Page 146 of The Girlfriend Zone

“You’re my boyfriend,” she says, her voice cracking the slightest bit. Nerves again. I wish I could ease those nerves for her, but I know she’s the one who has to tell her dad, and it’s not going to be easy no matter how well we plan it.

“That’s right. I’m finally—fucking finally—in the girlfriend zone with you,” I say, not caring if I sound like a besotted fool. I am one with her. She grabs my tie, and I drop my mouth to hers for a hot, quick kiss, then drive to the arena. I swear I’ll be counting the seconds until Saturday. I’ll be ready, too—for the fallout. Ready to talk to Coach. Ready to let him know that even if he’s pissed, even if he’s mad, even if he can’t stand me, I’m the man for his daughter. Her dad might bench me, freeze me out, or worse, cut me loose entirely. But losing her? That’s not an option.

I counted down the days we were apart. Now I’ll count the minutes until we’re no longer a secret.

When we arrive, we’re careful. We don’t touch or flirt. I even walk her in through the main door so it doesn’t look like she’s getting special treatment by using the players’ entrance. We’re early since she needs to be here before the other players arrive so she can take pics of the guys showing up for work in their suits—myself included. As we walk, heels click sharply behind us, cutting through the Thursday afternoon pre-game hum of the arena. A polished, smooth voice calls out, “Leighton, baby.”

Leighton freezes mid-step, the color draining from herface. I follow her gaze to the well-appointed brunette with a perfect blowout striding toward us, and I know instantly.

That woman can only be Leighton’s mom.

45

MOVE IT UP

Leighton

I haven’t seen her in more than a year, yet she looks exactly the same. Like she’s just stepped out of her latest Botox appointment. Her white teeth gleam, her lasered skin glows, and her perfectly styled hair shines. My mother has always known how to take care of herself, exuding the polished air of someone who runs a handbag empire.

But seeing her now feels like being caught in a spin cycle—she’s glossy and chaotic all at once. I brace myself for impact.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” I stammer, my voice uneven and so unlike me.

“Honey, is that any way to greet your mother?” she asks, arching a brow.

There’s no right way to greet someone you didn’t expect to see today, especially not at work. “How are you?”I try again, though my voice wavers like I’m the clothes tumbling in that wild washing machine.

“So glad you asked,” she chirps, all smiles, clearly pleased I’ve spoken correctly now. “I’m in town for business—I have a very big retail partner here in San Francisco. But I figured I’d swing by, too, to share the good news. But first…” She turns to Miles, assessing him with interest. “You must be…let me guess…Miles Falcon.”

Miles is stoic, game face on. “Yes, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you,” he says, extending a hand, his polite smile unshaken despite the awkwardness as he waits for her to supply her last name.

“Grace. Grace Adley,” she says with a smirk, taking his hand and shaking it.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Adley,” he says, and this moment feels surreal—like one of those uncomfortable dreams you wish you could wake up from. And yet, here we are as my mother practically bounces like she has a secret she’s dying to divulge.

“But—confession: my name’s about to change.”

And the whiplash continues. I shake my head like she can’t have just said that. Like I heard her wrong. “It’s about to change?”

She turns directly to me, her tone exaggerated as she repeats, “Yes, it’s about to change.” She raises her volume unnecessarily and over-pronounces every word. It’s condescending, but I don’t have the energy to correct her. She’s never taken the time to understand that I’m not broken.

But I’m not going to teach her now. Instead, I say, “Why is it about to change?”

I have a feeling though that I already know the answer since she said she’s here to share good news. Still, it’s bestto let her have the spotlight. I already strongly dislike her being in my place of work. It feels unsettling, like I’m walking across a funhouse floor.

She takes her time, assessing me up and down, and even glances at Miles again. He seems to realize that he shouldn’t be here for this conversation. Reading the situation perfectly, he decides this isn’t his moment as my boyfriend yet. After a brief pause, he says, “I’ll excuse myself so you two can have some time to catch up. It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Adley. Good luck with everything.”

He strides away, heading toward the locker room.

“What’s your news, Mom?” I ask, pasting on a smile I don’t feel.

She beams at me, her excitement so bright it almost feels blinding. “Baby, I’m getting married!”

My stomach twists as she adds, “And you’re never going to believe who I’m marrying. It’s Michael! We got back together.”

“Michael,” I repeat flatly, needing a moment to process. Michael, as in my father’s former agent. Michael, the man she had an affair with while she was married to my dad. Michael, whose “romance” with her only lasted about a year after the divorce.

Michael—the reason my family shattered when I was just fourteen.

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