Page 14 of The Girlfriend Goal

Death had come for me, and its name was Hangover.

I cracked one eye open to find sunlight streaming through my window like a personal attack. My mouth tasted like something had crawled in there and died, possibly the zombie I'd dressed as last night.

"Morning, sunshine." Jared's voice hit like a sledgehammer. "How's our little party animal?"

"Please kill me," I groaned into my pillow.

"Can't. You have to suffer through your choices like the rest of us." He set something on my nightstand. "Coconut water and aspirin, courtesy of your knight in shining hockey gear."

I forced myself to look. Sure enough, coconut water and a bottle of aspirin sat waiting, along with a protein bar and a note.

"He brought these?"

"About an hour ago. Very concerned about your hydration levels." Jared waggled his eyebrows. "Want to tell me why Lance knows where we live?"

The memories hit in a mortifying montage. Kissing Lance. Puking off a deck. Lance walking me home. Oh god, I'd been that girl—the drunk mess who needed taking care of.

"I'm never drinking again."

"That's what you said after Cinco de Mayo sophomore year." He sat on my bed. "But more importantly, you kissed him again. Matt saw you on the deck. He's very excited. Already planning your wedding."

"There's no wedding."

"Honey, the boy brought you hangover supplies at 8 AM on a Saturday. That's practically a proposal in college years."

I dragged myself upright, downing the aspirin with coconut water. My reflection in the mirror was unfortunate. Smeared zombie makeup, tangled hair, and what appeared to be fake blood on my neck.

"I need to return his jacket," I said, noticing the hockey hoodie draped over my desk chair.

"Sure. That's why you're going to see him. To return clothing." Jared grinned. "It has nothing to do with wanting to thank him properly for last night."

"There will be no thanking. Just professional jacket returning."

"Well, his house is probably empty. Matt stayed at mine last night."

"He what?!"

"Relax, we just talked and cuddled. Okay, there was some kissing, but mostly just talking." He looked dreamy. "Did you know he volunteers at the children's hospital? He's perfect."

"I'm happy for you," I said, meaning it. "But also, gross. He's Lance's best friend."

"And Lance is your... what exactly?"

"Project partner who I accidentally kissed. Twice."

"Accidentally kissed twice." Jared shook his head. "You're impossible. Go shower. You smell like regret and cheap beer."

Thirty minutes later, I stood outside the hockey house clutching Lance's hoodie like a shield. The smart thing would be to leave it on the porch. Ring the doorbell and run. Mail it back with no return address.

Instead, I knocked.

"It's open," Lance's voice called from inside.

I found him in the kitchen, wearing shorts and nothing else, making what looked like the world's most complicated smoothie. The morning light did unfair things to his muscle definition.

"Hey," he said, smiling like I hadn't been a disaster just hours ago. "Feeling better?"

"Yes. Thanks for..." I gestured vaguely at myself. "Everything."

"No big deal. Want breakfast? I'm making smoothies."

"I just came to return your hoodie."

"Keep it. Looks better on you anyway." He turned back to the blender. "Seriously, you should eat something. Big game today. You told me I have 'stupidly pretty eyes' and that you think about our kiss when you're supposed to be studying."

"I did not!"

"You did. Right before you made me pinky promise not to tell sober you what drunk you said." He held up his pinky. "Oops."

I groaned, sinking onto a barstool. "This is why I don't drink."

"I thought it was cute. Especially the part where you said my ass was 'aesthetically pleasing.'"

"Stop talking."

"Never." He slid a smoothie across to me. "Banana, peanut butter, protein powder, and some other healthy stuff. Matt's recipe for hangover recovery."

I took a tentative sip. It was surprisingly good. "Thanks."

"Stop thanking me." He leaned against the counter, studying me. "So, we kissed again. And you ran again."

"I didn't run. I made a strategic retreat."

He moved closer, bracketing me against the counter without touching. "How long are we going to do this dance?"

"What dance?"

"The one where we pretend we don't want each other. Where you kiss me like your life depends on it, then act like it meant nothing. Where I respect your boundaries while slowly going insane." His voice dropped. "I meant what I said last night. I like you."

"You can't just say things like that."

"Why not? It's true."

"Because I have plans. Because you're supposed to be a meaningless hookup guy, not someone who brings me coconut water and remembers my game schedule and makes me want things I shouldn't want."

"What things?"

"You know what things."

"I want to hear you say it."

I met his eyes, seeing my own want reflected back. "I can't. Because if I say it, it becomes real. And real things can hurt you."

Understanding softened his expression. "Like your brother."

"Like everyone who's ever wanted something too much." I looked away. "It's easier to not want anything at all."

"That's not living, Rachel. That's just existing."

"Existing doesn't hurt."

"It doesn't feel good either." His hand came up to cup my cheek, turning me back to face him. "Take a chance. On feeling something real."

"I don't know how."

"Start small. Come to the hot tub with me. You're hungover. Hot water helps. Plus, you can test out wanting something without the world ending." He stepped back, giving me space. "No pressure. Just two people who definitely don't have feelings for each other sitting in warm water."

"I don't have a suit."

"I have extras." He was already heading outside. "Coming?"

This was a terrible idea. But I followed anyway, clutching my smoothie like a lifeline.