Page 150 of The Boyfriend Goal

A sports reporter in the front row tilts her head and lifts her phone higher, recording me. Everly arches a brow from her spot by the door.

I’m seated at a table on a riser, surrounded by a dozen members of the press. And I’m counting on them to do their part. To give me the help that I need.

But first I have to do my part.

“What do you want to talk about then?” the reporter in the front row asks.

I square my shoulders. “The fans,” I begin.

And the faces of the reporters are mostly disappointed. They probably figure this is nothing they haven’t heard before—we have great fans, and yada, yada, and we do.

“We have great fans,” I begin. I practiced what to say at home. I recorded myself speaking into my phone. I worked the ideas over. I listened to the recordings again and again, and memorized what to say. Because I don’t want to fuck up this chance. “We have the best fans. They show up for game after game.” I wave my arm in the direction of the rink, which was packed for all three periods. It’s been packed all season long. “They fill this place, and I know I speak for the entire Sea Dogs organization when I say we’re seriously grateful for the way they support us.” I pause, take a fueling breath, and march on. “And since you all support this city so well when it comes to games, I want to ask you to support the city in other areas too. I started volunteering at a local animal rescue—Little Friends—last fall. It’s life-changing, helping them help animals find homes. And there are so many great opportunities to volunteer in this city. A homeless shelter. Beach cleanup. Giving rides to seniors.” I take a breath. No one is stopping me. No one will. Because athletes are lucky—they have a platform afforded by uncommon talent. And sometimes you need to use it for good. And for your own good. Fortunately, they’re one and the same right now. “Or, my personal favorite—the library. Do you know how underfunded most libraries are? I didn’t know that for a while, but I’ve learned that in the past few months by volunteering at some of their pancake fundraisers.” I pause, letting that sink in. “Yeah, libraries still have to resort to pancake fundraisers to make enough money for their services. Which is great on the one hand, because I love pancakes.”

There’s a collective murmur in the media room.

“But it’s a shame, because the library has a lot of great services—and services that mean a lot to me personally because…” I pause, but only for a second or two, only because I’ve never said this out loud in public, and it’s not because I’m ashamed. It’s because there’s never been a need. But there’s a need now, so I offer up a part of myself so the public can see another side to this athlete. A more personal one. “I’m dyslexic. And libraries are doing amazing things to help everyone learn to read. They have some great initiatives going on, from offering audiobooks, to text-to-speech, to this really cool technology that reads a book to you like the sentences are words on a karaoke screen. But what they’re also doing at this branch in the Upper Haight is something called Your Next Five Reads,” I say and I’m on a roll. This is like flying down the ice on a breakaway. A clean open shot. “If you like George R.R. Martin, or If You Give a Pig a Pancake, or if you’re into classics like To Kill a Mockingbird, or books by S.A. Cosby, Kristin Hannah, or Ana Huang, there are recs for everyone, whether you read with your eyes or ears, or have the computer read to you. And to support the city’s library’s initiatives, I’m going to donate a dozen headphones to every branch of the library in the city of San Francisco. The boxes should arrive tomorrow.” I stop, give a smile, then lean into the mic. “If you’ve got a few extra bucks, maybe give it to one of these libraries. If not, go ask a librarian to suggest your next five reads. And thanks for coming tonight.”

I walk out.

Two days later, I pull up to the little library on a Friday morning. Thalia emailed me late last night and begged me to stop by. I don’t want to presume it’s anything but chatting about the volunteer work I’ve been doing.

But I also want to presume everything.

I head inside and find her on the second floor. The second she sees me, she claps. Eddie does too.

I wave my hands for them to stop, meaning it. “Stop. Seriously.”

But she shakes her head. “We’ve been inundated. Everyone’s been inundated but especially this branch since Josie started Your Next Five Reads here. Everyone is writing in and asking for book recs.”

“Thalia’s inbox is horrifying,” Eddie seconds, and he’s smirking.

“Sorry, not sorry,” I say dryly.

“Oh, you’d better not be sorry. I used the horror of my inbox to secure funding from the city. Have I mentioned donations have gone through the roof since Mister Hockey became Mister Library?”

Sunlight spreads in my chest, warming every inch of me. “Yeah?”

She nods. “And I’ve hired someone to manage it.”

Shit. Fuck. No.

That wasn’t the plan. That wasn’t the point. I mean, that’s great and all, but there’s one person who should do that instead.

Before I can even sputter out, “No, hire Josie. That was my plan,” Thalia says, “Would you like to be the one to tell my new hire that she has a permanent job here?”

55

TOP FIVE LIST

Josie

I’m helping Justine find some reliable sources on how to make the leap from working at a diner to working at a fine-dining establishment when my phone buzzes with a text. Wesley’s chime sound.

“One second,” I say, then steal a glance at the text from my boyfriend. Look at your email.

All I want to do is click on my email, but I need to finish with Justine. Five minutes later, I peel myself away, slipping behind the desk next to Penelope to check my phone.

It’s been lit up since Wesley’s speech the other night—a speech that shocked me and brought me to gloriously happy tears. Proud tears. Patrons here heard about it. Our donations increased a little bit, and the Boston team donated headphones too, following Wes’s lead.

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