Page 21 of The Boyfriend Goal

I’d rather take a puck to the chin than read a fucking essay.

And this trip down Romance Memory Lane was brought to you by The One-Night Stand That Ended Too Soon. But…it’s for the best. Just because Josie and I had one great night doesn’t mean we’d vibe beyond ice cream and the bedroom and random conversations that were—let’s face it—easy to have, given how we met. It’s not hard to talk to someone who’s wearing next to nothing as she bargains to gain entrance to a snooty art gallery.

Besides, my ex wasn’t all wrong. Hockey is my life. I eat, breathe, and sleep it when the season starts, and that’s what’s happening in a few more days. Resigned to not seeing Josie again, I push up from the bed, get dressed, and return to the bathroom to scrub some toothpaste on my teeth. After, I splash water on my face.

That done, I return to the room, looking for my wallet when I catch sight of a white notepad by the entrance to the room.

Huh.

I head over to it. The notepad is propped up next to the door. My name is on the first sheet, with an extra flourish on the Y. She left it there, so I wouldn’t miss it, and my chest pounds with excitement.

I grab it in record time, turning the page. Her handwriting’s neat, with plenty of space between the words, and I’m grateful for that.

Once upon a time, I moved to San Francisco. My first night in town, I met a guy who reminded me of a book.

No one has ever—in my whole life—compared me to a book before. That’s like comparing a truck to a blanket. They don’t go together. With some skepticism, I flip to the next page.

Because he fucked like a page-turner you didn’t want to put down.

And I crack up. A deep belly laugh first thing in the morning. That’s so her. You think she’s going to say something sweet, then it turns out she’s a dirty girl. With a genuine smile, I turn one more page.

Maybe I’ll see you around the city. It’s big, but it’s small too. You never know…

XO Josie

Is it just me or does this note feel a little like a clue? Like she’s a siren in a video game, darting down a passageway, saying come find me.

I’d follow her. I’d look for her. I’d chase her and catch her. Maybe that’s what this is. A little treasure hunt. A riddle, perhaps.

But that’s stupid. If she wanted to get together, she’d have left her number. Not a series of clues. It’s fine she didn’t. Just fine.

I take the three pages, rip them off carefully, and fold them in half, then quarters. I resume the hunt for my wallet so I can save these.

Wait. Where the hell is it? Did she take off with my wallet? Is that why she’s gone?

My skin goes cold. There’s no cash, but my ID and credit cards are in there. What if last night was some long con into identity theft?

You’ve seen too many movies, man.

Or maybe not enough. My pulse spikes as I search the room, but then it slams hard against my rib cage in relief when I spot the vegan leather wallet on the floor by my side of the bed.

I kneel to grab it when I catch sight of a swath of black fabric. Is that…?

I grab it from under the bed.

I am not responsible for the smile that takes over my face. Fate is. Because yeah, it’s a motherfucking clue. This scarf she left. This note she wrote.

This scarf is a glass slipper, and I’m taking it. I know where she lives—in that yellow building on the block by the record store.

I check out of the hotel and walk several blocks to my car, which is littered with tickets, and I don’t even care.

I’ve got a damn good excuse to see my Cinderella again.

That afternoon, I’m racking the bench press next to Asher in the Sea Dogs’ weight room when Max comes in, all glower and attitude. The grumpy goalie travels with his own storm cloud. “You missed last night, Newman.” He grunts as he passes me, heading for the free weights.

At the start of practice today, Asher gave me a hard time for being a no-show at pool, even though I texted those jackasses last night while I was waiting for Josie outside her place. Told them I wouldn’t make it. But Max is wired to give me a hard time. And to use that awful nickname.

“I wouldn’t really say I missed it,” I remark as I add one more plate.

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