The Boyfriend Goal (Love and Hockey Book 1)

Wesley

I have so many questions. But first things first. I open the car door for her when my gaze swings to the backseat and the evidence of my intentions on it.

That won’t do. As she’s sliding into the front seat, I quickly yank on the door handle for the back, then grab the bag, muttering, “Just a sec.”

“No worries,” she says.

As she buckles in I fish out the now pointless note. I stuff it into my back pocket.

That letter she left on hotel stationery wasn’t a clue after all. It wasn’t a treasure hunt, like I’d mistakenly thought the morning after. She’s just a girl who’s got a lot on her plate and legit had to jet in the morning.

It’s fine. Really, it is.

I slam the door harder than I’d expected, then head to the driver’s side. Once I’m in the car, I hand her the bag. “Here you go,” I say, then turn on the car and cruise through the lot.

“Oh my god,” she gasps. “Wesley!”

Fuck me. That excited sound. The smell of her perfume—cinnamon and my dirty dreams. Her lush chestnut hair. This is harder than scoring on the New York goalie.

“You left it behind,” I say in a statement of the obvious. But hell if I’m going to let on how goddamn excited I was to find it the other day.

“Thank you so much. I went back to the hotel that afternoon to the lost and found. But they didn’t have it.”

She went back to check on a scarf? But not to ask for my name?

Like the hotel would give her your name. Get over yourself.

She hugs the scarf to her chest. “My aunt gave this to me. I’m really glad to have it back.”

“Glad I could help,” I grumble, a little annoyed.

I’m annoyed because my plans are shot. I’m annoyed because I’m going to be living with temptation. And I’m annoyed because…well, she didn’t come looking for me.

Which is the stupidest reason of all to be irritated. Still, I am.

I focus on heading to the nearest salad and grain bowl spot instead. Nope, scratch that. I don’t want to run into fans or, worse, teammates. I take a detour to a place in Russian Hill instead, since that’s kind of, sort of on the way back to my place but far enough from here. Along the way, we make uncomfortable small talk about food, the hills in the city, how light the traffic is at this hour. It’s painful.

I pull up to Garden Kitchen and park. Once inside, I order something acceptable—sliced chicken, avocado, cherry tomatoes, and no cheese—while she orders a veggie and cheese bowl.

We snag a table but keep ourselves busy getting napkins and water. Once we sit and a server brings the food, the elephant in the room is tromping around. Getting louder and noisier. Best to deal with it, stat, even though there are so many questions I have. “So, your brother calls you Jay?”

“Yes, he couldn’t say Josie when I was born, so he’s always called me that.” She pauses, her expression resigned. Maybe frustrated too. “And I guess he calls you Bryant.”

“Well, yeah. It’s a thing we all do.”

“I know,” she says, like she wasn’t born yesterday. Of course she knows we use last names. Hell, she knows the coach.

But there are more elephants to deal with. “And you’re in the book business?” That came out a little bitter.

“Yes, I’m a librarian,” she says. “And I guess you are the sports asset rather than being in sports assets.”

I feel a little called out—rightfully so. But facts are facts. “Yeah, I guess players are assets,” I say with a shrug, like it was no big deal to tell her that.

“I guess so,” she says, distant.

I mull over her tone as I take another bite from the bowl, then ask, “You’re pissed I didn’t say I played hockey?”

She shakes her head. “No.” She pauses, though, like she’s not done. “I mean, I get it. I sort of wish I knew, but I also understand why you didn’t tell me.”

“Why do you think I didn’t?” I’m not sure she could know my reasons, but I’m damn curious what she thinks they are.

Her blue eyes hold mine as she says, “Because you probably just wanted a night to be…sort of someone else?”

She nailed it. She might not know the exact reason why, as in my dad likes to control everything I do since my career is everything to him, but she figured out enough.

“Same for you?” I ask, though I suspect since she wanted to have a one-night stand with a stranger she probably also wanted an escape from her regular life, just like I did.

“Same,” she says, then spears a forkful of tofu, chewing thoughtfully. When she sets it down, she adds, “And also, I was deliberately vague about my family because people tend to kind of geek out when I mention my brother, so I didn’t want to say that I’d been to San Francisco a few times for his games. I went to one last season.”

“And you met the coach then?”

“Christian introduced me to him briefly. That guy has a good memory,” she says.

“No shit,” I say, but that’s Coach in general. His mind is a steel trap. But then, so is Josie’s. “You do too.”

She shrugs. “I’m good with names.”

“I’ll say.” Then, I freeze with a bite of chicken midway to my mouth, my mind tripping back in time. “This is going to sound weird, but for a moment when I met you I thought you looked vaguely familiar. But not in a way where I could place you. Maybe I did see you at a game? The one you went to last season?”

She smiles apologetically. “Maybe? I was in that same hallway I was in tonight. Meeting Christian after a game.”

I set down my fork with a heavy sigh as the déjà vu feeling crashes back into me, but it’s more clear this time. Yeah, now I remember seeing a pretty woman with Christian one night. But I never met her, of course. And I never thought twice about it, really. “Just my luck,” I say sarcastically.

She laughs. “I’ve been saying that a lot this week.”

Ah, hell. She has had a bad week. And I have been kind of cold tonight. I try again to be civil. “So your place fell through? The one you got locked out of?”

“No. Another one. That was just my friend Maeve’s place. The woman I talked to at the show?”

“Right. I guess I figured you were living with her,” I admit.

“I get that. You would have no reason to think I wasn’t. Anyway, I had a short-term rental, but the landlord sold it at the last minute so I turned to Christian for help, and well…”

I manage a smile I don’t entirely feel. “Here we are,” I finish for her.

“Here we are,” she echoes, then takes another bite of her veggie bowl.

I try not to linger on watching her eat. Even though I really like her mouth. Picture her pretty lips as she said she wanted to objectify me five nights ago and…yeah, things are gonna be real hard with her in my house.

I wipe my mouth with a napkin and take a drink of my water. I’m not even sure what to say next. I should say I’m sorry I didn’t tell her what I did for a living, but neither one of us was very forthcoming about details that night. At the time it was deliberate. We only gave as much info as we wanted to. She didn’t even come back to my place. And in retrospect now, it’s clear what the other night was—and what it wasn’t.

It wasn’t the start of a new romance, like I foolishly had hoped when I woke up. It wasn’t the beginning of our dating season, like I’d tricked myself into believing this week and not only because she’s my team captain’s little sister. But because she meant what she said that night—she wanted one night and one night only.

I pat the note I’d planned to leave with the scarf, making sure it’s safe and sound in my pocket. It is. It won’t ever see the light of day.

Then I draw a deep breath and do the right thing—I move on. “You’re good with this, Josie? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, but I’m truly happy to have you living with me,” I say, meaning it since I hate the idea of her out there in a dangerous neighborhood when I have the tools to help her. “For as long as you need.”

Her blue eyes are etched with gratitude as she asks, “Are you sure?”

She sounds so vulnerable. So worried. I feel like a dick for having been, well, a dick tonight. “Of course. I volunteered. I’m happy to help.” But I’m really going to sound like a dick when I say the next thing. Still, I have to say it. We need to lay down the rules. “Guess it’s a good thing that night was a one-and-done.”

I cringe at the way that sounds all casual and cool. Like I’m a playboy when I’m not.

“Totally,” she says quickly, sitting up straighter as she smiles.

Way to punch me in the gut, Josie.

“Right?” I say with a big laugh. A goddamn gregarious one. “And obviously, what happened has to stay between us.”

“Oh my god, clearly,” she says, agreeing easily, like we’re totally sweeping the other night under the rug together.

“Look, it’s a dumb rule. Like Everly said. But it exists for a reason—the good of the team,” I admit honestly. “You need to go to war every night with these guys. You need to trust your teammates, and if you’re sleeping with their sisters, and things go sideways with that, then…”

She nods vehemently. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

That’s the thing. I don’t need to convince her about why this golden rule exists—for the good of the team. I don’t need to win her over to it since she’s already on board. It’s like Sunday night never happened. I definitely don’t need to convince her.

She adds enthusiastically, “Especially since we’re roomies now and it’s just a bad idea to—” But she swallows whatever she was going to say—sleep with your roomie? Date your roomie?

I don’t even know, so I nod, because whatever she was going to say I’m sure I agree with. “Yes. Exactly. The roomie rule.”

“And we’ll follow it,” she adds.

“We absolutely will.”

We finish eating, and rather than ask her out for another night, I’m asking a more surreal question: “Want to see your new room?”

“I do,” she says, then adds with a smile, “roomie!”

She says it brightly, like that’s all she wants to be. That’s going to have to be fine with me.