Page 9 of The Boyfriend Goal

“Good.” I roam my eyes over her in her makeshift dress. “And while I suspect you look good in anything, I’m picking pants.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m betting you want to feel different than the way you feel right now. Pants would be the fastest way to that.”

Her smile is sexy and smart at the same time. “Get me some pants, please,” she says, and hell if I don’t hear get into my pants. Or really, I want to.

I nod toward the rack near us and flick through some options. “So, what’s your favorite color?”

“Guess.”

“Fine.” I stop hunting and take a beat, traveling up and down her frame, adding up clues, then give it my best shot. “Black.”

She blinks, clearly surprised. “Um, close.”

“Gray?” I ask with a laugh.

“It’s black and white actually,” she says.

I crack up. “Dude, you picked two colors.”

She squares her shoulders. “Maybe I’m an overachiever.”

“Maybe?” I arch a brow. “Sounds like you are.”

“So how did you know?”

I lift a hand, pointing in the direction of her glasses. “There’s a little black and white checked pattern on the arms.”

“Oh,” she says, then touches them gently, like she’s reminding herself. She tucks a strand of chestnut hair over her ear. “You’re right.”

“Yeah. I noticed them earlier,” I say, and it’s an admission that I’ve paid close attention to her.

Her cheeks pinken in the most alluring blush ever. She swallows, then looks around, getting her bearings maybe. For a few seconds, a sense of déjà vu slams into me. Have I seen her before? She feels vaguely familiar, but I see a lot of people at hockey games. It’s possible I’ve seen her or someone like her once. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’d remember her if we’d met.

I’m definitely sure I don’t want to talk about hockey though, so I don’t go fishing in the do we know each other waters. Instead, I return to the clothing hunt and wait for her to go next.

“So what’s yours?” she asks. “Your favorite color?”

“Do people still have favorite colors?”

“You just asked me mine! Are boys not allowed to have a favorite color?”

I smile, shaking my head as I find a cute pair of pants and lift the hanger from the rack. “I don’t really have one.”

“Everyone has one. Some people are just more aware of it. For others it’s subconscious. So what’s yours?”

I consider her heart-shaped face, her pink lips, her bright-eyed attitude. Her mouth that hasn’t met a question she doesn’t have a comeback for. Then, her eyes. They caught my attention from the second I saw her outside the gallery. “Blue.”

She freezes for a second, like my answer’s sinking in, then maybe it hits her, because she rolls her lips together, then says crisply, “Noted.”

Jerking her gaze away from me, she turns to the black pants I’ve grabbed, taking them from me.

Hold the fuck on. Did I read her all wrong? Maybe the blush was because I embarrassed her? Maybe she legit needs help, the very single convo aside. I home in on that and give her the Phillips-head screwdriver she needs. “Let’s get you a white top to go with that, and some new shoes.”

Quickly, I choose some options and hand them to her. She heads to the dressing room, the door clicking shut. I wander around the store, getting a little distance as I chew on the best way to figure out where her mind’s at when the door swings open again.

I spin around.

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