Page 46 of Goalie Lessons

“Why not?” she asks, voice impossibly casual for the conversation we’re having right now. She actually shrugs. “I can handle casual relationships, and I need to blow off some steam. Maybe you didn’t know this, but my last girlfriend cheated on me. It’s been a while.”

“Your last girlfriend.” I am physically unable to take my eyes off her. “Right.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I’m bi—does that bother you? Is it a problem?”

Raising my hands a little too fast, and speaking a little too loudly, I say, “No, no, of course not. It’s—uh, I guess it’s a little intimidating.”

That makes Astrid laugh, and I wish I could reach out and hold it, catch it in my palm, keep it here even after she leaves.

“Okay. Good.” She glances around, returns her gaze to mine, and says. “We’re friends. Think of it as another favor, right?”

“Sure,” I practically choke. “I jump your car, you rescue my ward from the bathroom, then you log your hours as my sex tutor.”

She chokes on the chocolate in her mouth, laughing and coughing, then straightens up, “First, maybe she hates you because you just called her yourward. And second, please don’t ever saysex tutoragain.”

The arousal problem is gone, my chest sucking in tight again. I raise my hand and rub at it, pressing my lips together and wincing.

“She hates me?”

Astrid’s face falls, and just like that, we’ve moved on from the sex tutor conversation. I wonder if tomorrow it will be like a fever dream. If we’ll both agree that it was late, and we were tired, and it was an insane idea.

Or maybe Astrid will say that it was a joke the entire time. Maybe it will be another thing I’ll have to be embarrassed about.

“No,” Astrid’s eyes widen in alarm, her hands coming up in front of her. “Shit,no, Grayson, she doesn’t. She’s just—you know, teenagers act out. They tell their own parents they hate them. It’s not that Callie hates you, it’s just that she hates everything, and that extends to you.”

I know—I knew it before Astrid said it, but it still feels good to hear. Every morning, I wake up with the sinking sensation that I’m doing something horribly, horribly wrong. That those girls are going to end up much worse than how I found them.

“Hey,” Astrid says, her voice going soft. She reaches out, touching my arm like she did in the hallway. And just like then, a spark of energy runs up to my shoulder, then down my back. “You’re doing an amazing job, Grayson. And even if you weren’t, just doing your best right now is more than enough. You’re here for them. That’s what they need, more than perfection.”

I laugh, “Right. Perfection is the enemy of progress.”

Her hand is still on my arm, and I drop my gaze to it, as though needing to convince myself that it’s real. Like just the sensation of touch isn’t enough—I need to see it. The real visual evidence Astrid is touching me of her own free will.

“You’re serious about it?” I ask, and the change in my voice must be enough for her to realize I’ve moved away from talking about the girls again.

Her eyes search my face, and it gets very quiet. She’s still touching me, and it takes everything in me not to step forward, kiss her right now.

She agreed to help me out, not to be my girlfriend. I want to kiss her, though, and wonder if that’s a part of it.

Not thinking, I speak again before she can, my gaze firmly on her lips. “I guess I wasn’t specific when I asked—is my kissing shit, too?”

“No,” she rasps, shaking her head, grip tightening slightly on my arm, her body swaying forward. If I didn’t know any better, I might start to thinkshewants to kissme. “Your kissing was just fine.”

“Okay.”

“And yes—I mean it, Grayson. We’re friends. I trust you. It’ll be…fun.”

“Yeah.” I swallow—I’m swallowing too much. Does she notice? “Yeah—but not…now. Because of the girls.”

“No.” She shakes her head, keeps her eyes on me. “No—not here. But…I’ll let you know. We can work it in with…everything else.”

“This is weird.”

“Yeah,” Astrid laughs, finally pulling her hand from my arm. “Yeah, it is weird. But that’s…it’s all good. I’ll call you, okay, Grayson?”

I walk her to the door, then to her car, then I stand outside and watch as she turns it on. Bugs dance around the lights out here, and her engine whines softly as she pulls out of my driveway.

Standing on the porch, I stare after her taillights until they disappear into the distance.

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