Page 112 of The Boyfriend Goal

“So gorgeous,” a deep, playful voice calls out from behind us.

It’s a voice I don’t recognize, but when I spin around, a tall, broad man with golden-streaked brown hair and a toothpaste smile is striding toward us. He’s wearing a well-tailored sky-blue suit, the kind athletes wear on game night.

Wait. I know who that is. But so does Maeve, evidently.

She gives a little wave to Asher Callahan. “So glad you enjoy the gorgeous foliage too, Ash,” she says, then makes a shooing gesture. “Also, hello? Don’t you need to, I dunno, suit up for the game?”

He smacks his forehead. “My bad. I almost forgot I have to score some goals to impress…” His sharp eyes linger on Maeve for a long beat before he adds, “my friend.”

“Go, go, go,” she says, still sending him away.

When he heads off to the locker room presumably, we’re all staring at Maeve—who’s watching Asher walk off. And is there something sparking in her hazel eyes? Dare I say it? “Maeve, do you have a gleam and a glow?”

Whipping her gaze to me, Maeve crinkles her brow like that’s crazy. “Please. We’ve been friends forever. And he’s besties with my brother.”

Fable purses her lips. “Asher’s your friend, and your brother’s best friend? That’s like a double dose of gleam and glow.”

“I’d say,” Everly puts in.

“Excuse me! We were talking about your G&G,” Maeve says, pointing to me and maybe, possibly, deflecting from the talk of Asher.

“Actually we were talking about foliage before someone called you gorgeous,” I correct, because facts matter.

But Maeve just scoffs. “Show us the rest of the arena, please,” she says to Everly in the most businesslike voice ever.

“As you wish,” Everly says, and while we walk, I glance down at Everly’s footwear—heels.

I flash back to the night we went grocery shopping and her comment about pole dancing. Then to my whole reason for having a list in the first place—to get out of my comfort zone. No reason I shouldn’t offer my friends as tributes too. “Hey, Ev, what if we all took that pole-dancing class with you?”

Everly’s eyes brighten. “You’d all want to?”

Yes, I just threw Maeve and Fable into the fire without asking. But I know my girls. Maeve is already nodding a big yes, please and Fable shrugs happily then says she’s in.

“I guess we have our next girls’ night out,” I say, as warmth spreads in my chest. But it’s bittersweet, too, since these girls’ nights out will end in the new year if I can’t find a grant or a job.

Before the puck drops, a loud, ominous voice booms through the rink, telling a tale of the Sea Dogs rising from the depths of the ocean, while electric blue and iridescent orange light displays of the logo and mascot play on the ice. Videos of the athletes fly by on the jumbotron.

When the announcer warbles the starting lineup at the end of the light show, I cheer for the goalie and the five other guys as they rush out of the tunnel and hit the ice, including the one whose last name I share—Christian Winters. But it’s not till Number Sixteen jumps over the boards a few minutes into the game that I cheer the loudest.

It’s a sound ripped from the depths of my heart—loud, exhilarating, ravenous. I’m not sure I can cheer any other way for Wesley.

Especially when he looks my way with a very public, private smile.

The game is raucous, with players jostling for the puck in the corners then slamming against each other as they fight even harder for it. Wes plays fast and aggressive but never dirty. Just sneaky, finding the puck and stripping it from his opponents.

But even so, neither team scores during the first period.

During the second period, the coach must have mixed up the lines, since Wes is out there with Christian a couple times, and they pass the puck back and forth as they fly up and down the ice.

“C’mon,” I shout, like my sheer will can force a goal. Then, the noise amps up to an electric level as Wes slings it back to my brother, who smacks it right past the goalie’s outstretched glove.

“Yes!” I shout, jumping to my feet and hugging my friends, like we all did it.

When we let go, I catch sight of us on the jumbotron, embracing each other to celebrate a goal scored by my brother and my secret boyfriend.

I like this secret. No, I’m falling hard for this secret.

After a decisive 4-1 win, the three of us meet Everly in the corridor, since she told us to come here post-game. She’s ushering the players out of the media room, and I tense briefly.

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