Page 58 of The Girlfriend Goal
"I absolutely did. Ask Matt. I made him hold my backup phone for the second half when mine ran out of battery."
He kissed me then, and all thoughts of game analysis fled. This was what I'd been running from, this intensity that threatened to consume everything. But I was done running.
"I like you," he murmured against my lips, like he was testing the words. "I like how competitive you are. How youcolor-code everything. How you pretend you hate my jokes but always laugh anyway."
"I don't always laugh."
"You do. I like that too." His hands framed my face. "I like how you defended me to my father. How you are with Marcus. How you make me want to be better at everything."
He kissed me again, deeper this time, and I forgot what I was protesting. My hands found their way under his shirt, tracing the muscles I'd admired from a distance. He groaned against my mouth, and the sound sent heat through my entire body.
"Rachel," he breathed.
"Stop talking," I ordered, pulling him toward the bed. "You talk too much."
"You like it when I talk."
"Stop being noble and kiss me like you mean it."
What followed was everything first times should be—awkward and perfect and laughing when his elbow knocked over a water bottle and deadly serious when he looked at me like I was his whole world. It was gentle and intense and worth every second of the wait.
After, we lay tangled together, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare breast.
"So," he said. "Conference championship and mind-blowing sex. I should skip practice more often."
"Don't you dare. We both have careers to think about."
"Look at you, already managing my schedule." He kissed my hair. "I like you. Get used to it. I plan on saying it a lot."
"That's very distracting for someone with a five-year plan."
"Guess you'll have to revise it."
We stayed in bed for an hour, talking and kissing and memorizing each other. Outside, winter pressed against the windows. But inside, wrapped in each other and the certainty of being exactly where we belonged, we were warm.
"Hey," Lance said eventually. "We should probably eat. You just played ninety minutes of championship soccer. I'll order pizza. We can eat in bed and you can tell me everything about the game. And yes, every detail. I want to hear how it felt to score that goal. What you were thinking during the final minutes. How it feels to be a champion."
"You really want to know all that?"
"I want to know everything about you," he said simply. "Everything you're willing to share."
Chapter 24: Lance
Three fucking days of radio silence from Rachel after what I thought was a perfect night. She'd left my bed the next morning with promises to text, to meet for coffee, to continue what we'd started. Instead, I got nothing but read receipts and the kind of absence that felt deliberate. After everything we’d been through, we were back to square one.
"You're pathetic," Matt observed from his bed, watching me check my phone for the hundredth time. "Like, genuinely concerning levels of pathetic."
"She's avoiding me, after I said I liked her. What do I do?"
"Stop moping and go talk to her like an adult?" He threw a pillow at my head. "Novel concept, I know."
"I've tried. She's never where she's supposed to be. It's like she has a Lance radar and actively avoids anywhere I might show up."
"So stop being predictable." Jared's voice came from the doorway where he'd apparently materialized like some sort of relationship fairy godmother. "Honestly, do I have to solve everyone's romantic problems?"
"How long have you been standing there?" Matt asked.
"Long enough to be disappointed in both of you." He invited himself in, settling on Matt's bed with casual familiarity. "Lance, sweetie, you're thinking like a hockey player. All direct lines and brute force."
