Page 41 of The Girlfriend Goal
"Are you serious?"
"Dead serious. I have a whole list of questions. Question one: How do you feel about couples' Halloween costumes?"
This was my life now. Being interrogated by Jared about costume preferences while falling for a girl who couldn't admit she was falling back.
Chapter 16: Rachel
Rain hammered against the windows of our inadequate indoor practice facility, the space so cramped we could barely run half-field drills without crashing into walls. I'd been running my team ragged for thirty minutes, partly because our conference semifinals were next week, and partly because if I stopped moving, I'd start thinking about a certain hockey player's stupidly perfect mouth.
"Fox, that's the third time you've blown that whistle in two minutes," my co-captain Maya called out, jogging over with her hands on her hips. "Either we're all suddenly terrible, or you're working through some feelings."
"We're preparing for States," I said, definitely not thinking about how Lance's hoodie still smelled like him even after I'd washed it. "Run it again."
"Is this about your hockey boyfriend?" freshman midfielder Casey piped up, immediately shrinking when I turned my death glare on her.
"He's not my—"
"Oh please," Maya interrupted. "Half the campus saw him princess-carry you out of that party. Very romantic. Very un-Rachel-like."
"Just run the drill."
They ran it, but the whispers continued. By the time we hit the locker room, I was fielding questions like a press conference from hell.
"Is it true hockey players have better stamina in bed?" That from our goalkeeper, who definitely should’ve known better.
"Are you going to wear his jersey to games now?"
"Will this end the soccer-hockey feud? Are we supposed to be nice to them?"
"Can you get us into their parties?"
"There is no relationship!" I finally exploded, slamming my locker hard enough to make everyone jump. "Lance is my project partner. We have to work together at the community center. That's it. End of story. No jersey wearing, no party privileges, and definitely no peace treaty between programs."
"But you were in his hot tub," someone whispered.
"How does everyone know about that?"
"Jared’s Instagram," three people said simultaneously.
I was saved from committing multiple homicides by the door opening. Unfortunately, my savior was Jared, with Matt trailing behind him like an oversized golden retriever who'd learned to walk on its hind legs.
"Ladies," Jared announced with a flourish. "Don't mind us. Just retrieving Rachel for an important engagement."
"We're having a team meeting," I protested.
"Meeting's over," Maya chirped, clearly thrilled by the drama. "Go have your important engagement."
"Traitor," I muttered, but let Jared drag me out while Matt waved at my teammates like he was on a parade float.
The hallway was mercifully empty, giving me space to breathe without twenty sets of eyes analyzing my every expression.
"Okay, first of all," Jared started, walking backwards so he could properly lecture me, "hiding in the athletic complex is very 2023 of you. We've discussed growth, Rachel. Emotional evolution."
"I'm not hiding. I had practice."
"For three hours?"
"Semifinals are important."
