Page 64 of The Boyfriend Goal

A faint smile settles on her mouth. She must be feeling a little better.

“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” I begin, relaxing a little now that she seems to be okay. “In your first few weeks here, you’ve been attacked by a couch spring, a cactus, and a hockey puck?”

“Yes! Why can’t I be attacked by, I dunno, a lifetime supply of free chocolate? Or too many orgasms to count?”

“I could help you with the last one,” I say, then shrug. “Hypothetically.”

“I know you could. Hypothetically. My O Supplier.”

Funny, how a while ago I was sure she didn’t want another night with me. Now, I’m pretty sure she might have.

Which is good, in a way. But also bad, because it just makes everything a little bit harder. A little bit more tempting. Temptation’s like discomfort though. I’m learning to sit with it.

She’s quiet for a little longer as we stay here, my hand on her foot. With my free hand, I rub her other leg, sliding it up and down her shin, soothing her.

At least, that’s what I tell myself I’m doing as my palm slides over her soft skin. What if I let my hand glide a little higher, past her knee, underneath her skirt? Would she part those thighs ever so slightly? Would my fingers brush a damp panel of lace, lace that I’d want to push to the side, slip past, tear off?

She takes a deep breath, then opens her eyes. “I’m oka—” But the word cuts off as she stares at me quizzically. “Wesley?”

“Yes?”

Her eyes roam up and down me. “What exactly are you wearing?”

I glance down for the first time, noticing my clothes. Or lack thereof. “I believe these are called boxer briefs.”

“You’ve been in boxer briefs this whole time? I must really be in pain if I haven’t noticed,” she says. Then she stares a little longer, and I think about where all the odd socks go and what kind of toothbrush I should buy next as I will my dick not to impersonate a flagpole. “You sleep in just boxer briefs?”

“I do.”

“And you flew down the stairs in boxer briefs?”

“I did.”

“And again, I didn’t notice till just now?”

I smirk. “Evidently.”

Sighing, she wiggles her toe. “I must be better since I’m noticing my surroundings.” She pushes up. “Thanks. I should go finish my makeup and catch my bus.”

I reach for her hand to help her up. “No.”

“No what?”

“You should finish your makeup and meet me in the garage. I’ll give you a ride.”

She grins ever so hopefully. “In your boxer briefs?”

“You wish.”

“Well, yeah.”

I head upstairs to brush my teeth and change. But I don’t change too much. Sometimes you just have to give a woman what she wants.

I come downstairs in a pair of running shorts and a workout tank. I sail past the fridge and grab her a yogurt, a spoon, and a cloth napkin. When we get to the car and I turn it on, I hand her the food. “Breakfast is served.”

Then I flash her a cocky grin as I take off the shirt and back out of the garage.

Her eyes pop. “Drive me every day.”

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