Page 8 of The Goalie

“I saw that girl you were with. The one in white? Do you know her personally? I was thinking I could take her out for the night of her life, you know what I mean?”

He wiggled his eyebrows and I nearly keeled over and puked right there.

For some strange reason, my fingers curled around the wheel tightly. My fingers were strained as they pressed into the material and I contemplated, for the briefest of moments, if I should just back up and take off without saying another word to him at all.

I didn’t like this guy. I mean, I considered him an acquaintance and I didn’t mind him when I was around him.

But for Sam?

No way. Sam wasn’t the right fit for Neal. For one, Sam liked to stay at home. That was something Lucy liked to tell me because for whatever reason, Lucy droned on and on about her life to me—like I cared that much—and Sam was a big topic simply because they were so close. I didn’t really pay much attention because I didn’t care one way or the other about Sam. But this guy just wasn’t the right fit for her.

Besides the fact that he liked to go out and do stuff, I was certain he expected sex on the first date. I mean, Neal wasn’t at my party for me. Maybe he was here to save face and because it would get him credit with his father to show up, but he was on the prowl for pussy.

And apparently, he was looking at Sam’s.

The thought pissed me off more than I was willing to admit.

It was probably because I felt like an older brother. As much as I disliked Sam, I loved Lucy. And I didn’t want one of Lucy’s friends to expect one thing from a guy only to get something different.

“Uh, yeah,” I forced myself to say.

He was looking at me as though he was waiting for me to say something. Instead of telling him what I wanted to say, including, but not limited to,Fuck off,You’re a perv, and,She’s mine, you fucking twat. I rubbed my lips together, preventing myself from saying any of these things and making damn sure to pointedly ignore the last thought that flitted through my mind.

“I know her.” Each word was clipped. Each second sitting here was agony. “She is my sister’s friend.”

“Yeah, well, she’s gorgeous,” Neal said quickly, rubbing his hands together. “You think you could get me her number? I want to, uh, I want to take her out. She looks like a girl who needs to be wined and dined, you know what I mean, man?”

I did know what he meant and I nearly threw up all over my car.

“Okay.” I nodded once.

I had no idea what he was trying to say. I knew he wanted my help, but I wasn’t about to give him Sam’s phone number. Hell, I didn’t even know if it was the same number Lucy programmed into my phone so long ago just in case I couldn’t get a hold of her in an emergency.

“So…” Neal stepped forward. “You think you could give me her number, then? I wanted to call tonight, you know? It’s not even late.”

“I don’t think she’s the partying type.” I had no idea why I said those words. This wasn’t any of my business. I could give Neal Sam’s number and Sam could make the decision about whether she wanted to spend time with Neal or not. It wasn’t my issue.

And yet, everything in my body resisted it. I almost laughed only because it made absolutely no sense. I didn’t care. Why would I care?

You’re protective. You don’t want anyone else to have her.

That was because she was Lucy’s friend and nothing more. I was protecting her because Lucy cared about her so much.

But that was bullshit and I knew it.

“Well, man?” Neal’s wrinkled brow indicated he was getting impatient.

“Sure, sure.” I cleared my throat and gave him a number. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I pulled out before Neal had time to respond. I adjusted my rearview mirror, ignoring the very subtle twinge of guilt. Not because I gave him Sam’s number. Actually, just the opposite. I gave him Lucy’s number. And when Lucy found out what I had done, she was not going to be happy.

Good thing she would never know it was me.

I made a left at the light. I rolled down my windows, feeling the rush of cool air hit my face and run through my hair. It felt like freedom caressing my face. Being alone always gave me such a rush.

It was my thirty-second birthday. I should be taking someone home. Wasn’t that what normal guys did? Didn’t they get laid on their birthdays?

Who said I’m not getting laid?