Page 20 of Goal Line (Boston Rebels #4)

“You mean sometime in the next three days ?”

“I know. I’m sorry I didn’t give you more notice. But she’s free any time Wednesday or Thursday.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” he says. It’s something he says all the time, and I know he means he loves me in the same way Luke does—like a sibling.

But as my door cracks open and Luke pops his head in, I’m still incredibly grateful for my AirPods, because I know that Luke wouldn’t have taken his comment that way.

Luke still blames Christopher for my decisions that night . . . It’s best if he never hears him say those words.

“Hey.” Luke’s deep voice cuts through my noise-canceling AirPods, and I don’t miss the way Christopher’s eyes track his movement as he bends to kiss the top of my head. “You ready?”

I take out one of my earbuds and glance up at him, nodding my chin toward my phone sitting on the vanity. “Say hi to Christopher,” I say, with a be nice tone that you’d use with a petulant child.

“Well, if it isn’t Christopher Fucking Steele,” he mutters, quietly enough that I’m pretty sure he isn’t heard on the other end.

If he does hear him, Christopher does a remarkable job of not reacting.

Luke snatches the AirPod out of my hand and sticks it in his ear.

“Hey, man, sorry, I have to steal Eva away. We have plans.”

“Hey!” I say when Luke reaches forward and taps the screen to disconnect the call. “What the hell?”

“I’ll play nice with him when he’s around, because he’s your partner. But let’s make sure he knows where he stands—because being your skating partner means next to nothing when you’re about to be my wife. ”

My stomach shouldn’t flip over when he calls me his wife. A shiver shouldn’t streak down my spine as the thrill rushes through me.

He isn’t jealous; he just doesn’t like my skating partner—and I’d do well to remember that.

There’s no way I’m letting myself get caught up in the what-ifs with him like I did with Christopher.

Especially because my friendship with Luke means more to me than any other relationship I’ve ever had in my life.

There’s no way I’m risking that.

I roll my eyes, and then turn back to the mirror to curl my last piece of hair.

“You ready?” he asks .

I lock eyes with him in the mirror. “Do I look ready?” I have a big pink Velcro roller sitting at the top of my forehead and am holding a curling iron above me as I curl a lock of hair. I’m in a tank top and my pink striped pajama shorts.

“You always look great, Evie. You don’t have to do all”—he waves his hand in a circle near my face—“this.”

I want to tell him to stop saying things like that, but I don’t want him to know how much his compliments affect me. He’s a pro-level flirt and knows what to say to women to make them swoon. I’m sure he doesn’t even mean it.

“I’ll be ready in, like, five minutes. How’d you even get in?”

“Your dad let me in,” he says.

“I didn’t think my parents were back yet,” I say, suddenly worried that my half of the conversation could have been overheard. My parents went to the farmers’ market down near the harbor, and I didn’t hear them return.

“I’m not sure if your mom is home, but your dad definitely is. He’s got the baseball game on and asked if I wanted to grab a beer and watch it with him.”

“I hope you let him down gently?” I say, feeling bad that Dad’s just hanging out watching the game by himself, while Luke and I are about to head out to dinner. But we have important details to work out if this is all going to happen as planned.

I spent more time with my parents over this past week, knowing we’re about to drop a major bomb on both our families this weekend.

However they feel about the bomb, it will mean that I’m staying in Boston permanently.

After nearly a decade of living on the opposite coast, I hope they’ll be happy about that.

Especially when this baby arrives. We’ll have plenty of family time together for the first time in my adult life.

“I did,” Luke says.

“All right, do you mind maybe watching the game with him for a few minutes while I get dressed?” I ask, hoping that the maxi dress I bought two weeks ago still fits okay.

Luke’s chest shakes with silent laughter at my request that he leave while I change. “What do you think it’ll be like when you move in with me? I don’t always walk around fully clothed. Are you going to be weird if I’m hanging out in just my boxers?”

“Yes!” I practically screech, and then I throw in an “Ewww,” so that he thinks I’m grossed out by the idea.

I haven’t let myself think too much about the day-to-day experience of living with him.

The thought of walking into the kitchen in the morning and finding him in his boxers, pouring a cup of coffee is .

. . not something you can think about right now , my brain screams at me.

But goddamn, now that the mental image is there, it’s hard to get out of my head.

“Okay,” Luke says with a dramatic sigh as he heads toward the door. “I’ll try to stay fully clothed at all times so I don’t gross you out.”

I can tell he’s teasing. He knows how good he looks, clothed or unclothed. But I’ll keep pretending that I don’t see the appeal. Maybe eventually, I’ll even convince myself it’s true.