Page 129 of The Girlfriend Zone

I’m not here to preemptively spin fables about where I’m staying…and not staying.

That’s what I tell myself as I step into his office doorway, the faint sounds of Michael Bublé playing from his computer—his Dad music. “Knock, knock,” I say, holding up the two cups.

“Favorite daughter,” he says, turning down the tune, then popping up with a grin. He takes the coffee, then gives me a quick hug.

Guilt pricks at me, and I fidget with my own cup. It’s okay to have coffee with my dad, I remind myself.

He nods toward the seat across from his desk, andbefore I can ask anything, he says, “How was dog-sitting? I trust it worked out?”

Trust.

That word digs at me. My stomach churns as I answer, “Yes, it was great. But now I want a dog.”

He laughs. “I doubt your roommates would like that. All the more reason to think about getting your own place,” he says, his tone light but nudging—a reminder he wants to help me make that happen.

But his words remind me, too, that he probably still thinks I’m living with Indigo and Ezra, the roommates from hell. I am, though—I haven’t moved out. I’m just…not there right now.

“Maybe someday,” I say, evasively. Then, after a pause, I force a shrug. “But I’m not done yet. I am still helping out since his mom’s still away,” I add, the lie scorching my tongue like acid.

It’s not entirely a lie—Iamhelping out. But it’s necessary to keep the details vague. Dad’s never been a fan of me dating hockey players.Most aren’t ready to settle down,he’s said more than once. And it’s too soon to know what’ll happen next with Miles—the man who listens to me, who cares about me, who looks out for me without stepping in the way.

If Miles wasn’t a hockey player, I’d probably tell my dad about him. But with that thought, another question follows:Would you?

I don’t share details of my dates or my past romances with Dad. We don’t have that type of relationship, and that’s okay. So, it has to be okay that I’m not talking to him about Miles. It’s not the time to tell my father anything. A bit of evasiveness keeps things simple, which is better for everyone.

“Good. That’s what I figured,” he says, in that confident way he has.

Right. Of course. He brokered this deal.

“Thanks again. It was blissfully…quiet,” I say.

“Good. You deserve some peace at home,” he says.

I wince at that last word. For a moment, he studies me, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

Quickly, I turn the conversation around to ask about the road trip, Riley, and this morning’s photo shoot for the calendar.

But even as we talk, I can feel the weight of the lies sitting between us.

I don’t think he can. And I don’t know if that makes me feel better…or worse.

Good thing I have a meeting with Chanda next. It’ll give me something else to focus on as I swing into a conference room in the marketing department to review the plan for the calendar. She already approved the first series of photos—on a Zamboni—and I’ll be shooting those today.

As she’s discussing the next round—a locker room melee scene with the pups, followed by a playful shot where the guys will sit in the stands with senior pups sharing seats next to them as if they’re all watching a hockey game—some of my tension begins to dissipate.

“Your concepts are great,” she says. “Really impressed with your creativity and your work. Glad Mako recommended you, and I’ve already been telling colleagues about you. You’ll be a hot commodity when he returns.”

“Wow. Thank you,” I say, both thrilled and grateful. But guilt prickles at the edges of my excitement, a littlelike whiplash—the emotions pulling me in opposite directions.

It should feel good. Really, it should.

But as I leave the meeting, the uncomfortable feeling creeps back—the sense that I don’t deserve that praise. A feeling, maybe, that I’m taking advantage of my situation. If everyone knew I was sleeping with Miles, would I still have this work? What do I do about this feeling though?

I glance at the time, mentally shifting gears to prep for the Zamboni shoot. Maybe I need to see Everly, talk to her about this, and figure out how to handle it. Just as I’m about to tap out a text to her, a familiar figure catches my eye at the end of the hallway.

Miles.

He turns the corner, and when his gaze finds mine, a wave of calm washes over me. A burst of happiness too. He’s the one I want to share my days with. A quick nod to the stairwell door from him, and I follow without hesitation.

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