Page 43 of The Boyfriend Goal

“I’m not into sports. I mean, they’re fine. I don’t hate them. But I don’t know rosters. If any pro athlete but my brother was walking through this store I wouldn’t recognize them,” I say. “Would you recognize all the football players?”

“Yes, but I love the game,” Fable says, as she tucks a strand of her red hair behind her ear and sets down the book she’s been checking out. Freckles dot her fair skin.

“I’d recognize Asher Callahan,” Maeve puts in.

I roll my eyes. “That doesn’t count. He’s your brother’s friend!”

“I’m just saying. I would,” Maeve adds.

I toss my hands up. “You two are not helpful. You’re supposed to be on my side. Hockey players are not that recognizable.”

Fable gives me that point. “Fine, that’s true.” Then she snickers. “Still, it’s funny that Wesley Bryant is kind of known around town for being this hot tamale and you banged him without having a clue who he is.”

“And now you’re living with him,” Maeve adds with a snort, her wild golden hair falling in her face as she doubles over.

“You two!” I say, exasperated. “I called this meeting today for you to help me deal with living with him. To give me tips.”

Fable’s lips go ruler straight as she says, “Like can you have…wait for it…just the tip?”

Maeve points at her, nodding. “That’s totally acceptable. That won’t violate any rules.”

“You should definitely play ‘just the tip’ with him,” Fable adds, with a so helpful smile.

My face flames hot. Why am I cursed with being easily embarrassed and also overly sexed? As if I haven’t been thinking about Wesley like that already. “Shh,” I say as an elderly woman walks past, a small child tugging her hand along.

“The other tip is this—just sit on a bucket of ice for the next three months,” Maeve offers. “Freeze out your vagina.”

“Or buy stock in toys,” Fable adds with her signature confidence, and I can’t get a word in edgewise with these two.

“Speaking of, have you figured out that issue?” Fable asks with mock concern.

Maeve parks an elbow on the shelves, her face going serious as she echoes, “Yeah, have you?”

“How I’m going to masturbate with him around?” I whisper, incredulous that they’re really asking that.

“Yes. That’s a real problem. Will you? Won’t you?” Maeve asks with a straight face.

I am a beet. But I hold my chin up high and answer them: “When he’s out of town for games I will. So there.”

After they buy their books, and I make note of ones I’ll borrow from the library, we leave. On the way down the block, my phone pings with a message from my roomie, asking me if I like Bridgerton.

I don’t show it to my evil friends as we walk to a coffee shop. I reply quietly with: Is that a trick question?

Then I tuck the device away, only to be met by the Cheshire cat grin on Maeve. “That smile means he’s texted.”

I groan. “I can’t have any secrets with you.”

Giving in, I show them the text. Since I’m a glutton for punishment I tell them what happened this morning when I confessed to Wesley why I’d seen Frieda. “I couldn’t very well tell him I wanted to track him down to see if he was up for hanging out again. He made it perfectly clear it was a one-night stand.”

“And so did you,” Fable points out as we reach Doctor Insomnia’s.

She’s right. But just because I actually wanted more doesn’t mean we can have it. “Look. It’s fine. It’s for the best if we try to be nice to each other. To get along.”

Maeve grabs the door and yanks it open. “Yes, Josie. You should text him back because it’s nice. Not because you still want to ride his dick.”

“You’re not making this easier,” I say.

“I know, and I have no regrets,” she says.

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