Page 41 of The Boyfriend Goal

She takes a few seconds, seeming to consider that. “I’m sorry. Am I…cramping your style, living here?”

Ah, fuck. We are not at all in sync. On anything. “No, not like that, Josie.”

With big, guileless eyes, she says, “I’ll look for another place. It shouldn’t be a problem. I’m sure I can find something in a few days. I’m very resourceful.”

That is not happening. No way. Failure is not an option. “No.”

“No?”

I place more emphasis on the word: “No. You’re staying here. Your brother wanted you in a safe neighborhood. But guess what? I do too.”

She blinks, like that comment surprises her. “But I don’t want to put you out or make things weird.” Then, like an idea just landed in that big brain of hers, she says, “We can make rules for that too. Like what happens if you want to bring a girl over.”

She offers it like she’d be my matchmaker now. Maybe my wingwoman. Like she’s going to want to flop down on the couch next to me when I return from a date, rip open a bag of popcorn, and say, “So how did it go? Do you like her?”

And everything—every single thing—about that image is all wrong. Especially the flip side of it. What if she wants to do the same thing after she goes out with a dude? I grimace. But then, I try to do the right thing as I say, “Or if you do.”

It comes out like there are stones in my throat.

She shakes her head. “I won’t.”

I cross my arms. “I won’t either.”

It’s a face-off. For a too-long beat, we stand here in the kitchen, waiting for the puck to drop. Problem is I’m unsure what we’re even fighting about. “Josie, it’s all good. I’m happy to have you here. And you are definitely, absolutely not going to look for another place to live,” I say, then lock my eyes with hers. “Got that?”

Her pink glossy lips twitch in a smile. “You’re still bossy.”

That’s what she said to me the night we spent together. And just like that, some of my tension melts away. “Yes. I am.”

She breathes out a big sigh. “Okay, then.” She hesitates. “But I’m truly fine with us making rules. For anything. It’ll make this whole roomie thing easier. And I just want us to…get along.”

“Me too,” I say, but the thought of making rules for when we want to screw other people makes me clench my fists. “But let’s deal with that rules thing another time.”

Speaking of time, I check the clock. “Hey, I need to meet up with my dad while he’s in town,” I say, then a terrible thought lands in my head. Frieda. What if she’s there at lunch? What if she brings up the woman in the T-shirt? I don’t want to deal with that with my dad. Don’t want to tell him I have a roomie now. Don’t want to hear how other people are distracting. Still, since Josie and I are trying to be honest, there’s something she should know from that night. “Frieda from the art gallery is his girlfriend.”

Josie’s face goes pale, her voice strangled as she asks, “Frieda the Witch?”

“Unfortunately,” I say with a laugh. I tilt my head, considering this woman who landed in my life with her words, and her gifts of fruit and song, and her belly button piercing, and her letters, and her clever mouth and her bright attitude. “Do you have a nickname for everyone? The Prick, Frieda the Witch, etcetera.”

“Yes. I do,” she says and before I can ask if she’s given me one—though I probably shouldn’t ask that, she adds in a worried voice, “Are they coming over?”

I scoff. “God no. He’d critique my walls and my choice to not buy art. I already got an earful the other day. Through my sister. Apparently, Frieda told my dad and my sister about the woman in the T-shirt.”

I figure that’ll ease the tension more. Make Josie laugh. But instead she looks like she’s just seen a monster for real. She’s covered her face with her fingers.

“What’s wrong, Josie?”

When she drops her hand, she looks like she’s bitten something sour. “I went to the gallery on Thursday night to get your last name.”

If I were on the ice, I’d skate into the boards in shock. “You did?” There’s no way she said that. No way she did that. There’s no way she was doing the same thing I was doing. Amped up, I take a step toward her, like I’m going to close the distance between us, pin her against the wall and devour her.

Which would be a very bad idea.

And yet it has a hold on me.

She nods. “I did.”

I’m this close to breaking our first roomie rule till she says, “I went there to thank you. For helping me the other night. So if she brings it up, that’s what happened. I wanted to thank you. With…a cactus.”

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