Page 44 of The Girlfriend Goal
"There's respecting boundaries and there's enabling avoidance." Matt stood, stretching. "Trust me, I'm an expert at avoidance. Ask me how long I've been pretending I don't want to kiss Jared senseless."
"How long?"
"We're not talking about me." He grabbed his gear bag. "Come on, we have a game to win. Channel all that sexual frustration into body checks."
The arena buzzed with pre-game energy, our rivalry with State drawing a bigger crowd than usual. I went through my usual routine—tape, stretch, visualize—but my focus kept drifting to the stands. Would she come? After three days of avoidance, probably not.
"Fletcher!" Coach Stevens barked. "Whatever's got you staring at the ceiling better be game strategy. Because State's gunning for us. That left winger of theirs, Thompson? He's been running his mouth about our 'overrated defense.'"
My jaw clenched. "Has he now?"
"Channel it, son. Show them why you're getting NHL looks."
The mention of scouts should've fired me up. Instead, it just reminded me of Rachel's fears about ambition and sacrifice. Was that what she thought I'd become? Another Brad who'd make her choose?
"You good?" Morrison checked my shoulder. "Need you sharp tonight. That Thompson kid's fast."
I could handle fast. What I couldn't handle was the jolt that went through me when I spotted a familiar figure in the student section. Rachel sat between Jared and what lookedlike half her soccer team, wearing university colors instead of hockey-specific gear. But she was here.
"Holy shit, is that Fox?" Morrison followed my gaze. "Didn't think soccer royalty graced our games."
"She's interested in sports psychology," I managed.
"Sure she is." His grin was knowing. "Try not to kill Thompson too hard trying to impress her."
The puck dropped, and I forced everything else away. This was what I knew. This made sense. The ice didn't overthink or run away or make me feel like my chest might explode from wanting something I couldn't have.
Thompson came at me in the first period, all speed and flash. I shut him down with a clean check that sent him spinning. The crowd roared. I didn't look at the student section.
Second period, he tried again. This time I poke-checked the puck away and sent a perfect pass up ice for a goal. The bench erupted.
Third period, tie game, Thompson got chippy. Slashing, hooking, running his mouth about "pretty boy defensemen." I kept my cool until he mentioned something about "soccer girls in the stands" with a leer that made my vision red.
The hit was clean—technically. But it was also the kind of hit that sent a message. Thompson went down hard, staying down long enough that refs checked on him. When he finally got up, the respect in his eyes was new.
We won 4-3. I had three assists and spent five minutes in the penalty box for a roughing call that was absolutely worth it. As we filed off the ice, I couldn't help one glance at the stands.
Rachel was still there, and she was looking right at me.
The locker room celebration felt distant, like I was watching through glass. My teammates recounted plays, made plans for Malone's, the usual post-game ritual. I begged off, claiming exhaustion.
"Bullshit," Matt said, already half-changed. "You're going to accidentally run into a certain someone, aren't you?"
"No idea what you mean."
"Right. Well, when you accidentally run into her, maybe mention how you defended her honor against Thompson. Very romantic. Very caveman. She'll hate that she loves it."
I took my time showering, changing, pretending I wasn't timing it so I'd exit when the crowds cleared. Pure coincidence that I'd walk past where the student section would file out. Totally accidental.
Rachel was leaning against the wall outside the arena, scrolling through her phone. The overhead light caught the gold in her hair, and I had to stop myself from staring like an idiot.
"Fancy meeting you here," I said.
She looked up, and something flickered across her face before she schooled it into neutrality. "Good game."
"You watched?"
"I was analyzing defensive strategies. For comparison with soccer formations. Though that hit on Thompson seemed less strategic and more personal."
