The Boyfriend Goal (Love and Hockey Book 1)

Josie

Is that a raccoon tapping on the bathroom door while I pee? With my luck, it’ll be a ghost planning to haunt me for the next three months.

The scratching sound feels more corporeal though.

But is there really a raccoon in the library? While I now know they can live in walls, that usually happens in older homes. They’re resourceful little critters who shimmy into chimneys, attics, and crawl spaces. I looked them up when I heard the raccoon story from Thalia. This building is modern and seems less likely for a raccoon home invasion.

So, that leaves me with…yup, a ghost.

Of course.

I pee as fast as I can, flush, and hustle to the sink to wash my hands. I need to get back to the training session anyway. Maybe Christian wrote to me. He should be at the rink by now. He said he’d be in touch before the game started. But when I turn around to check my phone as I leave, I stop in my tracks, startled. That’s not a raccoon. That’s a cat. A big, beautiful seal-point Siamese cat.

He’s parked at the door. And I do mean parked. He’s barn-cat size and it’s like he’s guarding the exit, tail swishing, big blue eyes lasered right at me.

“What’s your name, buddy?” I ask.

He doesn’t move. Just flicks his tail. And stares at me without blinking. “I kinda need to get back to the meeting,” I say.

Yes, this is now my life. Anxiously waiting to hear from my brother about a place to live while negotiating with a giant cat.

The feline is impervious to my dilemma. I advance toward the door he’s guarding like a sentry, but he makes no move to let me by. Am I going to have to pick him up and move him? Right as I’m contemplating my cat removal options, my phone buzzes in my skirt pocket. I grab it like it’s on fire and read the new text from Christian.

My shoulders relax. My whole body relaxes. Christian found someone—a guy on his team named Bryant. He’s attached the contact card.

Then I spot another text. From a new number and name.

Bryant: Hey! Christian said you need a place to stay. I have a sweet guest room under the staircase.

My heart sprints.

Jay: That sounds like something out of a book!

Jay: Also, thank you! I am so grateful. You won’t even know I’m there!

Bryant: Happy to help.

Jay: My brother said I should come by after the game and we can meet. Does that work for you?

Bryant: Yup. See you then.

I’m about to slide my phone into my pocket when it pings once more.

Bryant: Also, you can move in whenever. It has sheets and pillows and stuff already.

Bryant: The decorator did it. Not me.

Bryant: So it’s not like it’s black sheets and chrome.

I laugh at his reassurances that it’s not hyper manly even though I wouldn’t care if it was designed in every single shade of gray.

“Buddy, you need to move,” I say, pleading with the fluffy beast with the implacable gaze.

The cat refuses to budge though, so I bend down and scoop him up.

“Oof. You weigh thirty pounds,” I blurt out as I lift the big boy, then open the door with a pretty impressive combination of elbow and butt maneuvering if I do say so myself.Content © NôvelDrama.Org.

“I see you met Raccoon.”

It’s Thalia on the other side, bracelets jangling as she heads my way.

“Raccoon?” I ask.

“Our library cat. We found him in the wall and he stayed. But don’t body shame him,” she says with a wink.

“My bad,” I say, then gesture toward the floor. “Okay to put him down here?”

She waves her arm around to the shelves, her bracelets chiming. “He has run of the place. Leave him wherever. He’s why we have no mice,” she says as I set him down and in a heartbeat, he makes like a cat and hightails it far, far away from me.

On my way back to the conference room, Christian sends me one more text, telling me a woman named Everly will meet me at the arena whenever I arrive. He drops me her number too. I thank him, then return to the conference room, feeling like I can breathe easily thanks to a room under the stairs in some hockey player’s home.

When the session ends an hour or so later, Thalia suggests we all grab a drink. Since I have time before the hockey game ends, I join them. She takes us to The Spotted Zebra, and I learn that I’m the first new librarian at this branch in years, and it’s also the first time this little branch has landed a grant for any position.

“You’re our unicorn,” Thalia says.

And unicorns are cool, so I say, “Achievement unlocked.”

When we’re done, she offers to drop me off.

I say yes and text Everly on the way. Once Thalia reaches the rink, I thank her and hop out of her little Honda, hoisting my bag up on my shoulder as I walk toward the main doors. I pass the huge lit-up marquee for the Sea Dogs—their mascot is a fearsome canine who looks like he can brave the icy waters of any North Sea ship. I haven’t had a chance to google this Bryant guy, but I can do that when I’m inside rather than when I’m walking outside at night. Safer that way.

When I arrive at Main Door G, there’s a tall blonde with her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She’s polished and put together in black slacks and a royal blue shirt, the color of the team. Her fair skin is dotted with a few freckles, and her brown eyes are warm.

“You must be Christian’s sister,” she says, then offers me a hand. “I’m Everly. I work in publicity for the team, and he asked me to take you down to the locker room.”

I balk at that last word. “Um…”

“Oh,” she says, shaking her head with an amused smile. “You probably don’t want to go into the locker room.”

Not with my brother there. Not with any of them there, to be honest. I love my brother. But I’ve never crushed on his teammates. Not in high school, not in college, and not while he’s been in the pros. I’m more into geeks and nerds than athletes, so the idea of standing around a bunch of big, sweaty guys does nothing for me.

“I can wait in the hall,” I say helpfully.

“Of course,” Everly says, then whisks me past security and through the concourse. “So you just arrived in the city about a week ago, Christian tells me. What do you think so far?”

That I never know if I’m going to step into a mud pit or a garden of flowers. “It’s great,” I say, since there’s no need to tell her the details about my topsy-turvy experiences here. “You never know what each day holds.”

“Sounds like working here. I never know if I’m going to have to wrangle a pack of ornery kangaroos or not,” she says, then whispers playfully. “Usually it’s ornery kangaroos.”

I think I love her. We speak the same language. “I hope you wear armor then.”

“Part of the job, along with fetching sisters for the captain and, oh yeah, organizing publicity,” she says as she guides me through the upper concourse, past chichi food vendors peddling organic and sustainably grown food, and toward the lower level. I’ve been here a few times, including for a game last season. But it’s still helpful to have a guide so we can move quickly past the throngs of exiting fans. “But tonight the pack of kangaroos-slash-dogs will likely be happy since the Sea Dogs beat the Coyotes.”

“Oh! That’s great,” I say. I hadn’t even bothered to check the score. But that’s great news for my brother and my new roomie.

“Ah, and there they are,” Everly says as we round the corner toward the locker room where my brother’s waiting outside in his post-game suit, and he’s standing next to a tall, broad, ridiculously handsome man.

My heart stutters.

Then stops.

I can’t breathe. I’m a computer that just beach-balled as I come face-to-face with the guy I tried to track down last night. “And that’s Wesley Bryant,” Everly says.

I cough. I part my lips to try to speak but wheeze out a question that I already know the answer to but have to ask anyway, “Wesley Bryant?”

“Yes, and he got an assist tonight so he’ll probably be in a very good mood,” she says.

I’m not so sure about that.

When he turns toward our voices, his brown eyes lock with mine. It takes a beat for his brow to furrow. Then it goes tighter, then tighter still.

When Christian sees me he says, “Hey, Jay! Here’s your new roomie.”

Wesley’s jaw comes unhinged.

Just like mine.

I guess I was dead wrong about not liking athletes.