Page 31 of The Boyfriend Goal

FATE HATES ME

Wesley

I don’t believe in luck. I believe you make your own luck through work and practice and skill.

But what in the ever-loving fuck is this bullshit? Does fate hate me? Is this my comeuppance for eating ice cream five nights ago when it’s not on my meal plan? That’s a helluva price to pay. Maybe this is the universe’s payback for the time I didn’t read To Kill a Mockingbird in school, but looked up the SparkNotes instead? Then did the same for every other book that followed.

If so, karma has a funny sense of humor, but I’m not laughing.

Hold on. I know what this is. This has to be a prank. A fantastic, elaborate prank. Like the time Max and Asher loosened the top on my water bottle before my first game last season, and the liquid spilled all over me while I was on the bench. The ESPN cameras were on me and caught the whole thing.

I laughed it off then. Except I’m not laughing now as I rasp out, “Josie?”

When…shit.

I’m not supposed to know her name. Christian’s only ever called her Jay, clearly a nickname based on her first initial. But he must not notice the way her name is strangled by my throat since he claps me on the shoulder and says, “Thanks again for helping out. Always knew you were a good one, Bryant.”

He yawns, checks his watch, and says, “I gotta go.”

He strides over to the flirty, outgoing brunette with the scar on her chin and the cat-eye glasses. She’s wearing a black skirt and a white button-down shirt, unfairly sexy. I jump back in time to before the game when Christian was telling us about her. How the hell could he call her quiet? There was nothing quiet about Josie. Especially when she asked me to bend her over the bed and fuck her hard.

Christian wraps her in a big bear hug. “Bryant lives in a safe ’hood,” he says, then lets go and flashes her a satisfied grin. “Guess that means I won and you got yourself a bodyguard after all.”

Right. He wants me to look out for her—not date her.

No shit, Sherlock.

Still, my help-a-teammate-out vibe has never been so flattened like a pancake as it has been tonight.

“Yes, a bodyguard,” Josie repeats, clearly flustered, but Christian doesn’t seem to pick up on it.

Everly does though. Tilting her head, she lifts a brow curiously, studying Josie’s reaction, then mine. But she’s our PR woman, and I don’t want her thinking I don’t want to help. Or worse, figuring out I’ve already fucked my teammate’s sister.

That’d be bad.

Christian is so by the book. So rules oriented. I straighten my shoulders, adopt my media grin, then close the distance to…my new roommate. I stick out a hand in the world’s most awkward handshake. “Hey. Nice to meet you,” I say, the lie sailing off my tongue as easily as of course I read To Kill a Mockingbird did in eighth grade.

Josie’s pretty pink lips twitch for a few seconds till she says brightly, “You too.” She pauses before she adds, “Wesley.”

“All right,” Christian says, brushing one palm over the other. “My work as the problem solver is done.” He shoots me a stern stare with his steely ice-blue eyes, colder than his sister’s, more calculating. “See you at morning skate on Sunday. And don’t forget what I told you earlier.”

I fight off a grimace and paste on a smile. “We’re all good.”

As Christian heads to the players’ lot exit, Everly rolls her eyes, then says, “Let me guess what he told you earlier. Is it the antiquated, sexist, don’t touch my sister rule?”

She asks it like she wants to step on that rule and stub it into the ground with her heels.

“Um, yeah,” I say, embarrassed on behalf of testosterone and its stupidity.

“Men,” she says with a heavy sigh. “Seriously.” She turns back to Josie. “Listen, if there’s anything you need, I’d be more than happy to help out.”

“You don’t have to,” Josie says.

“I want to,” Everly says, boss mode activated completely. “I work with these guys every day. They can be?—”

“Ornery kangaroos?” Josie offers.

I shudder. “Kangaroos can be mean.”

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