Page 241 of Faking the Goal

God.

I am one inappropriate thought away from climbing this man like he's the last coconut tree on a deserted island.

Someone please confiscate my ovaries.

Kentaro cocks his head toward the hallway, running the towel through his damp hair one last time before tossing it over his shoulder.

"Give me ten minutes to wash up," he says, still slightly out of breath from his workout. "Then I'll make us breakfast."

By the time Kentaro comes back downstairs, showered and fully clothed—thank fucking God for small mercies—breakfast becomes significantly easier to survive.

We end up at the kitchen table with plates of eggs, toast, and fruit between us, and I'm halfway through stealing a strawberry from his plate when I remember something.

"What time are you heading over to see your mom today?"

Kentaro glances up from his food. "I'm not."

My hand stops halfway back to my plate. "What do you mean, you're not?"

"I called her earlier. We talked for a while. She's doing good, and the café's been busy, but she has everything under control."

I frown. "But I thought you were going over there today."

"I was going to, but..." He pauses, pushing his fork through what's left of his eggs. His eyes flick briefly toward my boot beneath the table. "I just don't like the idea of leaving you here by yourself. I'll go another time."

"Ken-chan, you've already said that many times." I set my fork down. "You need to go today."

"Trouble—"

"No, listen. I love that you've been taking care of me, and I'm probably going to miss having my own ridiculously handsome personal nurse when my ankle stops looking like a swollen potato, but you haven't seen your mom in a week because you're worried about leaving me alone for a few hours." I soften when he starts to argue. "And I know you, okay? I know you want to see her. So go."

His jaw shifts slightly, and I can already see the argument forming behind his eyes.

"And I already feel awful knowing you keep changing your plans because of me."

"You have nothing to feel awful about." His answer comes immediately. "I'm the one choosing to stay."

Well. That does absolutely nothing helpful to the stupid flutter in my stomach.

"Which is very sweet and also exactly why I'm kicking you out today." I point my fork at him. "Besides, Caroline is coming over later. I won't even be alone."

Which is still a slightly strange sentence for me to say.

Caroline and I have somehow gotten closer lately. I think it started during all those hours we spent sitting together at the arena while the guys practiced. There's only so much hockey you can watch before you start talking to the person beside you, and somewhere between complaining about the freezing rink and waiting for practice to end, we actually got to know each other. After that, she started texting me more. Then I started texting her back. Eventually, neither of us seemed to need a reason anymore. She'd send me something stupid that happened during her day. I'd send her a picture or complain about something. Sometimes she'd call just to talk, and we'd end up on the phone discussing absolutely nothing important for an hour.

It took me an embarrassingly long time to realize this was apparently what having a girlfriend was like.

I've had women I've known. Women I've worked with, gone to class with, gotten along with. But I've never really had a girl friend. Not someone who randomly texts me because she thought of me, or calls just because she feels like talking, or announces she's coming over to keep me company without needing anything in return. At first, I didn't quite know what to do with it. I kept waiting for the conversation to reach whatever purpose she'd contacted me for, only to eventually figure out that sometimes there wasn't one.

Apparently, friendship can consist entirely of sending each other ridiculous shit at eleven at night and then spending forty minutes discussing it.

Who knew?

"She's coming here?"

"This afternoon. And she'll probably stay for a few hours, so there is literally no reason for you not to go."

He looks at me for another second, then glances down at my boot again. I can practically see the protective little gears turning in his head, searching for one last reason why leaving me unsupervised might somehow result in another trip to the emergency room.