Page 118 of The Boyfriend Goal

His forehead knits. He’s not dumb. Maybe he’s even putting this together. Hard to say. He gives a direct “yes.”

There you go.

“Good. Because I’m crazy about your sister, and I wanted you to be aware of that.”

He blinks. Furrows his brow. “You. Are?” It comes out a little strangled.

“One hundred percent.”

I don’t need to explain anything more. I’ve come to realize that just because I’m new to the team doesn’t mean I owe him an explanation of the choices I make when I’m not playing hockey. Or the choices his sister makes. All I owe him is the courtesy of the truth.

But there is one thing I want to underline. “Just to be clear, I’m not asking you for permission to date her.”

Christian swallows, pats his son’s back, starts to say something, stops, then says, “Right. Right.”

Like he’s adjusting to this new world order. Aren’t we all?

But with all that out in the open, maybe there is one more thing I need to say. Or really, it’s something I want to say. To show him that I prioritize her. Because that’s what a good teammate would do. “She was honestly worried about coming to you, Christian. Worried that you might freak out. Team rules and all.” I sketch air quotes, then pause, letting that sink in before I say, “But I don’t think you’d do that.”

He gulps. Rearranges his face. “Right. Of course not. I wouldn’t.” It’s a backpedal, but I get where he’s coming from and why he’s doing it, so I give him some grace.

“I didn’t think you would,” I say, even though I had no idea how he’d react. I’m just glad I don’t play hockey with a douche.

“I wouldn’t,” he says.

“Good,” I say, relieved to have this uncomfortable conversation done. Can’t say it was easy. But it wasn’t supposed to be. “I’ll see you at morning skate in an hour?”

“Definitely. Always,” he says.

As I push up to leave, I hear laughter, like bells. Then the sound of footsteps as a woman emerges, holding a small baby. Christian’s wife, Liv. She gives her husband a look. “Please tell me you didn’t pull that don’t touch my sister routine?”

I smirk as she stares daggers at him.

Christian shakes his head several times. “Not really.”

His wife turns to me, lasering her sharp stare my way. “Did he do that?”

And because I am a good teammate, I know how to handle this moment too—by having my teammate’s back. I smile and say, “We’re all good.”

Christian meets my face and mouths a relieved thank you.

Liv’s eyes drift to the table, then sparkle. “Oh! I love these books. I can’t wait to read them to the boys. Did you get these, Wesley?”

“I did.”

“Thank you so much,” she says, then turns to her husband. “I think the twins are hungry.”

That’s definitely my cue to go. I point toward the front door. “I can see myself out.”

But before I leave, Christian clears his throat. “My sister…Josie…she’s pretty cool. She’s five years younger. And she spent so much time with my aunt while I was playing hockey that there were times when I didn’t feel like I totally knew her. But that was because I was busy. Not because I didn’t want to get to know her. She was also really, really good at taking care of herself.” He pauses, his eyes thoughtful. “I get the sense, though, that you do know her.” There’s another pause—a weighty one. “And I appreciate that.”

“Thank you.”

He blows out a breath as he adjusts the fidgety baby in his arms. His tone shifts back to the commanding locker room voice I’m used to at the Sea Dogs arena. “And Bryant? Don’t be afraid to use your top hand a little bit more when you take a wrist shot. It’ll help with control.”

Instantly, I can visualize holding the stick, lifting it, smacking the puck. As if I’m already practicing the move, I flick my wrist, picturing the path of the shot. Yeah, that does feel good. “I’ll do that. I appreciate it.”

I guess that’s how team chemistry works.

---