Page 28 of The Girlfriend Goal

Morning at the ski cabin found me in my natural habitat—the kitchen, coffee in hand, watching dawn break over the mountains.

Years of early morning practices had turned me into that annoying person who actually enjoyed sunrise, though the view helped.

What helped more was knowing Rachel slept just one wall away, close enough that I'd heard her moving around during the night.

The casual arrangement was supposed to make things simple.

Instead, I found myself analyzing every interaction, cataloging the moments when her careful control slipped.

Like how she'd stood beside me on the deck last night, close enough that I could smell her shampoo, both of us pretending the tension wasn't thick enough to skate on.

"You look like someone who's been up since stupid o'clock thinking too hard."

Rachel appeared in the doorway, wrapped in an oversized university hoodie that made her look unfairly cute. Her hair was messy from sleep, and I had to grip my coffee mug to keep from crossing the room and finding out if she tasted like mint toothpaste yet.

"Hockey players don't think," I said instead. "We just hit things with sticks."

"Mm." She padded to the coffee maker, and I absolutely did not watch the way her sleep shorts rode up when she reached for a mug. "That explains so much about your study habits."

"My study habits that you thoroughly corrupted?" I couldn't help the grin. "Pretty sure I had better focus before you started 'helping' me."

She turned, coffee in hand, trying to look stern but fighting a smile. "That's revisionist history. You could barely get through a paragraph without—"

"Without you distracting me with your pen chewing and hair twirling and general existence?"

"I do not twirl my hair," she protested.

"You absolutely do. When you're concentrating really hard, you wrap it around your finger and—" I demonstrated, which earned me an eye roll.

"Stalker."

"Observer," I corrected. "It's a hockey thing. Read the opposition."

"I'm the opposition now?"

Before I could answer, Matt stumbled in looking like he'd lost a fight with his pillow.

"Why are people awake?" he groaned, making a beeline for the coffee. "It's vacation."

"It's 8 AM," Rachel pointed out.

"Exactly. Vacation." He squinted at us suspiciously. "Why do you two look weird? Were you having a moment? Did I interrupt a moment?"

"There was no moment," Rachel said quickly.

"We were discussing her hair-twirling habits," I added, which earned me a death glare from Rachel and a knowing look from Matt.

"Right." Matt poured coffee with the coordination of someone still mostly asleep. "Where's Jared?"

"Still sleeping, like a normal person on vacation," Rachel said pointedly.

Twenty minutes later, we'd been joined by a dramatically entrance-making Jared, who swept into the kitchen wearing what could only be described as an avant-garde interpretation of ski wear.

"Good morning, snow bunnies." He struck a pose. "Thoughts on the ensemble?"

"You look like a highlighter had a baby with a disco ball," Matt said, then immediately looked like he regretted speaking.

"Exactly the aesthetic I was going for," Jared beamed. "Maximum visibility meets maximum glamour. Safety first, fashion always."

"You're going to blind someone," Rachel said fondly.

"Jealous of my brilliance," Jared diagnosed, stealing a piece of bacon from the plate I was assembling. "So what's the plan? Please tell me it involves Lance teaching Rachel to ski while Matt films me falling dramatically down the bunny slope."

"I already know how to ski," Rachel said.

"Since when?" I asked, surprised.

"Since my brother taught me when I was twelve." Something flickered across her face at the mention of her brother. "We used to go every winter before..."

She trailed off, and I wanted to ask before what, but the shuttered look in her eyes warned me off. Jared, with his best friend telepathy, smoothly changed the subject.

"Well, I definitely don't know how to ski, so someone's going to have to teach me." He batted his eyelashes at Matt. "Someone patient and strong and capable of catching me when I inevitably face-plant."

Matt choked on his coffee. "I could. I mean, if you want—"

"Oh, I want," Jared said, then seemed to realize what he'd said. "To learn! To learn skiing. That's what I want."

The sexual tension between them was reaching critical mass, and from Rachel's expression, she was thinking the same thing. We exchanged a look—the kind of wordless communication that probably violated her ‘just friends’ rules but felt as natural as breathing.

On the slopes an hour later, the situation devolved exactly as predicted.

Rachel and I ended up on the intermediate runs while Matt attempted to teach Jared the basics on the bunny slope.

I could see them from the lift—Jared's neon form impossible to miss as he clung to Matt like an octopus while Matt tried to demonstrate proper form.

The morning passed in a blur of runs and friendly competition.

Rachel was good—better than she'd let on—and kept up with me easily.

Watching her fly down the mountain, completely in her element, made something expand in my chest. This was Rachel without walls, without careful control, just pure joy and athleticism.

"Race you to the bottom," she called, already pushing off.

I followed immediately, the competition spurring us both to probably unsafe speeds. We hit the base at nearly the same time, her laughing protest that she'd won by a hair drowned out by my counter-argument about technique points.

"Technique points aren't a thing in racing," she argued, cheeks flushed from cold and exertion.

"They are in my version," I said, reaching out to fix her helmet strap that had come loose. The movement brought us close, too close for public friend behavior, and her breath caught.

"Lance," she warned softly.

"Just fixing your gear," I said, but my hands lingered longer than necessary. "Safety first."

She was looking at my mouth, and I was calculating how much of a scene it would cause if I kissed her right here on the slopes.

A spectacular crash from the bunny slope broke the moment. We turned to see Jared somehow upside down in a snowbank while Matt frantically tried to extract him.

"I should help," Rachel said, already skiing toward the disaster.

"Yep," I agreed, following while trying to get my heart rate under control.

The rescue operation required all four of us and resulted in Jared declaring he needed hot chocolate with ‘medicinal alcohol’ to recover from his ‘near-death experience.’

"You fell three feet," Matt pointed out.

"Traumatically!" Jared insisted. "I could’ve broken something. Like a nail. Or my spirit."

We ended up in the ski lodge, Jared holding court about his brush with mortality while Matt hovered with barely concealed concern. Rachel and I sat across from them, maintaining careful distance that felt more obvious than sitting close would have.

"Truth or dare," Jared announced suddenly, apropos of nothing.

"Absolutely not," Rachel said immediately.

"Come on," Jared wheedled. "We're on vacation in a ski lodge with spiked hot chocolate. This is literally the perfect setting for terrible decisions."

"That's exactly why we shouldn't," Rachel argued, but Matt was already agreeing because apparently Jared's pout was his kryptonite.

"Fine," I said, because I was weak and any excuse to learn more about Rachel seemed worth it. "But nothing illegal or requiring nudity."

"Boring," Jared sighed, but agreed.

The game started innocuously enough. Matt admitted his middle name was Bartholomew, and Jared's delight was explosive. I took a dare to chug a disgusting mixture of hot chocolate and ketchup. Rachel revealed she'd once stolen her high school's mascot costume for a prank.

Then Jared, because he had no sense of self-preservation, looked directly at Rachel with evil intent. "Truth or dare?"

Rachel hesitated, clearly seeing the trap. "Truth."

"Are you currently hooking up with anyone?"

I kept my face carefully neutral while Rachel turned an interesting shade of pink.

"That's private," she stuttered.

"That's not how the game works," Jared said smugly. "Answer or take the penalty dare."

"What's the penalty dare?"

Jared's grin turned wicked. "Kiss Lance."

The table went silent. Matt looked between us with dawning realization. Rachel looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her. And I waited, heart hammering, to see what she'd choose.

"That's not fair," Rachel protested weakly.

"All's fair in truth or dare," Jared said. "So what's it gonna be? Answer the question or pucker up?"

Rachel met my eyes, and I tried to communicate that whatever she chose was okay, even though every part of me wanted her to pick the dare. The silence stretched until Matt shifted uncomfortably.

"Maybe we should—"

"Dare," Rachel said quietly.

Jared made a triumphant sound. "Excellent choice. And because I'm not completely evil, just a quick peck."

Rachel stood, and I did too, meeting her halfway around the table. Up close, I could see her pulse fluttering at her throat, could smell the hot chocolate on her breath.

She kissed me. Quick, soft, barely more than a brush of lips, but my entire body lit up like a goal light. When she pulled back, her eyes were wide and dark, and it took everything I had not to pull her back in.

The silence that followed was deafening. Then Matt slow-clapped.

"Well," he said dryly. "That was the least platonic 'quick peck' I've ever seen."

"Shut up," Rachel muttered, fleeing back to her seat.

"I knew it!" Jared crowed. "I knew you two were—"

"We're not," Rachel interrupted. "It's complicated."

"Complicated," Matt repeated. "Is that what we're calling it?"

I caught his eye, recognizing the deflection for what it was. He and Jared had their own complications happening, and glass houses and all that.

The game continued, but the dynamic had shifted. The truth was out there now, hanging between us all like a neon sign. Rachel avoided my eyes while Jared kept shooting us knowing looks and Matt pretended to be absorbed in his phone.

When we finally called it quits, Rachel practically sprinted outside. I followed, finding her standing by the ski racks, face tilted up to catch the falling snow.

"So that happened," I said.

"Jared happened," she corrected. "Like a natural disaster in neon."

"You could’ve answered the question instead."

She turned to look at me. "And said what? Yes, I'm hooking up with someone but it's totally casual and doesn't mean anything?"

The words stung more than they should have. "Doesn't it?"

"Lance..."

"I know, I know. No feelings. Just physical. I remember the rules." I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching for her. "But that didn't feel like nothing in there."

"That's exactly why we had rules," she said quietly. "To avoid complications and expectations. People knowing and having opinions and—"

"And what? Being happy for us?"

She laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "There is no 'us,' remember? That's the whole point."

I wanted to argue, to point out all the ways she was wrong, all the moments that proved we were more than just a casual hookup. But the look on her face—scared and defensive and maybe a little lost—stopped me.

"Okay," I said instead. "No 'us.' Just friends who sometimes kiss during drinking games."

That got a small smile. "Your definition of friendship is very different from mine."

"Hockey player," I reminded her. "We're not known for our emotional intelligence."

"Could've fooled me," she said softly, then seemed to catch herself. "We should go in. Before Jared sends a search party."

We found Matt and Jared in a suspicious-looking huddle by the fireplace, breaking apart guiltily when we approached.

"We were just—" Matt started.

"Planning dinner!" Jared finished brightly. "Definitely not discussing your obvious sexual tension and taking bets on when you'll cave and admit you're in love."

"Jared!" Matt hissed.

"What? They already know we know. The cat's out of the bag. The hockey player's out of the closet. The—"

"We get it," Rachel interrupted. "And we're not in love."

"Right," Jared said, drawing out the word. "Just like Matt and I aren't—"

"We're not!" Matt said quickly, then looked frustrated with himself. "We're just figuring things out."

The parallel was so obvious even Rachel couldn't miss it. She looked between them, then at me, and I could see her brain working, trying to find a way to maintain her boundaries in the face of mounting evidence that none of us were as casual as we pretended.

"I need a shower," she announced. "A long, hot shower. Alone," she added, pointing at me when I opened my mouth. "Very alone."

After she left, Jared turned his knowing gaze on me. "So, how long have you been in love with her?"

"I'm not."

"Please," Jared interrupted. "I've seen how you look at her."

Matt nodded sagely. "You've got it bad, dude."

"Says the guy who spent all morning teaching Jared to 'ski,'" I made air quotes, "when you mostly just held him a lot."

Matt blushed but didn't deny it. "At least I'm honest about wanting more than casual."

"With who?" Jared asked, perking up. "Are you honest with someone? Is it me? Please say it's me because I've been throwing myself at you for weeks and—"

Matt kissed him. Right there in the middle of the lodge, full on romantic movie kiss, complete with Jared making a surprised sound before melting into it.

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Jared blinked up at him. "Oh, okay. We should talk about that."

"Later," Matt agreed, still holding Jared's face in his hands. "Definitely talking later."

"Get a room," I said, but I was grinning.

"Excellent idea," Jared said, already pulling Matt toward the door. "We'll see you at dinner. Maybe. Probably not."

And then I was alone, standing in a ski lodge, thinking about complications and expectations and the way Rachel had looked when she kissed me—like she was drowning and I was air.

My phone buzzed with a text from Rachel: Our friends are not subtle.

Me: Your friend started it.

Her: Fair point. Are they...?

Me: Making out in the lobby? Yes.

Her: Good for them... We're not them.

Me: I know.

Her: Just making sure we're clear.

Me: Crystal.