The Goal
Page 31
Hope holds up her middle finger. “I’m an awesome lay. My technique is perfect. If I were any better, D’Andre wouldn’t be able to get out of bed. As it is, I have to kick him out.”
“It’s true,” Carin confirms. “D’Andre always begs like a sad child when he has to leave in the morning.”
“Is that how it is with Tucker?” Hope teases.
“You really want to know how I feel about it?” I exhale a long, heavy breath, deciding to be honest with my friends—and with myself. “I feel silly and weak and I don’t like it. I should be immune to this. I mean, he’s just a guy. I’ve slept with lots of guys before and I’m sure there’ll be many in the future. So why am I all weak-kneed and fluttery around this one?”
“Why is feeling something for someone a weakness?” Hope chastises. “I know you don’t think I’m weak.”
“God no. But you’re…”
You’re rich and gorgeous and smart, and I have to work my ass off for everything.
Frustrated, I dig the knuckle of my thumb into my temple. “You’re more together than I am. I always feel like I’m one day away from disaster. The other night I had a dream that Professor Fromm walked into Boots & Chutes while I was on stage wearing nothing but glitter and a G-string. I woke up in a panic because I was fucking convinced there’d be an email on my computer informing me that my admission to Harvard was being rescinded.”
In front of me, Hope shakes her braids. “Honey, you said it yourself. Your schedule is terrible. The reason you’re so stressed out is because you only give yourself an hour or two a week to just relax.”
“She’s right,” Carin says. “And look, I think it’s awesome that you meet up with us once a week, but at this rate, you’re going to flame out before you even get to Harvard. That’s what your dream is telling you.”
“Briar’s full of super students. Law school isn’t going to be more competitive than what you’ve already faced.” Hope fixes me with a stern look in the mirror. “Slow down, B. Or at least slow down while you still can.”
“You don’t have to marry the guy,” Carin chimes in. “Going on a date or having great sex isn’t a commitment. He’s a student too, which means he has to study. He plays hockey, which means he’s got practices and games. If you were going to date anyone, it should be someone who’s got his own busy life, right?”
Hope raises one eyebrow. “He’s got a game tonight…”
I gape at her. “Are you stalking him? How do you know he has a game?”
“I looked up the team’s schedule on the Briar site.”
Carin nods enthusiastically.
“Who are you guys and where are my friends?” I demand. “You don’t even like hockey.”
“I like it,” Carin protests. “My dad throws a Stanley Cup party every year!”
I turn to Hope, who shrugs. “I neither like nor dislike it. And I have nothing against going to a game if it means watching my bestie finally have some fun.”
“Come on,” Carin urges. “We don’t have to stay for the whole thing. We’ll watch a bit of the game, and maybe afterward you can go up to Tucker and tell him how awesome he played and how sexy he looks in his uniform. In fact…” She waves a hand out the window. “Here we are.”
“This is where we’re eating dinner?” I stare at Briar’s multi-million-dollar hockey facility and all of the students streaming inside.
Carin grins. “Yup. Love a good hot dog, don’t you?”
“D’Andre’s meeting us inside,” Hope adds.
I sigh. “So he was in on this diabolical plan of yours too?”
“Of course. He’s my partner in crime.” Hope kills the engine, and she and Carin unbuckle their seatbelts. “All right, let’s do this shit. Time’s a-wasting, B.”
I peer at the arena again, feeling oddly nervous. “I don’t know about this.”
“Aw come on,” Carin coaxes. “This place is full of your favorite things—athletes.”
I stick my tongue out at her, but she merely laughs.
“Hey, if you don’t want Tuck, then I’ll see if I can check beard off my bucket list.” She blinks innocently. “I mean, if you’re really not into this hot, built guy who gave you the best sex of your life, then you should totally be on board with me and Tuck hooking it up.”
The image of Carin’s petite body underneath Tucker’s big frame roils my stomach. “It’s Tucker. Not Tuck.” I flush when I hear the stiffness in my own voice.
Hope dissolves into a fit of giggles.
“God, if you could see the angry look on your face right now…” Carin giggles. “Honey, you’ve got it bad.”
Hope produces a flask from her purse. “If the game is terrible, we’ll just get super drunk while we watch a bunch of white boys skate around with knives on their feet.”
Her description of what she thinks hockey is makes me and Carin burst out in laughter. And as my friends hop out of the car, I find myself getting out and following them to the entrance of the arena.
They’re right about a lot of things. I do need a break, and maybe, just maybe, I need Tucker.
*
I don’t watch a lot of sports. Not because I don’t like them, but because I’ve never had time to get into one. I know a little bit about football because of Beau. And some baseball because that’s all Ray watches in the spring.
Hockey, not so much.
But I have to admit, watching Briar’s team play is more exciting than I thought it would be.
I’m squished between Hope and Carin, with D’Andre sitting on Hope’s other side. I don’t know if we have good seats or not. Carin says yes, but I would’ve preferred to be sitting right behind the home bench so I could stare at Tucker all night. Instead, I have to satisfy myself by watching him on the ice.
Hope told me that his jersey number is 46. I guess she found that out on the school website too. So I glue my eyes to the black-and-silver jersey that reads #46, marveling at the way he confidently wields his stick. I don’t think I could ever hold on to a hockey stick while I was wearing those bulky boxing gloves.
When I mention this to my friends, D’Andre laughs his ass off. “Those are hockey gloves, baby girl. Not boxing gloves.”
“It’s true,” Carin confirms. “D’Andre always begs like a sad child when he has to leave in the morning.”
“Is that how it is with Tucker?” Hope teases.
“You really want to know how I feel about it?” I exhale a long, heavy breath, deciding to be honest with my friends—and with myself. “I feel silly and weak and I don’t like it. I should be immune to this. I mean, he’s just a guy. I’ve slept with lots of guys before and I’m sure there’ll be many in the future. So why am I all weak-kneed and fluttery around this one?”
“Why is feeling something for someone a weakness?” Hope chastises. “I know you don’t think I’m weak.”
“God no. But you’re…”
You’re rich and gorgeous and smart, and I have to work my ass off for everything.
Frustrated, I dig the knuckle of my thumb into my temple. “You’re more together than I am. I always feel like I’m one day away from disaster. The other night I had a dream that Professor Fromm walked into Boots & Chutes while I was on stage wearing nothing but glitter and a G-string. I woke up in a panic because I was fucking convinced there’d be an email on my computer informing me that my admission to Harvard was being rescinded.”
In front of me, Hope shakes her braids. “Honey, you said it yourself. Your schedule is terrible. The reason you’re so stressed out is because you only give yourself an hour or two a week to just relax.”
“She’s right,” Carin says. “And look, I think it’s awesome that you meet up with us once a week, but at this rate, you’re going to flame out before you even get to Harvard. That’s what your dream is telling you.”
“Briar’s full of super students. Law school isn’t going to be more competitive than what you’ve already faced.” Hope fixes me with a stern look in the mirror. “Slow down, B. Or at least slow down while you still can.”
“You don’t have to marry the guy,” Carin chimes in. “Going on a date or having great sex isn’t a commitment. He’s a student too, which means he has to study. He plays hockey, which means he’s got practices and games. If you were going to date anyone, it should be someone who’s got his own busy life, right?”
Hope raises one eyebrow. “He’s got a game tonight…”
I gape at her. “Are you stalking him? How do you know he has a game?”
“I looked up the team’s schedule on the Briar site.”
Carin nods enthusiastically.
“Who are you guys and where are my friends?” I demand. “You don’t even like hockey.”
“I like it,” Carin protests. “My dad throws a Stanley Cup party every year!”
I turn to Hope, who shrugs. “I neither like nor dislike it. And I have nothing against going to a game if it means watching my bestie finally have some fun.”
“Come on,” Carin urges. “We don’t have to stay for the whole thing. We’ll watch a bit of the game, and maybe afterward you can go up to Tucker and tell him how awesome he played and how sexy he looks in his uniform. In fact…” She waves a hand out the window. “Here we are.”
“This is where we’re eating dinner?” I stare at Briar’s multi-million-dollar hockey facility and all of the students streaming inside.
Carin grins. “Yup. Love a good hot dog, don’t you?”
“D’Andre’s meeting us inside,” Hope adds.
I sigh. “So he was in on this diabolical plan of yours too?”
“Of course. He’s my partner in crime.” Hope kills the engine, and she and Carin unbuckle their seatbelts. “All right, let’s do this shit. Time’s a-wasting, B.”
I peer at the arena again, feeling oddly nervous. “I don’t know about this.”
“Aw come on,” Carin coaxes. “This place is full of your favorite things—athletes.”
I stick my tongue out at her, but she merely laughs.
“Hey, if you don’t want Tuck, then I’ll see if I can check beard off my bucket list.” She blinks innocently. “I mean, if you’re really not into this hot, built guy who gave you the best sex of your life, then you should totally be on board with me and Tuck hooking it up.”
The image of Carin’s petite body underneath Tucker’s big frame roils my stomach. “It’s Tucker. Not Tuck.” I flush when I hear the stiffness in my own voice.
Hope dissolves into a fit of giggles.
“God, if you could see the angry look on your face right now…” Carin giggles. “Honey, you’ve got it bad.”
Hope produces a flask from her purse. “If the game is terrible, we’ll just get super drunk while we watch a bunch of white boys skate around with knives on their feet.”
Her description of what she thinks hockey is makes me and Carin burst out in laughter. And as my friends hop out of the car, I find myself getting out and following them to the entrance of the arena.
They’re right about a lot of things. I do need a break, and maybe, just maybe, I need Tucker.
*
I don’t watch a lot of sports. Not because I don’t like them, but because I’ve never had time to get into one. I know a little bit about football because of Beau. And some baseball because that’s all Ray watches in the spring.
Hockey, not so much.
But I have to admit, watching Briar’s team play is more exciting than I thought it would be.
I’m squished between Hope and Carin, with D’Andre sitting on Hope’s other side. I don’t know if we have good seats or not. Carin says yes, but I would’ve preferred to be sitting right behind the home bench so I could stare at Tucker all night. Instead, I have to satisfy myself by watching him on the ice.
Hope told me that his jersey number is 46. I guess she found that out on the school website too. So I glue my eyes to the black-and-silver jersey that reads #46, marveling at the way he confidently wields his stick. I don’t think I could ever hold on to a hockey stick while I was wearing those bulky boxing gloves.
When I mention this to my friends, D’Andre laughs his ass off. “Those are hockey gloves, baby girl. Not boxing gloves.”
