Page 48 of The Girlfriend Goal
"And no weird expectations—"
"Rachel." He cut me off gently. "I'm literally just asking you to help me survive Thanksgiving with my father. That's it. No ulterior motives. Scout's honor."
I looked at Jared, who was now literally on his knees making prayer hands. "Fine. But I'm only doing this because California sounds better than Boston."
"Hey!" Jared protested.
"I'll book your ticket," Lance said quickly. "Send me your info. Consider it payment for buffer services. I'll send you the details."
He hung up before I could argue. I stared at my phone, wondering what I'd just agreed to.
"This is perfect." Jared clapped his hands. "A beach Thanksgiving sounds so glamorous. Very—" He stopped. "Wait. You'll need clothes."
"I have clothes."
"You have athletic wear and one nice outfit from sophomore year." He was already standing, pulling me up. "We're going shopping."
"Jared, no."
"If we're doing Malibu Thanksgiving, we're doing it right." He paused at my door. "Also, you just agreed to spend a holiday with Lance's family. That's basically meeting the parents."
"It's not!"
"It's totally meeting the parents. Oh my god, we need to discuss strategy. What if his dad hates you? What if he lovesyou? What if there's a step-mom who tries to bond? We need contingency plans."
He was still rattling off disaster scenarios as he dragged me out of my apartment. But underneath the panic about meeting Lance's family, about spending four days in close proximity to him, about what this might mean, I was a tiny bit excited.
"Jared," I said as we headed to his car. "What have I gotten myself into?"
"Thebestworst decision of your life," he said cheerfully. "Now let's find you something that says 'I'm not trying to impress your father but I'm also not a disaster.'"
Chapter 19: Lance
The flight to LAX should’ve been torture. Six hours in a metal tube with recycled air and the kind of turbulence that made even seasoned travelers grip their armrests. Instead, I spent the entire flight hyperaware of Rachel sleeping against my shoulder, her guard completely down for once.
It had taken her exactly fifteen minutes to pass out after takeoff. One moment she was pretending to read some sports management textbook, the next she was using me as a pillow. Her hair smelled like vanilla and something floral. I'd been holding my breath for the last hour, terrified that moving would wake her and end this unexpected gift of trust.
"If you stare any harder, you might burn a hole through her head," Matt said from across the aisle, not bothering to lower his voice.
"Shut up," I hissed.
"I'm just saying, the flight attendant's asked you two times if you want a drink."
"I'm fine."
"You're whipped." He grinned. "It's pathetic, but cute."
"Says the guy who's been texting Jared nonstop since we boarded."
"We're coordinating." Matt's phone buzzed again. "He's very particular about travel snacks."
"You bought him airport candy."
"The wrong kind, apparently. Did you know there's a hierarchy of gummy bears? Because I do now."
Jared's voice drifted over from his window seat. "If you're going to mock my snack preferences, at least do it quietly. Some of us are trying to manifest good weather through meditation."
"Is that what you're calling your nap?"
