Page 62 of The Girlfriend Goal
"It always is with you," Jared said, his voice gentler now. "Want to talk about it?"
The truth was, I desperately wanted to talk about it. About how Lance's hands felt on my skin, how he whispered my name like a prayer when he came all over my chest, how he held me afterward like I was something precious even though our rules explicitly stated no post-sex cuddling. About how I was breaking every one of my own rules and hating myself for it.
"It's just physical," I said into the pillow.
"Oh honey," Jared sighed. "No, it's not."
I lifted my head to glare at him. "It is. We agreed. No feelings, no complications, just—"
"Just you checking your phone every five seconds and smiling like a Disney princess when he texts?" Jared shook his head. "That's not just physical. That's feelings wearing a trench coat pretending to be casual sex."
My phone buzzed under the pillow. I absolutely did not lunge for it.
Lance:Study session tonight? Have that sports psych paper due tomorrow.
I stared at the message, knowing full well that "study session" had become our code for hooking up. We'd actually tried studying together exactly once before I'd ended up naked in his lap, textbook forgotten on the floor.
Me:Can't tonight. Actually need to study.
Lance:I could help. I'm excellent at motivation.
A second message followed immediately.
Lance:That sounded less dirty in my head. Or maybe dirtier. Honestly not sure.
I bit back a smile, which Jared immediately caught.
"You're doing it again," he sang. "The smile thing. It's actually kind of nauseating how cute you are right now."
"Shut up," I muttered, but typed back anyway.
Me:Your version of motivation involves very little studying.
Lance:I'm wounded. I'll have you know I'm very focused on education. Specifically, educating myself on what makes you make that sound you pretend you don't make.
Me:I hate you.
Lance:No you don't.
He was right, and that was the whole problem. I didn't hate him. I actually liked him quite a lot, which was approximately a thousand times worse. Hating him would’ve made the physical stuff simple. Liking him—his stupid jokes, his surprising intelligence, the way he was endlessly patient with the kids at the community center—made everything complicated.
"I should end it," I said aloud.
Jared made a buzzer sound. "Wrong answer, but thanks for playing. Why would you end something that's clearly making you happy?"
"Because it's a distraction," I said, falling back on my standard excuse. "I have my internship applications, the soccer season, graduation coming up—"
"Blah, blah," Jared interrupted. "You've been juggling a million things since I met you. One more ball in the air isn't going to kill you." He paused, grinning. "Pun absolutely intended."
"You're disgusting."
"You love me." He studied me more seriously. "But apparently not yourself enough to let something good happen."
That stung more than I wanted to admit. "It's not about that. You know what happened with Brad—"
"Brad was an emotionally manipulative asshole who tried to control every aspect of your life," Jared said firmly."Lance is sweet and he looks at you like you hung the moon. I saw him at your championship game. The man ignored his own teammate trying to talk to him because he was too busy watching you play. That's not casual. That's 'I'm writing your name in my notebook with little hearts' behavior."
My phone buzzed again.
