Page 71 of The Boyfriend Goal

“I know. And they’re fun. But I mean…separate from hockey. Separate from work.” His jaw tightens. He clenches his teeth, then he grits out, “You’re not the only one getting something out of this friendship, okay?”

He sounds almost angry.

That’s so unlike him.

He’s not an angry person. But maybe it’s more like coiled restraint.

“Yeah?” I ask softly.

His eyes hold mine. “You’re definitely not the only one.” He runs his fingertips down my jawline and I shudder, then close my eyes. I don’t want to go to work. I want to stay here with him touching me by the door, preventing me from leaving by the tractor beam of this…dangerous desire.

Last night, I swore I’d give him space.

I swore I’d let him focus on becoming one of the great ones. I want to do that. I truly do. And yet, when he slides that hand along my neck down to my throat, I can barely remember a moment in my life before this one.

“I want to do this list,” he says, husky, determined. “I want it too. I need it too. You have to believe me.”

I swallow past the heat that’s building inside me. The sensations racing through me. The want that has me in a chokehold. “I do,” I say.

He lifts a dubious brow. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I say, then emphatically, I add, “I believe you.”

He drags his palm along my throat, his thumb pressing lightly against the hollow of it as he says, “Don’t underestimate ibuprofen. Or the thoughtfulness of the fruit. Or watching me play.” He runs the pad in a half-circle along my heated skin. “Or video game tips.” He breathes out hard, then shoots me a lopsided smile. “Fuck, I love those tips. Do you know I play video games to unwind? It relaxes me before games. And after games.”

I had no idea, but this info delights me. “I didn’t know that.”

“I kind of get lost in video games, and now you’ve helped me play them better,” he says, and he’s sharing this so easily while touching me so seductively, while talking to me as a friend.

I feel so reassured and unmoored all at once.

His hand roams back up me so that his fingers brush one side of my jaw, his thumb the other. After a long, lingering beat, he takes a breath then says, in the most vulnerable voice, “There’s…some promo material Everly sent me. A PDF. For an upcoming event we’re doing in Las Vegas. It’s kind of long. I had the computer read it to me, but I want to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

My heart clutches. I get it. What he’s saying. What I can do for him. “Can I read it for you too? As a backup.” It comes out more eager than I’d expected. But I’m giddy for the chance.

He nods. “I’ll send it to you.”

“Want me to do it now?” I ask breathily, eager to help.

He shakes his head, smiling softly. “You should go to work,” he says. “We can go over it tomorrow. I leave around noon for our road trip. We can do it after we have dessert for breakfast.” He’s still staring at me with his eyes blazing. “Unless you’re backing out of number four?”

It’s hardly a question. It’s more…a challenge.

My chest floods with warmth as I shake my head. “I’m not.” But that’s hardly enough, so I add, “Thank you. I needed that.”

“I had a feeling,” he says, then his tongue darts out, catching the corner of his mouth.

I watch the tip, my body going up in flames.

His smile is downright wicked as he says, “About what you said last night. I appreciate you looking out for me, but just because I follow a regimen doesn’t mean I’m rigid.”

“I’m learning that about you,” I admit quietly, grateful he flew down the stairs and came to me.

“Good.” He’s silent for a moment, his mouth tight, then he adds, “I don’t always let people see me.”

I hear him, and I hear the subtext too—he’s letting me in. “They see you as easygoing and a hard worker.”

“Yes,” he admits.

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