Page 13 of One Goal in Mind

Good luck in your final interview today! Let me know how it goes.

I’m still nervous about it, but I’ll text you when I’m done.

Am I obsessed with a woman I can never have? Fuck, yes, I am. We text daily—all day. I’ve been selfishly hoping she gets the job. If she signs on with Québec, there’s a chance I’ll see her when they play Vancouver.

And yeah, I lied to my little vixen when she asked about her brother. It’s been a fucking nightmare since I met his sister. He doesn’t suspect anything, but he’s been on my ass ever since that night.

Once practice is over, I check my phone, disappointed there’s no message from Scarlett. As I’m about to pocket it, an incoming text has it vibrating in my hand.

Red

I got it.

I knew you would. I’m so fucking proud of you.

Should we celebrate?

Fuck, yes! Give me thirty minutes and I’ll be home.

Vodka?

Nope! We’re breaking out the good stuff.

I don’t have aged whisky, bestie.

Leave it to me.

I place a quick delivery order that should arrive at her place in the next hour, then pack everything up and make my way home,hating that I’ll be walking into an empty apartment. Beav and Dixon invited me out for drinks, but my priorities are focused on exactly one thing. One person, really—Scarlett. From the moment I saw her, I knew she was special, and the tug I feel toward her hasn’t faded since that night.

As soon as I have my duffle stowed away, I call her, anxious to hear her voice. She picks up on the first ring, and I can’t help the smile spreading across my face. ”Hey, bestie,” she sings, and my heart finally slows for the first time since I woke up.

“Hey, Red, tell me everything.”

Scarlett recounts her interview, including several hard-hitting questions I knew—without a doubt—my girl would obliterate. Truly, she’s overqualified, but I’m loving the excitement in her voice as she tells me how she schooled them on arthritis in older athletes. Thankfully, I haven’t experienced many symptoms myself, but I love that she’s passionate about the care of her patients, even after retirement.

“So… are you really going to do it?” The hint of teasing in her voice is undeniable.

My grin hasn’t left my face, but it widens at her question. “It’ll be a rough three or so months, but I think I can manage.”

“Please tell me you’re not doing this for me.”

“One piercing for every month I can’t see you is a torture I’m willing to endure, Red.”

Fuck! I didn’t just admit that…

“What did you say?” she asks with a quiver.

“Nothing. Only that I’ll be tortured for a few months.”

She doesn’t buy my horrible save and sighs, “Russ, why are we doing this?”

My heart stops at her question, refusing to acknowledge our shitty predicament. Neither of us have admitted to anything beyond friendship. Sure, there’s fun banter and flirting, but I’ve always wanted more. Losing her altogether is a fate I’m not willing to consider. We may hide behind our friendship, but I’m hers. We both know it.

Her doorbell dings, and she excuses herself for a minute. When she returns, she laughs, “This is your doing, isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?” I stifle a chuckle.

“You don’t happen to know anything about a mysterious delivery of your favourite whisky appearing at my doorstep?”

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