the mirror. Yep, it’s a shirt dress now, and this belt’s shade looks good with the royal blue of the Sea Dogs jersey that lands right above my knees. I’m wearing dark gray leggings under the jersey.

Seriously, why don’t hockey teams make jerseys for regular-size people? Fine, they don’t have regular-size people playing the sport. And this is one of Wes’s actual jerseys, not simply the kind I could pick up in the team shop. But Christian will never know that. Since, well, the team shop sells all sorts of sizes. Christian also won’t know for another reason. My brother doesn’t pay close attention to my clothes—nor should he when he’s playing hockey.

Still, my nerves rattle around as I look in the mirror, checking out the outfit. I look like a hockey girl. It’ll be obvious to everyone I am. Including my brother. And I feel weird not telling him, given the way he’s helped me out.

As I’m tugging open a drawer to find something else to wear, the doorbell chimes. That’d be Maeve, since she’s meeting me here. I race to the front door and let her in.

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