Page 130 of The Boyfriend Goal

But I soldiered on and did it. Come to think of it, I haven’t backed out of anything on the list. And dammit, man in my life or not, I’m going to finish it. In fact, I don’t need to go to a cocktail-mixing class for number seven—explore a new skill.

I’m living number seven right now. With my friends. The awareness hits me all at once, and I smile like a giddy fool, tugging on Everly’s hand, pulling her to the cubbies in the corner of the studio as Maeve strides in.Fable couldn’t make it—she had to do some Christmas shopping with her sister.“I have this list from my aunt. Like a bucket list. Top Ten Things I Never Regretted,” I tell Everly.

Her eyes light up. “You do? That’s seriously cool.”

“And one of the items is explore a new skill.” I motion for Maeve to join our huddle and gamely, she hustles over. “I was going to do number seven with Wes, but I want to do this one with you two. Can this be explore a new skill for my bucket list of no regrets?”

“As if you have to ask,” Maeve says, then tilts her head, and I know what she’s thinking—what changed with Wes and why now?

I swallow down more tears. “I’ll tell you later.”

For now, it’s time to dance.

Ten minutes later, I’m walking around the pole. That’s it. Walking. But as Kyla, the instructor, says, “It’s harder to walk than you might think. You want to make space between the pole and your body, and then you can do the step around.”

She explains that basic move, then asks Everly to demonstrate. In no time, my new friend’s swinging around her pole like a goddess, all muscles and badass attitude, shiny ponytail swishing down her back.

“Now, let’s try the step around,” Kyla says to the rest of us.

Sounds easy and looks easy too. But when I try the basic move, gripping the pole with my right arm, then rising up on my toes so I can stretch out my left leg to the side, I’m not sure I can move around the pole without falling on my ass.

But then…so what if I fall? I stop thinking and I do, swinging around it.

And…I manage a quarter turn. Actually, that was more like an eighth of a turn, but I’m stupidly excited over this most minor accomplishment, and so is the teacher. “Great start,” Kyla says to me with genuine enthusiasm.

Those words burrow into my aching, hollow heart.

Great start.

As Maeve attempts her step around like she’s jumping off a cliff—since that’s how Maeve lives life—I think of the list. Of the other night by the Golden Gate Bridge. Of my dreams. They don’t have to be anchored to a man.

Just like that, I can see a new future. One I haven’t planned for or prepped for or researched. But maybe that’s part of me exploring new skills.

I don’t mean this skill. I mean another one—I’m learning to leap.

43

A DAMN FINE BAGEL

Wesley

Funny how I never noticed the room under the staircase much before. I barely paid attention to it for the first several months I lived here.

Now it’s all I see.

It taunts me. It lures me, and I have to fight the pull. I give her space. I avoid her. I stay upstairs when she’s downstairs.

I don’t know what to say or do when I see her. I guess this is why there’s a roomie rule in the first place. Because it is complicated when you cross it.

When things go south—like they did two nights ago—you’re still stuck together, walking uncomfortably around each other.

But a little while after she leaves on Sunday—I’m pretty sure she’s going to that pole class with her friends, and I hate that she’s not going to be sending me a picture—I get out of bed, get dressed, and head downstairs to make my way to morning skate. The problem is…that door.

To her room. It’s halfway open.

I stop in the entrance to it, press my palm against the white wood of the door lightly, till it creaks open. I look inside. My chest aches at the signs of Josie.

The white sweatshirt I bought her the night we met is tossed on the bed. The black scarf she left behind hangs from the closet door. Pillows are arranged in a whole new way on the window seat.

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