Page 42 of The Boyfriend Goal

She spins on her heels and takes off for her room like I did last night—leaving me with more questions than before.

“And when you do the late-night workout, it can improve your performance,” Dad says as he spears his fork into his salmon dish.

We’re at his favorite seafood place by the Marina, and he’s eating the same thing I ordered—seared salmon with asparagus, a little lemon on the side. I used to think this was ordering solidarity. But I’m pretty sure he eats like this when I’m not around too. The dude is made of iron and discipline.

“Yup,” I say since that’s what Domingo said already—the guy my dad hired who I worked with all summer.

“It’s nothing that different from what you do during your regular workouts. Dead lifts, weighted push-ups, side planks…” he drones on. It’s not that I disagree with Dad or Domingo. I’d just rather discuss something else during lunch. “Sports science shows the benefits of this. It’s a productive time to keep up your strength,” Dad adds.

After I finish my bite, I say, “And that means I’ll be less likely to come up short in a race to the puck.”

He beams. “Exactly, Wesley.”

I knew that was what he wanted to hear.

His smile lasts, a rare one on his otherwise stoic face.

I’ve been told I look like him. Strong jawline, straight nose, same brown eyes. His hair is shorter though and speckled with gray. He’s got the whole George Clooney vibe working for him. I guess that’s why he’s done so well with the ladies since he and my mom split when I was younger.

He chats more about the post-game workout plan, and I nod and listen as I finish my lunch. “I can send that all to you over email,” he says. “You should read it too.”

I grind my teeth, but then say, “I’ll listen to it, Dad.”

He knows that’s what I do. He hired tutors for me when I was younger. He helped me get a handle on my issue. “Good plan.”

When we leave, he says, “Listen, Frieda mentioned this woman.”

I groan. Seriously. I do not want to discuss Josie with Dad. Well, I would if he wanted to discuss it like a normal dad. “Yeah?”

“Are you seeing her?”

“Nope.”

He nods, pleased. “Just making sure you’re not distracted.”

I snort-laugh. He’s got me scheduled every second the Sea Dogs don’t. “How could I be?”

He tilts his head in question.

“I don’t have time to get distracted,” I say lightly, trying, always trying to lighten the mood.

It fails though, since he says, “That’s the right mindset.”

When he says goodbye and I walk home, I’m entirely too distracted by thoughts of what my roomie’s up to.

Figuring I should be civil to her, like she’s been to me, I send her a text.

Wesley: Do you like Bridgerton?

15

JUST THE TIP

Josie

Maeve flips through the shelf of memoirs at An Open Book as I finish telling my friends my tale of woe. Fable is here too. She’s the lead designer for the San Francisco Renegades and a friend of ours as well.

“And you didn’t recognize him at all the night you met him?” Fable asks, but it doesn’t come out as an accusation—more a legit question.

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