Page 29 of The Girlfriend Zone

“It is,” I confirm. “Some luck, huh? By the way, why the hell did you tell her I’m a chef?”

“Because I have to screen women for you, Miles! Make sure they’re interested in the real you.” She lifts her chin, looking a bit vindicated. But that’s my grandmother for you—she’s a lioness. Maybe because she’s theonlygrandmother who’s ever truly been in my life. My dad’s mother vanished right around the time he did. But Birdie’s always been there, from the days when I grew up in Seattle till our whole family moved down here. I get where she’s coming from with the dating—looking out for me and all, especially given how things ended with Joanne and the things my ex said to me when we were unraveling. Then again, I wasn’t exactly the best boyfriend at the end. I wasn’t “emotionally available,” as my ex liked to say. Well, she wasn’t wrong. My emotion during that time was singular—my priorities during that time were me. Selfish, sure. But I was a fucking mess about my knee, and I have the scar and eventual therapy bill to show for it. As well as a grandmother who likes to vet all romantic prospects to make sure they’re…compassionate.

Now, as if scolding herself, Birdie mutters, “But I guess I should’ve screened better this time. I’ll need to up my game if I’m going to gain admission into The Underground Grandma Matchmaking Society you spoke of. Just never thought I’d need to check for family ties to yourboss.” She pauses, clearly still digesting this plot twist. “Really, the coach’s daughter? That’s bad.”

I nod, but my thoughts drift back to yesterday. Sure Leighton’s beautiful, but she was even easier to talk to the more I got to know her. Clever too. And, best of all, it seemed like she’d already decided to trust me—with her vulnerabilities and her desires. That trust part felt real. I felt different with her than I did with my ex, even in one mere day. Our connection seemed more meaningful. It made me want to keep seeing her. Made me imagine someday sharing my vulnerabilities with her.

That someday won’t happen now though.

“Trust me, I know,” I say to my grandmother, rubbing the back of my neck. “The last thing I need is to get on Coach’s bad side—or worse, disappoint him.” The thought’s enough to make my stomach twist.

Birdie squeezes my arm. “Hey, at least there are other mermaids in the sea. I’ll find a wonderful new one for you. Minus the tail. Really, mermaids are overrated—think about all the water pollution these days. The rising oceans. Oil spills.”

I shake my head though I can barely keep up. “Please don’t.”

She sighs, her eyes softening with sincerity. “Let me do something, Miles. I feel like I need to make it up to you somehow. Think of this as a matchmaking debt. I need to repay it,” she says, probably knowing I don’t ask for help often, so she needs to push for me to accept it.

“To earn admission to the underground society?”

“Yes. Of course. But because I love you.”

The last thing I want is a date with someone who’s not Leighton. But now that Birdie’s mentioned this alleged debt, there is something she could do. Somethingkarmically helpful, considering the stunt I pulled this morning. Woke up early to make it happen, but I did it. There’s only one detail I left out though, and I don’t have enough time to handle this last piece on my own.

I check my watch briefly wishing I’d left this gold band back at Leighton’s studio. A small excuse to see her again. But I shake the thought off. I can’t keep coming up with reasons to see her.

Still, I need to take care of a proper goodbye before I leave town. “Here’s what I need,” I say to my co-conspirator.

After I explain, she nods dutifully. “I’ll go, even though you know I don’t hike.”

“I do know that.”

“But I love you more than I hate the outdoors. And I despise the outdoors. If you ever find me camping, just know the aliens have taken over my body. Speaking of aliens, I heard this great podcast on life forms from other galaxies the other day—might help take your mind off all this terrible news.”

Maybe it would. I take the recommendation, and once I leave, play the podcast in the car as I make a quick pit stop. Then, I head out to the players’ lot, mentally steeling myself to focus on hockey, and only hockey, from here on out.

Move forward.

Ever since my dad took off when I was twelve, leaving all of us behind with barely a word, I’ve lived by one mantra: move forward. Never back. And right now, that’s exactly what I need to do.

An hour later, I board the team jet, keeping my head down. Maybe I can avoid Coach.

Yes, genius, you can avoid him the whole season.

I definitely can’t avoid him today. He’s in the fourth row, reading something on his tablet. Perhaps he won’t see me. As I walk toward him, he looks up, nodding my way. “Falcon,” he says, voice cool, composed.

“Hey, Coach,” I say.

Then he returns to his tablet. That’s it. JustFalcon.

Just my last name, like he greets all of us.

He says “Lambert” next for our goalie, Max, then “Bryant” for our right winger, Wesley, then “Callahan” for our left winger, Asher.

The parade of last names, each said in his confident, commanding voice is a reminder that I only want him to see me as a part of the team. Like every other guy. I don’t want to stand out in any way other than being excellent on the ice. And that’s what I’m here to deliver on this road trip.

We play New York the next night, where I’m fast and calculating from the second the puck drops. I hunt for openings, flipping the puck to Bryant for an early goal. In the second period, Callahan’s barreling down the ice, but when the defensemen swarm him, he spins around and passes me the puck right as their D-man barrels toward me.

Only move forward.

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