Page 4 of The Girlfriend Goal
"Honey, I'm home," I called out as I entered, knowing Jared would already be up. He had this internal alarm clock that went off at exactly 7:15 every morning, just in time to make himself handsome for his 8:30 AM fashion merchandising class.
"In the kitchen," his voice rang out. "And you better come explain why you look like you just committed murder."
I found him at our tiny breakfast bar, wearing a silk robe that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
"Rough practice?" He studied my face with the intensity of an artist examining their canvas. "No, this is different. This is your 'someone just disrespected women's athletics' face. Spill."
I collapsed onto the stool next to him. "Some hockey player just walked into our locker room."
Jared froze. "Excuse me?"
"Lance Fletcher. Walked right in while I was changing, staring at his phone like he owned the place."
"Lance Fletcher?" Jared's eyes lit up with interest. "Oh, he's the one with the cheekbones. And the biceps that could bounce quarters. Did he at least apologize?"
"Jared!"
"What? I have eyes. Just because I'm currently entertaining Mark from the business school doesn't mean I can't appreciate the hockey team's contributions to campus scenery. Though walking into the women's locker room is definitely creepy. Want me to spread some rumors? I have connections in the campus gossip network."
"He claimed it was an accident."
"Sure. And I 'accidentally' matched with Mark's roommate on Tinder last week." He turned to face me fully. "Though I have to say, Fletcher doesn't seem like the pervy type. More like the 'I'm too pretty to need to be pervy' type."
"All hockey players are the same," I insisted, though something about the genuine horror on Lance's face flashed through my mind.
"Speaking of types?" Jared reached for his phone. "Brad texted you again."
My stomach clenched. "How do you know?"
"Because you have your read receipts on like a psychopath, and I saw him typing for like twenty minutes yesterday." He scrolled through his phone. "Want me to hack his social media and post those photos from his lacrosse formal where he dressed up as a sexy nurse?"
"You don't know how to hack anything."
"I could learn. For you, I would master the dark arts of cyber warfare." He struck a dramatic pose. "No one messes with my best friend and gets away with it."
I laughed. "He's not worth potential felony charges."
"Fine, but if he shows up here again, I'm not responsible for my actions. Remember what happened last time? When he had the audacity to say your goals were 'cute' but you should focus on supporting his career?" Jared's voice pitched higher in indignation. "I nearly threw my limited-edition action figure at his head."
"That would’ve been a waste of a good action figure."
"Exactly why I restrained myself. But I did key his car a little bit."
"Jared!"
"What? It was just a tiny scratch in the shape of a penis. On his hood." He examined his nails innocently. "These things happen."
My phone buzzed with a text. Brad, of course. "Miss you, babe. Can we talk?"
"Absolutely not," Jared said, reading over my shoulder. "Delete, block, restraining order. In that order."
"I'm not getting a restraining order."
"Then at least let me respond. Please? I have so many creative insults saved up."
"No. He’s transferred and his words can’t hurt me anymore." I deleted the message without responding. "I have bigger things to worry about than Brad. Like my sports management thesis. And getting our team to nationals. And convincing my parents that getting a degree isn't a waste of time when I could be working to help with bills."
Jared's expression softened. "How are your parents doing?"
