Page 16 of The Girlfriend Goal

Rain hammered against the windows of our inadequate indoor practice facility, the space so cramped we could barely run half-field drills without crashing into walls.

I'd been running my team ragged for thirty minutes, partly because our conference semifinals were next week, and partly because if I stopped moving, I'd start thinking about a certain hockey player's stupidly perfect mouth.

"Fox, that's the third time you've blown that whistle in two minutes," my co-captain Maya called out, jogging over with her hands on her hips. "Either we're all suddenly terrible, or you're working through some feelings."

"We're preparing for States," I said, definitely not thinking about how Lance's hoodie still smelled like him even after I'd washed it. "Run it again."

"Is this about your hockey boyfriend?" freshman midfielder Casey piped up, immediately shrinking when I turned my death glare on her.

"He's not my—"

"Oh please," Maya interrupted. "Half the campus saw him princess-carry you out of that party. Very romantic. Very un-Rachel-like."

"Just run the drill."

They ran it, but the whispers continued. By the time we hit the locker room, I was fielding questions like a press conference from hell.

"Is it true hockey players have better stamina in bed?" That from our goalkeeper, who definitely should’ve known better.

"Are you going to wear his jersey to games now?"

"Will this end the soccer-hockey feud? Are we supposed to be nice to them?"

"Can you get us into their parties?"

"There is no relationship!" I finally exploded, slamming my locker hard enough to make everyone jump. "Lance is my project partner. We have to work together at the community center. That's it. End of story. No jersey wearing, no party privileges, and definitely no peace treaty between programs."

"But you were in his hot tub," someone whispered.

"How does everyone know about that?"

"Jared’s Instagram," three people said simultaneously.

I was saved from committing multiple homicides by the door opening. Unfortunately, my savior was Jared, with Matt trailing behind him like an oversized golden retriever who'd learned to walk on its hind legs.

"Ladies," Jared announced with a flourish. "Don't mind us. Just retrieving Rachel for an important engagement."

"We're having a team meeting," I protested.

"Meeting's over," Maya chirped, clearly thrilled by the drama. "Go have your important engagement."

"Traitor," I muttered, but let Jared drag me out while Matt waved at my teammates like he was on a parade float.

The hallway was mercifully empty, giving me space to breathe without twenty sets of eyes analyzing my every expression.

"Okay, first of all," Jared started, walking backwards so he could properly lecture me, "hiding in the athletic complex is very 2023 of you. We've discussed growth, Rachel. Emotional evolution."

"I'm not hiding. I had practice."

"For three hours?"

"Semifinals are important."

"So is processing your feelings about kissing Lance in a hot tub."

"We didn't kiss in the hot tub."

"But you wanted to," Matt added helpfully, dodging when I swung my gear bag at him. "What? Lance hasn't shut up about you for days. It's actually affecting his game. Coach is concerned."

"That's not my problem."

"Isn't it though?" Jared stopped walking, forcing our little parade to halt. "Babe, I love you, but this whole 'I don't date because career' thing? It's starting to look less like ambition and more like fear."

"I'm not afraid."

"Then why are you hiding in a glorified storage closet pretending to analyze game film?"

"She's in the film room?" Matt perked up. "Lance has been looking for her everywhere. He has those community center forms that need both signatures."

"Do not tell him—"

But Matt was already texting, fingers flying across his phone screen with alarming speed.

"I hate you both," I announced.

"No, you don't," Jared said, linking his arm through mine. "You love us. We're your favorite disaster duo."

"Disaster duo?" Matt looked offended. "I prefer 'chaotic catalyst for romance.'"

"You would," Jared sniffed, but I caught him fighting a smile.

They bickered all the way to the film room, something about Matt's breakfast choices being "aggressively basic" and Jared's coffee order being "pretentious performance art." I let their ridiculous flirting wash over me, using it as white noise while I mentally prepared for seeing Lance.

The film room door stood open, warm light spilling into the hallway. I could see Lance's broad shoulders hunched over the desk, still in his practice gear. My traitorous heart did a little skip that I ruthlessly suppressed.

"Delivery," Matt announced, shoving me through the doorway. "One emotionally constipated soccer captain, as requested."

"I'm filing a harassment claim," I informed them.

"Get in line," Jared said. "Matt's existence is harassment. Look at those cargo shorts in November. It's criminal."

I left them to their bickering and faced Lance, who'd turned in his chair to watch me with those stunning eyes.

"Hey," he said, mouth quirking in that half-smile that made me want to throw things. "Nice of you to stop by your own film room."

"I've been busy."

"Right." He held up a manila folder. "Marcus's progress report. Needs both our signatures for the community center board."

I snatched the folder, careful not to let our fingers touch. The last thing I needed was another electric shock of connection. I'd had enough of those to power a small city.

"Fine. Where do I sign?"

"Page three and seven, and the back." He watched me flip through pages, pen poised. "You know, we should probably discuss his behavioral plan for next week."

"Text me."

"I've been texting you." He stood, and suddenly the small room felt microscopic. "Rachel, what's going on? I thought after the hot tub—"

"Nothing happened in the hot tub. That was just medicinal."

"Medicinal?" His eyebrows shot up. "That's what we're calling it?"

"Yes. Now if you'll excuse me—"

But when I tried to step around him, he moved too, and we ended up doing an awkward dance that ended with me pressed against the film equipment table and Lance way too close for professional partnership standards.

"You can't keep running," he said quietly. "Every time we get close to something real, you bolt."

"You don't understand—"

"Then explain it to me." His voice dropped, intense and sincere in a way that made my chest tight. "Help me understand why you're so terrified of this."

"Because I've done this before!" The words exploded out of me. "With Brad. I let feelings get in the way, and he nearly derailed everything I've worked for. He made me feel small for wanting a career, for having ambitions beyond being his support system. He—" I stopped, horrified at the confession.

Lance's expression softened. "I'm not Brad."

"I know that."

"Do you?" He reached out, fingers ghosting along my jaw.

"Because I'm pretty sure I've never made you feel small.

If anything, you make me want to be bigger and better.

I'm not asking you to give up your dreams, Rachel.

I'm asking you to consider that maybe there's room for both.

For your career and... whatever this is. "

"I promised myself," I whispered. "After Ryan, after Brad, after watching my parents struggle their whole lives—I promised I wouldn't let anything stop me from succeeding. From getting them out of that tiny apartment, from proving that their sacrifices meant something."

"I'm not trying to stop you." His thumb traced my cheekbone, and I couldn't help leaning into the touch. "I want to watch you conquer the world. Preferably from a front-row seat."

The moment stretched between us, filled with possibility and fear and want. God, I wanted to kiss him. But—

"Hey, are you two done having your Hallmark moment?" Matt's voice shattered the tension. "Because Jared's threatening to key my car over the cargo shorts argument, and I need backup."

Lance stepped back, the loss of his warmth almost painful. "We should go referee before they actually damage property."

I scrambled for the signed papers, shoving them at his chest. "All signed. I have to go watch the game film. You understand."

I fled before he could respond, passing Jared and Matt who were now arguing about something else entirely.

I made it to my car before the shaking started. Lance's words echoed in my head: I want to watch you conquer the world.

The problem was, when he looked at me like that, I wanted to let him.