Page 79 of The Boyfriend Goal

I point out the obvious even though it’s pointless. “That isn’t a muffin.”

Asher waves a hand dismissively. “It’s either that or we call you Dough Master.”

“Somehow, that’s worse,” I say.

“Didn’t he make everything though? The Muffin Man?” Max barks in question from across the aisle as he waves his pastry around, then takes a bite.

“Who knows? Who cares?” Asher asks, with a satisfied smile, clapping my shoulder. “You should seriously consider opening a shop. These are fuck-all better than the way you played last night.”

Yup, this is the hell they give me. “I scored a goal, you dickhead.”

“My bad. It was one less than the number I scored. So I’d forgotten,” he says, the cocky fucker.

“Do you need a separate jet for your ego, Callahan?”

This remark comes from Chase, who’s a row behind us, sitting with Ryker, one of our top defenders.

“Not a bad idea,” Ryker grumbles.

“Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind that at all,” Asher says, offering a smug smile.

Ryker leans forward from his seat so he’s locking eyes with the guys in our row—Asher and me, and Max across the aisle. “You know there’s an urban legend that the Muffin Man was a murderer?”

“The fuck?” Asher asks.

“Supposedly, he went around London murdering children, using muffins as a lure,” Ryker says, in the same tone he’d tell you where to get a great taco. Nothing fazes the dude.

Asher’s face goes ashen. “That’s horrifying.”

“This is why I don’t read nursery rhymes to my little daughter,” Hugo calls out from his row behind us. “I read her sports news instead.”

“Some might say that’s scarier. Also nursery rhymes are supposed to be scary. It’s literally their purpose,” a female voice chimes in from a row or two in front of us. It’s Everly, weighing in.

“Hey Ev, is it true that Max was chirping nursery rhymes at reporters? And that’s how he scared them all off?”

Max stretches across the aisle and knocks Asher upside the head. “If you played on the other team…”

Asher flashes his golden-boy grin. “But I’m on your team. You lucky bastard.”

Max shakes his head, then waves his pastry in my direction. “Here’s what I want to know, Muffin Man. Do you have an apron?”

Yes, and the team captain’s sister gave it to me. And I like the way she stared wantonly at me when I wore it. I especially like that she was sending me a subtle message with it. And I fucking love that the illustrations on it inspired a new use for lipstick.

“Remind me to never bake for the team again,” I say, mostly so I don’t linger too long on thoughts of Josie.

Everly’s still popped up in her seat, twisted around, and her eyes connect with mine. “Sounds like the cinnamon puff pastries came out great though?”

I tilt my head. “You knew what I was making?”

“I shopped with Josie. Took her to my favorite grocery store in the city.”

A warmth spreads in my chest from this knowledge, which is a stupid reaction. Of course Josie shopped for the supplies; of course she bought the ingredients. I know all this. She told me she wanted to, and she said she wouldn’t let me pay. And yet I still find it adorable, the idea of her shopping for the baking we did this morning.

So adorable it’s making my heart flip annoyingly in my chest. What a pointless reaction. “Cool,” I say to Everly, just to say something.

“You made these with our teammate’s sister?” Asher asks with genuine curiosity.

“Yeah. She is my roomie,” I add. Is it weird to bake with your roommate? Am I wearing a sign that says I’ve got it bad for her? Or worse—one that says I nearly fucked her today?

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