Page 111 of The Boyfriend Goal

“Hello, tiger,” she says approvingly, eyeing me up and down.

Yeah, that’s bad. “The whole outfit screams I’m fucking the forward, doesn’t it?”

“No. It’s not the outfit that says that,” she says, blunt and direct.

My stomach pitches like a pirate ship at an amusement park. “Then what gives the secret sex life of this librarian away?”

She smiles wickedly. “Your eyes. They have that well-fucked look.”

“Eyes do not get a well-fucked look.”

She parks her hands on my shoulders and spins me around so I’m facing the mirror by the front door. “They do. See?”

I peer more closely but come up empty. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s a gleam. The gleam of getting some,” she says knowingly, staring back at me in the glass. “And damn, I am jealous. You got the glow on your skin and the gleam in your eyes.”

I laugh, and my worry slinks away for now. Maeve just has that carefree effect on people. I’m not going to stress about my clothes or my brother. “We all deserve a glow and a gleam, don’t we?”

“That should be the name of a new skin-care line.”

“And you should do the artwork for it,” I say.

“God, your brain is hot,” she says.

I grab a jacket and my bag, and because sometimes I like to take a little extra piece of Greta with me, and tonight feels like the start of something new, I grab the book charm necklace she gave me way back when and slip the jewelry on so it hangs under the jersey—a little symbol of me next to a little piece of Wes. We head to the rink.

Fable’s meeting us there. So is Everly since she offered to give us a behind-the-scenes tour beforehand. When we hop off the bus and head up the steps to the arena, Fable’s outside the media entrance wearing a Renegades sweatshirt with the team’s logo in rhinestones. “Gotta represent the football team,” she says.

“More like represent your own awesome design,” I add since she made this fun sweatshirt.

“Thanks, babe,” she says, proud of her creation and rightfully so.

Everly’s with her, and she waves a hello at Maeve and me. She’s dressed in black wide-leg slacks and a dark gray blouse that looks satin-y. Her blonde hair is shiny and slicked back in a high ponytail. “Hey, you,” she says, her eyes straying up and down me. “Don’t you look adorable in your sassy little Sea Dogs dress.”

I give a little curtsy. “Apparently I’m known for makeshift couture.”

Maeve nods. “She sure is. Did you know she was wearing one the night she met—” Maeve slaps her hand to her mouth.

Everly laughs, dropping a hand on Maeve’s shoulder as we walk past the early arriving crowds. “You mean Wesley, right?” she asks in a low voice, just for us.

Shaking her head, Maeve mimes zipping her lips as we reach security. After we all pass through the security checkpoint, Everly says to me, “It’s okay. I always had a feeling you and Wesley had known each other before I introduced you. And honestly, I thought you liked each other.”

It doesn’t even occur to me to lie to her. Nor do I want to. “We met the night I arrived in town. We had no idea who the other was, had a great time together, and then it turned out…he was my new roomie. Just don’t tell my brother.”

Everly gives me a genuine smile. “I would never. And listen, don’t you feel like you have to tell him either. Only tell him when it’s right for you and Wesley. Take your time if you need to, okay?”

That’s the best advice I’ve heard on this topic ever.

Fable points toward Everly. “I like her,” Fable says.

“I can be wise,” Everly says.

“I think you’re right. And I needed to hear that,” I say. It’s a weight and a worry off my shoulders.

Everly shows us around the arena, stopping at a long wall of foliage outside a range of fancy concession stands. “Since sports teams have such a high carbon footprint and we want to offset it as much as we can with foliage.”

“It’s gorgeous,” Maeve remarks, admiring the emerald leaves growing along the wall.

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