The Goal (Off-Campus #4)(79)

We both grumble in displeasure when a phone chimes. It’s his, and he reluctantly leans over the side of the couch in search of his pants. He fishes out the phone and then he’s nestled beside me again, swiping a finger over the screen.

Feeling curious—fine, nosy—I peek at the display.

And release a horrified scream.

Shooting up into a sitting position, I snatch the phone out of Tucker’s hand. “Oh my God!” I shriek. “What is that?”





28




Tucker


I know I shouldn’t laugh. The mother of my child is upset. The last thing I should do is laugh at her, but the horrified expression on her face is priceless.

“Tucker!” She punches my shoulder. “Stop laughing and tell me what the hell that is.”

I glance at the picture and lose it again. “It’s comforting,” I croak.

Sabrina punches me again.

“Logan,” I choke out. “He made this for the baby. It’s the comforting test.”

“I swear to God, Tuck, if you don’t start making sense, I’m going to send this picture to the police and tell them I’m the victim of a hate crime.”

I hiccup uncontrollably.

“Tucker!”

Wheezing, I manage to sit up. I cough for a full minute to get the humor out of my system. Then I stare at the stuffed thing on the screen.

I think it’s supposed to be a teddy bear, but somewhere during the process, shit went horribly wrong. The stitching is something out of a Tim Burton movie. One eye is a button while the other is a serial-killer style X sewn with black thread. There’s a patch of fur missing on the side of its head, and the arms and legs are all different sizes.

Underneath the pic, Logan wrote:

Grace thinks this’ll scare the BB. She’s wrong, right?

She’s not wrong.

“Why did Logan do this to us?” Sabrina demands.

I snort. “He’s vying for godfather.”

“Start making sense!”

Swallowing another roar of laughter, I hastily clarify. “He and Garrett both want to be our baby’s godfather. I made this stupid offhand joke about how I’m gonna make them compete for the title, and they decided that was a great idea. So now they’re competing.”

Sabrina arches a brow. “And did you ever think that maybe I don’t want either of them to be the baby’s godfather?”

“Of course. I figured we’d talk about it at some point, but honestly, I think Garrett and Hannah would be awesome godparents.”

“They’re going to have to fight it out with Hope and Carin. But you’re already cutting Logan out?”

My gaze strays back to the phone. “Um. Yes.”

She finally cracks a smile. “Okay. So how does this competition of theirs work?”

I sigh. “It’s complicated. Stupidly complicated.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest,” she says cheerfully.

“There are five, I dunno, categories, I guess. Each one is designed to showcase a necessary parenting skill.” Jesus. I can’t believe I’m even saying this right now. I already had to sit through Logan’s ridiculous explanation. I feel like I’m endorsing the crazy by repeating it.

Sabrina, however, looks fascinated. “What are the categories?”

I scan my brain. “Comforting. Grace under pressure. Solid support system. Um…finances. And…shit, I can’t remember the last one.”

“How is buying a stuffed animal a sign of comfort?”

“Buying? Darlin’, that creature is homemade. They got these sew-your-own-stuffed-animal kits.”

Her jaw drops. “Oh my gosh. That’s…dedication.”

“They’re hockey players. Dedication is in our DNA.”

“How do they know who wins? Do they get awarded points?”

“I’m supposed to pick a winner in each category.” Because my friends hate me, apparently.

“Did they show you copies of their tax returns to determine who wins in the finances department?” she asks dryly.

“Naah. But that one’s a draw because they’ll both be playing for the pros. Same with support system—no way was I going to choose between Hannah and Grace. I like my balls where they are.”

She snickers. “So who wins comforting?”

“Unless Garrett sews something even more nightmare-inducing than that—” I jerk a thumb at my phone, “—I’m pretty sure he’ll win this round.”

“Your friends are fucking weird, Tucker. You know that, right?”

“Well aware of it.” I hesitate for a beat. “Hey, are you working at the post office tomorrow afternoon?”

“No. Why?”

“I was hoping maybe you’d come by the house and help me pack up some stuff. The guys will be there. And Hannah, Grace, maybe Allie. I rented a U-Haul, so everyone’s helping me load the furniture I’m taking with me.” I hurry to add, “Obviously I won’t let you lift anything heavy, but I figure you could help with the light stuff, like clothes. We’re ordering some pizzas, so there’ll be food…” I let the word food hang enticingly, because I know how voracious her appetite has been lately.