Page 30 of The Boyfriend Goal

When the session ends an hour or so later, Thalia suggests we all grab a drink. Since I have time before the hockey game ends, I join them. She takes us to The Spotted Zebra, and I learn that I’m the first new librarian at this branch in years, and it’s also the first time this little branch has landed a grant for any position.

“You’re our unicorn,” Thalia says.

And unicorns are cool, so I say, “Achievement unlocked.”

When we’re done, she offers to drop me off.

I say yes and text Everly on the way. Once Thalia reaches the rink, I thank her and hop out of her little Honda, hoisting my bag up on my shoulder as I walk toward the main doors. I pass the huge lit-up marquee for the Sea Dogs—their mascot is a fearsome canine who looks like he can brave the icy waters of any North Sea ship. I haven’t had a chance to google this Bryant guy, but I can do that when I’m inside rather than when I’m walking outside at night. Safer that way.

When I arrive at Main Door G, there’s a tall blonde with her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She’s polished and put together in black slacks and a royal blue shirt, the color of the team. Her fair skin is dotted with a few freckles, and her brown eyes are warm.

“You must be Christian’s sister,” she says, then offers me a hand. “I’m Everly. I work in publicity for the team, and he asked me to take you down to the locker room.”

I balk at that last word. “Um…”

“Oh,” she says, shaking her head with an amused smile. “You probably don’t want to go into the locker room.”

Not with my brother there. Not with any of them there, to be honest. I love my brother. But I’ve never crushed on his teammates. Not in high school, not in college, and not while he’s been in the pros. I’m more into geeks and nerds than athletes, so the idea of standing around a bunch of big, sweaty guys does nothing for me.

“I can wait in the hall,” I say helpfully.

“Of course,” Everly says, then whisks me past security and through the concourse. “So you just arrived in the city about a week ago, Christian tells me. What do you think so far?”

That I never know if I’m going to step into a mud pit or a garden of flowers. “It’s great,” I say, since there’s no need to tell her the details about my topsy-turvy experiences here. “You never know what each day holds.”

“Sounds like working here. I never know if I’m going to have to wrangle a pack of ornery kangaroos or not,” she says, then whispers playfully. “Usually it’s ornery kangaroos.”

I think I love her. We speak the same language. “I hope you wear armor then.”

“Part of the job, along with fetching sisters for the captain and, oh yeah, organizing publicity,” she says as she guides me through the upper concourse, past chichi food vendors peddling organic and sustainably grown food, and toward the lower level. I’ve been here a few times, including for a game last season. But it’s still helpful to have a guide so we can move quickly past the throngs of exiting fans. “But tonight the pack of kangaroos-slash-dogs will likely be happy since the Sea Dogs beat the Coyotes.”

“Oh! That’s great,” I say. I hadn’t even bothered to check the score. But that’s great news for my brother and my new roomie.

“Ah, and there they are,” Everly says as we round the corner toward the locker room where my brother’s waiting outside in his post-game suit, and he’s standing next to a tall, broad, ridiculously handsome man.

My heart stutters.

Then stops.

I can’t breathe. I’m a computer that just beach-balled as I come face-to-face with the guy I tried to track down last night. “And that’s Wesley Bryant,” Everly says.

I cough. I part my lips to try to speak but wheeze out a question that I already know the answer to but have to ask anyway, “Wesley Bryant?”

“Yes, and he got an assist tonight so he’ll probably be in a very good mood,” she says.

I’m not so sure about that.

When he turns toward our voices, his brown eyes lock with mine. It takes a beat for his brow to furrow. Then it goes tighter, then tighter still.

When Christian sees me he says, “Hey, Jay! Here’s your new roomie.”

Wesley’s jaw comes unhinged.

Just like mine.

I guess I was dead wrong about not liking athletes.

11

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