Page 77 of The Girlfriend Zone

He’s definitely thinking about that surprise too. I couldlinger on those memories all night long. But they’re too risky to our budding friendship, so fragile right now, but so important.

I can’t afford to go there. Nor can he. Especially after what we both shared earlier. But especially him—I don’t want to cause a single complication in his career, especially since he nearly lost it a few years ago.

I clear my throat, desperate to keep our vibe in neutral territory, returning to the safer topic of pillow catching. “And I suppose it’s no surprise your reflexes are good. I’ll allow that cockiness.”

His grin returns to playful. “Thanks. I worked hard on them. I busted my ass to get back up to speed after my injury.”

Opening a bag of books I’ll set on the nightstand, I glance at him as he takes a bite. “Thanks for sharing those details. I’d read about your ACL tear, but of course didn’t know the toll it took on you.”

After he finishes a bite of his slice, his smirk spreads again, too pleased. “You looked me up.”

Far too pleased.

“I did,” I admit, trying not to give him the satisfaction of a blush—because we’re being friends here, nothing more.

“And what did you learn?”

“That you had an ACL tear,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes. “What did you think I’d find? That you like piña coladas and beach vacations?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Fair point. But for the record, I do like piña coladas.”

“You don’t strike me as a beach guy. You’re more…mountains.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, grinning.

“Because you’re cocky,” I tease.

“And you like that.”

“In a friend,” I add, since I need to remind him. But also me. “So…the tear itself was pretty bad?”

The pizza freezes halfway to his mouth, and his expression shifts. That easy confidence dims, replaced by something heavier. “Yeah. It was.”

I try to imagine losing photography for six or nine months—how dark I’d feel, how lost. “That can change your perspective on a lot of things,” I say.

A shadow crosses his face, and for a moment, it’s like he’s somewhere else. “I thought my career was over. It happened at the end of the season, so I was out for half the next one. And when I came back…I struggled to play well.” His jaw tightens. “Which is why I ended up on waivers.”

I swallow, feeling the weight of his words. And my dad—his coach—picked him up after that. I tread carefully, unsure if this is a door we should open now. “I’m glad my dad wanted to work with you,” I say.

I’ve always admired how my father could see potential where others couldn’t. And knowing that Miles respects him as much as I do adds another layer to the knot of feelings tightening in my chest.

Miles’s features soften, but the storm cloud lingers. “He saved my career,” Miles says simply, letting out a deep sigh.

The silence stretches for a beat—one where we’re both clearly thinking of what’s at stake if we give in to good surprises again. My relationship with my father is everything. And Miles admires him too, and needs him as well.

“And it’s a hell of a career,” I say.

“Thanks,” he says, his tone full of gratitude.

Miles finishes the slice, wipes his hands, and points at the last unopened bag. “One more. Let’s do it, Shutterbug.”

I step toward it quickly, raising a hand. “I’ll get that one.”

Too quickly.

His brow arches as he reaches for it before I can stop him.

Oh no.

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