Page 30 of The Girlfriend Goal

"The interview's next Friday," I said.

"I know."

"If I get it, I'm taking it. No matter what happens between us."

"I know that too." He smiled softly. "I wouldn't expect anything else from the woman who color-codes her color-coding system."

"Okay, I did that once, but it was finals week."

His laugh rumbled through his chest, and I realized how close we'd gotten. Close enough to kiss, if I just leaned in a little more.

"Oh for fuck's sake, just kiss already! Some of us are trying to have athletic sex upstairs and your sexual tension is so loud it's distracting."

We jumped apart to find Jared hanging over the upstairs railing, hair wild and wearing what was definitely Matt's shirt.

"Jared!" I yelled.

"What? You were taking forever and Matt's getting impatient."

"Too much information!" Lance called up.

"Like you two aren't about to defile that kitchen," Jared shot back. "Just please wipe down any surfaces after. We eat there."

He disappeared back into Matt's room with a door slam that echoed through the cabin.

Lance and I looked at each other, the moment thoroughly shattered but somehow lighter for it.

"Your best friend is a menace," he said.

"Your roommate's corrupting him."

"Pretty sure it's mutual corruption." He stepped back, giving me space. "So, what now?"

I should’ve retreated, should’ve used Jared's interruption as an excuse to rebuild my walls. Instead, I said, "Want to go for a walk? Just to talk more?"

The smile that broke across his face was worth every moment of fear.

We bundled up and headed into the snow-covered woods behind the cabin.

The conversation that followed was the most honest we'd been with each other—about families and dreams and the way we'd both been shaped by other people's failures.

Lance told me about his father's absence and his mother's death, how hockey had been escape and prison both.

I shared more about the pressure of being the ‘success story’ in my family, the weight of everyone's hopes on my shoulders.

"No wonder you're so driven," he said as we walked. "You're not just carrying your dreams, you're carrying theirs too."

"Is that bad?"

"No. But it's a lot for one person." He caught my hand, interlacing our gloved fingers. "Maybe you could let someone else help carry it sometimes."

"I don't know how," I admitted.

"We could figure it out together," he suggested. "Start small. Like maybe admitting this thing between us is more than physical?"

I squeezed his hand. "It's more than physical."

"And maybe we could try actual dates? The kind where we're not pretending it's just studying?"

"Our studying sessions were very productive," I protested weakly.

"Very productive at getting you naked."

"Lance!"

"What? It's true." He pulled me closer.

"This doesn't change the Seattle thing," I warned. "And I still need to focus on my career. And we should take things slow. Figure out what we are before—"

He pulled me against him and kissed me like he'd been dying to do it for ages. Which, if he felt anything like I did, he had been.

When we broke apart, both breathing clouds into the cold air, he rested his forehead against mine.

"Slow is good," he agreed. "But maybe we could be slow after I get you back to my room?"

"That's not slow," I pointed out.

"We'll go slowly on the way there?"

I laughed despite myself. "Your logic is terrible."

"Hockey player," he reminded me. "We're not known for our reasoning skills."

"Just your stamina?"

His eyes darkened. "Want to find out?"

I did. I really, really did.

The walk back to his room was charged with anticipation. We barely made it through the door before he pressed me against the wall.

We eventually made it to his bed, leaving a trail of winter gear in our wake.

What followed was different from our previous encounters—slower, more intentional, infused with the weight of acknowledged feelings.

When he whispered my name against my skin, it sounded like a promise.

When I traced the scars hockey had left on his body, it felt like acceptance.

Afterward, we lay tangled together, breaking another of my rules about cuddling. His fingers played with my hair while I traced patterns on his chest.

"So," he said eventually. "Still think this is casual?"

"Shut up," I mumbled into his shoulder.

We lapsed into comfortable silence, the afternoon light filtering through the windows.

"Hey Rachel?" Lance said softly. "We're going to figure this out. The distance thing, the career thing, all of it. I promise."

I lifted my head to look at him. "You can't promise that. And I still have rules. We tell people on our timeline, not because we get caught or forced."

"Deal." He paused. "Although technically Jared and Matt already know."

"They don't count. They're too wrapped up in each other to notice anything else."

As if to prove my point, a rhythmic thumping started from the room next door, accompanied by muffled sounds.

"Jesus," Lance muttered. "They know we can hear them, right?"

"I don't think they care."

The thumping intensified.

"Want to get out of here?" Lance suggested. "Grab dinner in town? Like a real date?"

We dressed and snuck out like teenagers, leaving Matt and Jared to their athletic endeavors. The local restaurant was cozy and warm, and we spent hours talking. Lance made me laugh with stories from hockey road trips. I shared my thesis research on gender equity in sports management.

It was, I realized with some shock, the best date I'd ever been on. Not because it was fancy or perfectly planned, but because I got to just be myself. No performance, no careful construction of the woman I thought I should be. Just me, with all her ambitions and fears and terrible jokes.

Back at the cabin, we found Jared and Matt had finally emerged, looking thoroughly debauched and raiding the kitchen.

"Oh good, you're alive," Jared said. "We were starting to worry you'd frozen to death while having feelings in the woods."

"We went to dinner," I said. "Like normal people."

"Boring," Jared pronounced. "Matt and I had dinner in bed. Much more efficient."

"And unsanitary," I pointed out.

"Worth it," Matt said, then blushed furiously when we all looked at him. "I mean—"

"He means it was worth it," Jared said smugly. "Because I'm worth it."

"You really are," Matt agreed, looking at Jared with such naked affection that I had to look away.

Lance caught my eye, and I could see him thinking the same thing—that could be us, if we let it.

"Movie night?" he suggested. "Something with explosions and no plot?"

We settled in the living room, Lance and I on one couch, Matt and Jared practically in each other's laps on the other. It should’ve been awkward, this new dynamic where pretenses had been dropped. Instead, it felt like pieces clicking into place.