Page 160 of The Girlfriend Zone

“Yes, you can,” I reply, handing her a canvas bag. “In the meantime, here’s something for tonight’s game.”

With a curious smile, she dips her hand into the bag and pulls out a jersey with my last name and number on it. Her fingers run over the stitching, and her face lights up. I love seeing her in my jersey. It doesn’t have a captain’s “C,” but that’s okay. Coach explained that even though he does trust me now, he didn’t want anyone thinking he’s playing favorites. I get it. Funny how you can work so hard for something only to realize it wasn’t what you really wanted after all.

“I love showing everyone that Twenty-One is mine,” she says, taking another sip before glancing at the clock. “I need to meet with some of the Renegades’ wives today.”

The wives of some of the football players have started doing boudoir calendars too, and they’ve been a huge hit—no surprise there. So has her collaboration with Hugo’s wife, Melissa. Between the cookies and bridal packages, her business is thriving, and I couldn’t be prouder. Her boudoir photography is booming as well and more profitable than ever, thanks to her decision to raise her rates. She’s busier than ever.

Good thing she wrapped up her assignment with the Sea Dogs so she can focus more on her passion—shooting boudoir and empowering women. And she’s damn good at it.

Another thing she rocks at? Taking glamour shots of adoptable dogs for Little Friends. She volunteers for the rescue, lending her shutterbug services to snap pictures of pups in snazzy bandanas posing for the camera. The pics have helped the shelter find even more homes.

But here’s what she doesn’t take pictures of—her mother’s handbags. She didn’t take photos of her wedding either. I’m so damn proud of her for cutting that kind of toxicity out of her life.

Tonight, though, she’s not working. And I get to see her at a game in my jersey. That’s something I’ve always wanted. And now I have it. She’s worn mine before but they’re big and baggy on her. I had one custom-made to fit her and seeing her in it feels like a dream. A dream that’s become real.

Like all these days and nights with her in our home.

Before she leaves, I tell her I’ll see her later at the game.

“I’ll blow a kiss from the stands.”

“You better,” I say.

A little later, as morning skate comes to an end, Coach calls me over and I join him by the boards, my stick in hand, my breath coming fast from the workout.

“Winters is stepping down at the end of the season. I’ll need you to be captain then,” he says.

There’s only one answer. “Yes, sir.”

Pride suffuses me, along with the feeling that I’ve earned it this second time around.

When I head into the locker room, Rowan is grumbling about some date Hugo’s trying to set him up on with a friend of a friend of Melissa’s. “Dating is hell,” he says.

“He’s at it again?” I ask.

Tyler smirks. “We’re going to have to babysit him at every team function at this rate,” he says, having quickly learned that the anti-romantic Rowan is the king of grumps, especially when it comes to all things dating.

“That is not true. You don’t have to babysit me,” Rowan says, scowling.

“Denial will get you nowhere,” I say, laughing. Then, out of nowhere, I flash back to something my mom once said. About a matchmaker. An idea clicks into place—apotential solution for Rowan. One I’ll have to mention to Tyler later.

For now though, I turn to my brother, asking, “Is Agatha still on vacation?”

He sighs heavily, probably still bummed that his kid’s nanny has been so homesick for her own family, that she’s been returning to Los Angeles as often as she can. “Don’t remind me. At this rate, I’ll need to find a new nanny soon.”

“Good luck, man,” Rowan puts in. “That is never easy.”

That night, though, I put all thoughts of them aside and play for my girlfriend, who’s in the stands with her friends, wearing my jersey.

Ah, who am I kidding? She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my future wife.

Leighton

As I’m heading toward the arena for tonight’s game, I’m chatting on the phone with Isla Marlowe. “Sure, I can talk about the ideas of grandma as a matchmaker on your podcast.”

“Great,” says the upbeat woman who’s become a friend recently. “I’ve been wanting to explore all manners of matchmaking. How singles are moving away from apps and trying more tried and true ways. And your story fits.”

“Birdie is the ultimate matchmaker, that’s for sure,” I say, then pause. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. “Do you want to come to a hockey game soon? With Sabrina and me?”

---