Page 127 of The Boyfriend Goal

Are you kidding me? He remembers when she dumped me and that I played for shit then? “Don’t go there,” I warn, since I can handle a lot of his advice. I can absorb a ton of his input. But I do not want his advice about romance.

He leans forward in the booth, his voice so calm, so opposite mine. “But we need to figure this out. Like I’ve said, this is a critical year.”

My jaw ticks. I’ve heard that a thousand times. “And yet, I still don’t want to talk to you about women,” I bite out, surprising myself for standing up to him. I’m so glad I didn’t introduce him to Josie. He would never understand the way I feel for her.

He lifts his water, takes a drink, sets it down. Smiles. Perhaps he’s heard me and we’re moving on from the topic of romance. But he’s not a lawyer for nothing. “Level with me. Is this because of your roommate?”

The fuck? How does he know? I never told him we were dating. “What are you talking about?” I ask with a sneer I can’t hide.

“Wesley, it’s not hard to figure out. I took a guess that you’d fallen for her,” he says, then shrugs easily. “The evidence added up. Looks like I was right.”

How smug can he possibly be? I grind my molars but I don’t say anything, because I have nothing to say to him about my love life.

But he has plenty to say. “You need to work on your focus. Life is going to keep coming at you. Do you need a mental skills coach? A psychologist?”

All he wants to do is hire people to improve me. No wonder I felt like I was hockey, hockey, hockey when I met Josie. Because that’s all he ever wanted me to be. That’s all he ever sees me as—a hockey player.

But, a voice whispers meanly in my ear, stirring up all my old fears, Maybe there’s a reason. It’s the only thing you’re good at. Except…what if you’re not good at it after all?

“No,” I say, answering him at last.

He tilts his head, seeming confused momentarily. “No what?”

“No, I don’t want you to hire anyone. Okay? Coach already moved me back to the second line. It’s done. Can we just eat in peace?”

“But what about the roommate situation?” The implication is loud and clear.

I clench my fists. Take another deep breath. Then one more. “I meant it. I do not want to talk to you about women.”

He takes it on the chin with a resigned nod. “Fair enough.”

I stick to my guns, shutting my mouth. But that means he drones on and on about hockey for the next thirty minutes, and I sit there and eat and take it.

When I leave, I both want to talk to Josie and run from Josie, and I hate feeling this twisted and torn.

Maybe I can get some sleep and sort it out in the morning. Curl up with her and fix it when the sun is up.

But when I get home, she’s not in my bed, and that feels like a kick in the balls.

41

KIND OF A LOT

Josie

Wes said to presume a few weeks ago, but I can’t presume tonight. I can’t presume he wants me upstairs. I can’t sleep either. That’s the problem.

I never have trouble sleeping—never. But tonight, I’m in my own room for the first time in more than a month. The lights are out and I’m trying so hard to bring sweet dreams my way.

But as soon as I hear him return to the house and head up the steps, I know he’s looking for me. I know he’s disappointed. Even if I feel him pulling away from me, have felt it since we danced in the living room last night, I don’t want to be another thing that hurts him. I want to help him like he helped me the night we met.

Besides, I’ve been trying to be brave. I’ve been trying to be bolder. I fling off the covers and push out of bed, pushing open the door right as he’s stepping into the doorway.

I flinch in surprise, then back up. “Oh.”

“Hey.” That’s it. A heavy syllable breathed into the night. He looks terrible. Devastated.

“What happened? Do you want to talk? Did your dad give you a hard time?”

---