Page 87 of The Girlfriend Goal
I gathered my things, hyperaware of Lance watching me. At the door, I turned back to find him still staring, expression unguarded for just a moment. The longing there made me stumble, catching myself on the door frame.
Outside, I called my mom with shaking hands.
"I got it, Mom. The Seattle internship."
The silence stretched long enough that I checked the connection.
"Mom?"
"I'm here." Her voice was thick. "I'm just so proud. My baby, working for a professional team."
"It's just an internship," I downplayed, even as tears pricked my eyes.
"It's your dream. You've worked so hard, sacrificed so much." She paused. "What about that boy? The hockey player Jared mentioned?"
"What about him?"
"Rachel, don't play dumb with your mother. Jared's called me three times about how perfect this Lance is for you."
"Jared needs to mind his own business." I made a mental note to murder my best friend. "And it doesn't matter. I'm going to Seattle. He'll probably get drafted somewhere else."
My mother's knowing hum transcended distance. "You know, your father and I were long distance for two years when he got that construction job upstate."
"That's different."
"Is it? We made it work because love was worth the effort."
"I'm not in love," I protested automatically.
"No? Then why do you sound like your heart is breaking?"
I couldn't answer that, so I changed the subject to safer topics – my siblings, her work, anything but the man I was definitely not in love with who'd looked at me like I was taking his heart to Seattle with me.
That evening's celebration felt bittersweet. Jared had assembled our friend group at a karaoke bar, complete with a cake that read "Seattle or Bust" in messy frosting.
"I may have been pre-drinking while decorating," he admitted. "But it's the thought that counts."
Lance showed up late, fresh from practice, hair still damp from his shower. He'd brought flowers – not romantic roses, but bright gerbera daisies that felt perfectly friendly and made me want to cry.
"Congratulations again," he said, handing them over. "You're going to revolutionize their social media engagement."
"You read my proposal?"
"Jared may have shared it. With enthusiastic commentary about your genius." He smiled. "He wasn't wrong."
The karaoke portion of the evening quickly devolved into chaos. Matt and Jared's duet of "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" involved choreography that cleared a small dance floor. My teammates performed an enthusiastic if pitchy version of "We Are The Champions."
"Your turn," Jared shoved the mic at Lance and me. "Duet time!"
"I don't sing," we said simultaneously, then glared at each other.
"Perfect harmony already!" Jared cued up a song before we could protest further.
The opening notes of "Don't You Want Me" filled the bar. Of course he'd chosen the most dramatic breakup duet in karaoke history.
Lance grabbed his mic with surprising confidence. "You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar..."
His voice was actually good – rough but on key, with enough performance flair to make the crowd cheer. I missed my cue, too startled to react.
