Page 69 of The Goat in the Bedroom
I was literally teaching the woman I loved how to seduce another man. There had to be a special circle of hell reserved for this exact situation.
“His abs are ridiculous,” I found myself telling Flynn on Wednesday while we were getting ready for practice. “Have you seen them? They're like... architecturally impossible.”
Flynn looked up from his playbook. “Whose abs?”
“Tyson's.” I pulled on my practice jersey with more force than necessary. “They're perfect. He's perfect. He volunteers at animal shelters.”
“Okay?”
“He speaks three languages, Flynn. Three. I can barely handle English some days.” I sat down to put on my cleats. “And his laugh. Have you heard his laugh? It's like... musical.”
Flynn was staring at me with an expression I couldn't read. “Are you having a breakdown?”
“He builds homes for Habitat for Humanity. In his spare time. For fun.” I stood up, pacing now. “His parents are still married. He has a great relationship with his sister. He can cook actual food that doesn't come from a box.”
“Gryff—“
“Oh god.” I stopped pacing, a horrible realization washing over me. “Am I in love with Tyson too?”
Flynn made a choking sound. “What?”
“Think about it. I can't stop talking about him. I notice everything about him. I think about him constantly.” I sank onto the bench. “Oh fuck, I'm in love with Tyson Freeman.”
“You're not in love with Tyson,” Flynn said slowly, like he was talking to a child or a confused animal.
“But he's perfect.”
“You don't want to date him, you idiot. You want to BE him. Or better, you want him to disappear so Artie will notice you exist.”
“She notices I exist. I'm her practice dummy.” I grabbed my helmet. “Her kissing crash test dummy.”
“You made out with her for an hour three days ago.”
“For practice,” I shouted, then looked around to make sure no one heard. “She's very committed to proper technique.”
Flynn muttered something that sounded like “idiots in love” but before I could respond, Tyson walked by.
“Hey, Kingmans,” he said with that perfect smile that probably never had spinach in it. “Ready for practice?”
“Always,” Flynn said, and I swear he gave Tyson some kind of look. Like they were sharing a secret.
Great. Even my brother was Team Tyson now.
Saturday arrived too fast. Flynn and I had generally agreed we didn't need a big thing for our birthday, but Sean and Ren had insisted on throwing us a party. “You only turn twenty-three once,” Sean had said, “and it's your first birthday in LA. We're celebrating.”
So our house was full of people, teammates, their partners, Sean and Ren's friends, even family who'd flown in. Nana and Coach were holding court in the living room, Grandpa Hunter was already chatting with some players, while Grandma Helene was definitely checking out their butts. Jules was directing food placement like a tiny general, and AbuelaNovela was telling anyone who'd listen about the telenovela plot this all reminded her of.
“Dos hermanos, dos destinos, pero solo uno conoce el amor verdadero,” she said dramatically.
“She's saying happy birthday,” Tempest translated unconvincingly.
Sloane and her camera crew were everywhere, documenting every moment. She'd been particularly interested in what she called “the roommate dynamic” all week.
I was in the kitchen stress-eating cheesy poofs when Tyson arrived.
He looked perfect, because of course he did. A tight t-shirt that showed off those ridiculous abs, jeans that looked professionally tailored, and he was carrying not one but two gift bags.
“Birthday boys,” he called out, then caught Flynn's eye and... winked?
