Page 68 of The Boyfriend Goal

“I promise I’ll think about it,” I say, meaning I’ll look into every single aspect of it since I get the sense she really wants me to go.

But there’s no time to look into it now, since I have to leave in ten minutes.

I don’t even see Wes when I unpack the items for our Sunday morning baking session, plus a few extra apples for him as my “rent” for the week. But I’m not surprised I miss my roomie since he mentioned he was going to a Sea Dogs yoga class and then heading out for a bite to eat with some teammates. I’ll be busy too. My brother’s taking Liv for a quick dinner and I offered to babysit since the babies’ nurse is off tonight.

When I arrive at my brother’s home, he lets me in but immediately Liv hustles me away and tells me everything I need to know about newborns.

It’s an ocean’s worth of information, and my head is swimming. By the time she’s done fifty thousand hours later, I don’t know how Christian and Liv are going to have a moment left for their date. “I’ve got this. Now go,” I say, shooing them to the door.

“Call me if you need anything at all,” she says.

“I will,” I say, but I probably won’t call her. I want to show them I can do this. I owe it to them. The least I can do is help out with the one-month-old twins, after all my brother’s done for me. Christian found me a place to live rent-free, after all.

That’s another reason I shouldn’t think inappropriate thoughts about my landlord. I don’t need a complication in my life. There’s no way I’d land another place to live like Wesley’s ever again.

As they head to the door, Christian turns back and, like he just remembered to ask, says, “How’s the bodyguard? Is he looking out for you?”

I’m twenty-six. I don’t need looking out for. But Christian sees me as his kid sister rather than a grown woman. Considering I came to him in tears four weeks ago, begging for help, I suppose I haven’t given him a reason to see me any other way.

“He’s a great roommate,” I say as an answer, and I’m ready to rattle off all the ways we help each other to show that it’s a give and take with Wesley and me.

Maybe to show me that it’s a give and take.

But even after I rack my brain, I’ve got nothing. What are a few pieces of fruit every now and then when you have a meal planner dropping food off every day? Do I help Wesley at all? Is this whole roommate thing a one-way street, fueled by Wesley’s boundless generosity and my unlimited needs?

My stomach churns in worry as I add up our accounts. Wesley’s made a practice of saving me from the second I met him—the plus-one to get into the gallery, the clothes to get out of my half-birthday suit, the cozy room under the stairs to give me a roof over my head. The list of his kindness doesn’t stop there. He volunteered to go to improv with me. He bought me a book. He drove me to work when I jammed my toe and then even when I didn’t.

My gut sinks. What do I do for him? Tease him about video game skills? Leave him ibuprofen? That’s nothing. A dark cloud moves over my head and I frown, so lost in my own gray thoughts that I barely register Christian’s response, only keying in when he says, “He can be a great hockey player too.”

That knocks me back into sharp focus. “Can be?”

Does Christian think Wesley’s not good enough? I’m ready to fire off all the reasons why Wesley’s an excellent player. How dare my brother think otherwise?!

“Yeah. He’s good—so good I think he could be on the first line real soon,” Christian says, with obvious pride in his tone. “So good I think he could be one of the great ones. That dude busts his ass in every game.”

Oh. It wasn’t a dig. It was a compliment—one of the great ones is huge.

Stand down, Josie.

“That’s awesome,” I say, pleased that my accomplished brother is impressed by my roommate.

“He’s gonna go far,” Christian says, and I’m glad. But his praise is another reminder why I really should stop imagining romantic possibilities with Wesley. My brother depends on my roommate for every game. Wesley made it clear, too, he doesn’t want to take a chance at damaging a work relationship or hurting the team chemistry. “There is no one more disciplined than Bryant,” Christian adds. “Did you know he works out after every game?”

Did you know I want to lick all those muscles he works? “I had no idea,” I say with a big cover-up smile as Liv pats my brother’s arm, like enough, sweetie.

“Babe, I’m pretty sure your sister doesn’t want to hear about how many reps you two do at night.”

“You two do?” I repeat, confused.

Christian nods vigorously. “Dude inspired me. I started doing these post-game workouts with him.”

Great. Now, they’re workout partners. I really need to give Wesley some space. His career is on the rise. He probably doesn’t have the time to be my list sidekick. But he’s too kind to say otherwise.

Liv rolls her eyes at her husband. “Why don’t you tell Josie about his stats too? Let’s go, babe,” she says, then to me, she adds, “you’re the best, Jay. Seriously. I appreciate you coming by tonight.”

“Anytime,” I say.

They take off, and Christian’s remarks hang over me for reasons he can’t know. But for the next hour, I don’t wallow in my worries or think about number four on the list. I can’t think about a thing but diapers and bottles and crying newborns and pacifiers and how to hold two tiny humans at once. It’s literally the longest hour of my life, and by the time my brother and his wife return, I’m ready to collapse into my bed.

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