Page 25 of The Girlfriend Goal

This new "casual arrangement" with Lance was supposed to be simple. Physical release between two attracted adults with clear boundaries and mutual understanding. What it had become was a special form of torture designed specifically to drive me insane.

A week in, and I'd memorized his class schedule better than my own.

Not because I cared—definitely not that—but because avoiding accidental run-ins required strategic planning.

The fact that I knew he had team meetings every Tuesday at four and preferred studying in the library's east wing on Thursday nights was purely practical information.

"You're being weird," Jared announced, flopping dramatically across my bed while I attempted to focus on my sports marketing assignment. "Weirder than usual, which is saying something."

"I'm not being weird."

"You literally just smiled at your phone like it held the secrets of the universe."

I shoved the traitorous device under my pillow. "I was reading an email about my internship application."

"Uh-huh." Jared rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin on his hands. "And this internship email just happened to arrive at the exact time Lance usually texts after practice?"

"I don't know Lance's practice schedule," I lied, my face heating.

"Right. Just like I don't know that Matt does this adorable thing where he sticks his tongue out when he's concentrating." Jared sighed dramatically. "We're both such terrible liars."

I seized the opportunity to deflect. "Oh? And how would you know about Matt's concentration face?"

"We've been studying together," Jared said, suddenly fascinated by my comforter pattern. "He's surprisingly terrible at statistics. Like, concerningly bad. I'm basically providing a public service by tutoring him."

"How charitable of you."

"I'm a giver," Jared agreed solemnly. "Speaking of which, are you going to tell me why you've been sneaking out at weird hours and coming back with what can only be described as 'sex hair'?"

"I don't know what you’re talking about."

"Rachel Elizabeth Fox, do not even try it." He sat up, fixing me with his best stern expression. "I know your tells. And right now, you're telling me you're getting dicked down on the regular by someone you're pretending not to care about."

I groaned, burying my face in my pillow. "It's complicated."

"It always is with you," Jared said, his voice gentler now. "Want to talk about it?"

The truth was, I desperately wanted to talk about it.

About how Lance's hands felt on my skin, how he whispered my name like a prayer when he came all over my chest, how he held me afterward like I was something precious even though our rules explicitly stated no post-sex cuddling.

About how I was breaking every one of my own rules and hating myself for it.

"It's just physical," I said into the pillow.

"Oh honey," Jared sighed. "No, it's not."

I lifted my head to glare at him. "It is. We agreed. No feelings, no complications, just—"

"Just you checking your phone every five seconds and smiling like a Disney princess when he texts?" Jared shook his head. "That's not just physical. That's feelings wearing a trench coat pretending to be casual sex."

My phone buzzed under the pillow. I absolutely did not lunge for it.

Lance: Study session tonight? Have that sports psych paper due tomorrow.

I stared at the message, knowing full well that "study session" had become our code for hooking up. We'd actually tried studying together exactly once before I'd ended up naked in his lap, textbook forgotten on the floor.

Me: Can't tonight. Actually need to study.

Lance: I could help. I'm excellent at motivation.

A second message followed immediately.

Lance: That sounded less dirty in my head. Or maybe dirtier. Honestly not sure.

I bit back a smile, which Jared immediately caught.

"You're doing it again," he sang. "The smile thing. It's actually kind of nauseating how cute you are right now."

"Shut up," I muttered, but typed back anyway.

Me: Your version of motivation involves very little studying.

Lance: I'm wounded. I'll have you know I'm very focused on education. Specifically, educating myself on what makes you make that sound you pretend you don't make.

Me: I hate you.

Lance: No you don't.

He was right, and that was the whole problem.

I didn't hate him. I actually liked him quite a lot, which was approximately a thousand times worse. Hating him would’ve made the physical stuff simple.

Liking him—his stupid jokes, his surprising intelligence, the way he was endlessly patient with the kids at the community center—made everything complicated.

"I should end it," I said aloud.

Jared made a buzzer sound. "Wrong answer, but thanks for playing. Why would you end something that's clearly making you happy?"

"Because it's a distraction," I said, falling back on my standard excuse. "I have my internship applications, the soccer season, graduation coming up—"

"Blah, blah," Jared interrupted. "You've been juggling a million things since I met you. One more ball in the air isn't going to kill you." He paused, grinning. "Pun absolutely intended."

"You're disgusting."

"You love me." He studied me more seriously. "But apparently not yourself enough to let something good happen."

That stung more than I wanted to admit. "It's not about that. You know what happened with Brad—"

"Brad was an emotionally manipulative asshole who tried to control every aspect of your life," Jared said firmly.

"Lance is sweet and he looks at you like you hung the moon.

I saw him at your championship game. The man ignored his own teammate trying to talk to him because he was too busy watching you play.

That's not casual. That's 'I'm writing your name in my notebook with little hearts' behavior. "

My phone buzzed again.

Lance: For real though, if you actually need to study, I can help. No funny business.

"I can't do this," I said, but my fingers were already typing a response.

Me: Fine. Library in 20. Actual studying.

"You're going to meet him, aren't you?" Jared asked knowingly.

"To study!"

"Sure." He slid off my bed, heading for the door. "Just do me a favor? Stop pretending this is just physical. It's exhausting watching you lie to yourself."

After he left, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, trying to see what Jared claimed was so obvious. I looked the same as always—determined, focused, maybe a little tired from late nights that had nothing to do with studying. There was no visible sign that I was falling for Lance Fletcher.

Except for the way my heart raced when I saw him walking toward me in the library twenty minutes later, backpack slung over one shoulder and that crooked smile that made my insides melt.

Except for how naturally he touched my ass, guiding me to a quiet corner table.

Except for the way he actually had brought his sports psychology materials, genuinely prepared to help me study.

"You look surprised," he said, unpacking his notes.

"You actually brought your homework."

"I said I would." He looked almost hurt. "I do occasionally follow through on promises that don't involve getting you naked."

"Lance!"

"What? No one's around." He grinned, but then his expression softened. "Besides, I figured you actually do need to study. Your internship apps are due soon, right?"

The fact that he'd remembered made something squeeze in my chest. "Next week."

"Seattle's still your top choice?"

I nodded, trying to ignore how his face fell slightly. "It's an incredible opportunity. Working with a WNBA team would be—"

"Your dream, I know," he finished. "You'll get it. They'd be idiots not to want you."

The sincerity in his voice made it hard to breathe. This was exactly why I needed rules, boundaries, walls between us. Because when he looked at me like that, like he genuinely believed I could conquer the world, I wanted things I'd promised myself I wouldn't want again.

"We should study," I said weakly.

We actually managed a solid hour of work before his foot found mine under the table. Such a simple touch shouldn't have affected me, but my concentration shattered. I looked up to find him watching me, and there was heat in his eyes.

"Lance," I warned.

"I'm not doing anything." But his foot slid higher, along my calf. "Just sitting here, studying."

"This is exactly why we can't study together."

"I'm being perfectly behaved," he protested, even as his hand found mine on the table, thumb tracing circles on my wrist. "You're the one looking at me like that. Like you're thinking about that thing you do to my cock that makes me forget my own name."

Heat flooded my face. "I do not have a look."

"You absolutely have a look." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "It's the same look you had right before you jumped me in the equipment room."

"I did not jump you!"

"Oh, you definitely did. Not that I'm complaining." His grin turned wicked. "Feel free to jump me anytime."

"We're in the library," I hissed, but I was already packing up my materials.

"My room's closer," he said immediately, shoving his own books into his bag with zero regard for organization.

This was such a bad idea. We'd already hooked up thrice this week, and each time made it harder to pretend this was just physical. Every time he kissed me, went down on me, looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered, another piece of my carefully constructed armor cracked.

But I followed him anyway, making excuses in my head about stress relief and endorphins while knowing the truth—I was addicted to him.

To the way he made me feel, not just physically but emotionally.

Like I was more than my accomplishments, more than my goals, more than the next thing on my to-do list.

In his room, he kissed me like he'd been starving for it, even though we'd been together just two nights ago. I melted into him, all my rational thoughts dissolving under the heat of his mouth, the sure strength of his hands.

"Thought we were being casual," I gasped when he moved to my neck.

"This feels pretty casual to me," he murmured against my skin. "Just two friends helping each other out."

Friends didn't look at each other the way he was looking at my naked body now. Friends didn't hold each other like the world might end if they let go. Friends definitely didn't whisper each other's names like prayers in the dark.

But I let him call it friendship, let myself pretend that's all this was, even as he took me apart with a thoroughness that felt anything but casual.

Even as he held me afterward, breaking our no-cuddling rule for the fifth time this week.

Even as I fell asleep naked in his arms, knowing I'd hate myself in the morning for staying but unable to make myself leave.

My phone lit up with an email notification just before I drifted off: Seattle Storm interview scheduled for next Friday.

I should’ve been thrilled. It was everything I'd worked for, everything I'd sacrificed for. Instead, all I could think about was how Lance's arms tightened around me in his sleep, like even unconsciously he didn't want to let go.

Jared was right. This wasn't just physical. I was so screwed.