Page 113 of The Boyfriend Goal

Will it be obvious after all? Will my brother figure us out before we figure us out?

When Christian emerges from the pressroom, sweaty and elated, he beams my way. “You’re here, Jay-bird! Bryant told me you were coming,” he says, then wraps me in a gross hug.

“Eww. You smell.”

“Like victory,” he says, then Wes comes out next, looking insanely hot in his sweat in a way my brother does not.

His brown eyes are practically burning off my clothes. I feel singed from the heat of his stare.

Christian looks down at my outfit quizzically. “You’re wearing a Bryant jersey,” he says, but it’s toneless—an observation.

My pulse quickens.

I could say he’s my roomie. I could say he’s my friend. Instead, I lift my chin and say, “Yes, I am.”

That’s all. I don’t need to explain anything more tonight, no matter how Wes looks at me.

Everly pipes up, “Christian, can we get a picture of you two for social? It’d be great to have our captain and his sister. Hockey’s a family-friendly sport, after all.”

“Course,” he says, then drapes an arm around me.

As she shoots, Wesley watches, a knowing smirk on his handsome face. When Everly lowers the camera, she says to both players, “Thanks again. I’ve got everything.”

After the guys head into the locker room, my phone pings with a text.

Wesley: Wait for me by the players’ entrance. I want to take you home and show you how much I appreciate the way you cheered so fucking hard for me.

I shiver as I read it. I look up, turning to Everly, grateful for her deflection. “You’re a savvy PR woman.”

“That is true,” she says, then takes off while Fable and Maeve read the room, hugging me goodbye.

“You’re going to get gleamed so good tonight,” Maeve whispers.

Yes. I am.

Since I have a plan.

35

YOU LIKE TO WATCH

Josie

I’m waiting at the foot of the staircase, wearing only his jersey and a pair of white cotton panties. Music beats low from upstairs, something sultry with a lot of bass.

The lights are dim in the home, setting the mood.

The scene is set, but before I take the first step upstairs, I bring a hand to my chest. My heart is beating so fast. I try to catch my breath. I’ve imagined this so many times.

He’s taunted me with this scenario since the first night we were together when he said in the hotel: “Bet you’d watch me if you saw me jerking it to you.”

Yes, I would.

Tonight, I will.

I take the first step. The stair creaks—the soundtrack to desire. I ascend, my pulse spiking with every move. When I reach the top, the music grows louder. That’s Wesley for you—always having a playlist for everything. I turn down the short hallway and pad across the hardwood floor, heading toward the sliver of moonlight refracting through the doorway. An invitation. I step past it, then stop. A sound of pure desire crawls up my throat.

He’s stretched out on his bed, his big body sprawled in all his naked post-game glory. Bulging biceps, carved abs, thick thighs—and that gorgeous dick. He’s stroking it. But not with too much intention. Not like he’s about to burst. Like he’s just started. Like he’s weighing it.

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