He's The Goal Read online

  He’s the Goal

  Faith M Troyer

  Copyright © 2021 by Faith M Troyer

  Cover Design & Formatting by Victoria Wright, PublishingWright.com

  Edited by Devyn Johnson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cel, Raeleen, Renee, Rosemary, and Tanisha aren’t just friends, but my sisters.

  Each of you means the world to me, and I’m so happy we crossed each other’s path.

  Thank you for always lifting me up. You are all in my heart forever. This book is for you.

  Contents

  1. Vada

  2. Max

  3. Vada

  4. Max

  5. Vada

  6. Max

  7. Vada

  8. Max

  9. Vada

  10. Max

  11. Max

  12. Vada

  13. Max

  14. Vada

  15. Vada

  16. Vada

  17. Max

  18. Vada

  19. Max

  20. Vada

  21. Max

  22. Vada

  23. Max

  24. Vada

  25. Max

  26. Vada

  27. Max

  28. Vada

  29. Max

  30. Vada

  31. Max

  32. Vada

  33. Vada

  34. Max

  35. Vada

  36. Vada

  37. Max

  38. Vada

  39. Vada

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Vada

  September 30th, 2018

  I stumble into the kitchen; my eyes still hooded with exhaustion. My brain is on autopilot this morning as usual. At least I don’t have to work today, thank God. I’m a full-time nursing student at the University Of Miami, and I’m a part-time bartender at La Buena Vida, a trendy club downtown. I’ve been working there for several years, and as much as I hate the lack of tips, I love my job.

  First, I have coffee, and then I go about my day. My orange tabby, Chester, rubs against my shins, meowing and begging for his breakfast. Grumbling, I attempt to open at least one eye to navigate myself around the blue marble island, and I happen to see a slip of notebook paper tucked underneath the coffee maker. My brother and roommate, Jack, must have left this for me. He’s usually at his photo studio every morning, so him not telling me of his whereabouts isn’t out of the ordinary.

  Then the rich smell of freshly ground coffee beans catches my attention, and as I open my other eye, I see there’s a carton of cheese Danish too. I bend down and take in the delectable aroma of hazelnut and sweet vanilla. My mind swirls happily, and a blissful smile grows on either side of my lips. It fades all too soon, my mind flashing an array of scenarios about Jack and what he might be doing. Groaning, I rub my hand over my face and take a deep breath. Jack leaving me all of these goodies must mean that he's definitely up to something sneaky and wants to cushion the blow.

  “Your uncle is an asshat, Chester. He makes mommy clean up his messes far too often,” I say and scratch behind his ears.

  “Don’t pick on your brother, Vada. That’s not sisterly behavior, now is it?”

  My dark brows shoot up to my hairline as I whip around to see Jack’s best friend and the worst pain in the ass next to sciatica, busting through my front door.

  “Max! What the hell are you doing here? How’d you get in?!”

  “Ever heard of a key, genius? Jack made me a copy.” He stands there, shamelessly eyeing my bare legs.

  I sent a silent prayer to the heavens that I shaved last night. Self consciously, I cross my arms over my chest, trying my best to cover my large breasts. All I’m missing is a pitcher of water, and I’d be first place winner of a wet t-shirt contest. Clearing my throat, I pull my nightshirt down as far as it will go but considering my curves, and this thing sticks to me like glue, it doesn't make much of a difference.

  “Why is Jack giving you a copy of our house key? Is your place not good enough for you anymore?!” Then it all makes sense. My eyes travel to the massive looking duffle bag he has slung over his broad shoulder, and my heart sinks.

  “I’ll be putting my stuff away in Jack’s room, and while you’re at it, please don’t put anything else on. I’m enjoying the view,” Max winks before walking along with the hardwood floors of the kitchen.

  I watch in horror as his size-thirteen, leather work boots trudge across my clean floors and leave a trace of dirt in their wake. I want to scream and wring my brother’s neck more than ever before. Scrambling to the coffee maker, I snatch the piece of paper. My hazel eyes scan the letter, carefully reading every word, and oh my God, my brother is a dead man for sure.

  Vada,

  Hey sis. Sorry for the late notice, but I need a favor. A German fashion magazine wants me to shoot for them, and they need me right away. I'll be out for the next few months, at the most, and Max’s landlord is selling his condominium complex. There’s no way he’ll find a place in thirty days, not with hockey season around the corner. The season will be over by that time. Just give him a few months to find a place. Max will have found something by the time I get back from Europe. And as a bonus, I left you a “please don’t kill me” gift.

  I set the letter down and eye the coffee and Danish. Ugh. That asshole. My brother knows the way to my heart is through sweets. Bastard!

  You can chew me out later. Germany is six hours ahead of Florida, so call me this afternoon, Florida time. I look forward to “chewing.”

  Love, your only big brother who loves you more than you’ll ever know

  - Jackson

  I sigh deeply and ball the paper up into a crumpled mess inside my fist, wishing it were Jack's head or Max's balls.

  If Max expects me to be like the puck bunnies, he can get bent. They fuck like rabbits, shaking their ass and hopping from one bed to another. It doesn't matter about the color of the jersey - if you hit a puck, then you're good to fuck! Do they have any idea what they are doing? He’ll use them as a tissue, fill them a few times, and when he’s finished, crumple her up and throw her away. I storm down the hall to Jack’s room.

  There's no way my punk-ass brother is getting away with this! He can't leave me in this apartment with Maxwell Vahn. That's like asking Batman to room with The Joker. It's not going to end well. I quietly approach and see he's already made himself at home.

  "We have to talk, Max. You can't stay here with me. Not while Jack is out of town; we'll kill each other. Why can’t you stay in a hotel? Did you spend all of your money on condoms?!"

  As I am standing at Jack’s door, he turns to me and smiles, and I swear to you, my body turns to mush.

  “Because your brother is a decent human being who didn’t want me wasting money when there was a spare room, right fucking here.”

  Oh my god. Max said fucking, and now my entire body is flushed warm with arousal. Jesus Vada, you need to get laid.

  “Come on, baby. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

  I feel my cheeks burn as Max calls me ‘baby.’ I become angry and feel my fists curl at my sides.

  “Let’s get a few things straight, Maxwell. I am not, and will never be your baby. Nobody will ever own me! And most importantly, whatever made you believe that you have any effect on my panties? They don’t even know that you exist.”

  Max runs a hand through his tousled dark hair, managing to look messy but sexy as hell, and I want to punch myself in the face for even going that far. He’
s killing me with those cerulean blue eyes, framed by thick dark lashes. It’s unfair that a jerk like Maxwell walks around, blessed with such beauty, but with that square jawline, shaded by a slight five o'clock shadow, he is all man. Max smiles, and his full lips curl into another heart-stopping smile.

  God, help me. Has my rational mind gone out of the fucking window? It must be because I’m letting Max get me all flustered, and if he asked to kiss me right now, I have no doubt I would say no. After all, no matter what, I have to stand my ground even if I wanted him to kiss me. I know what heartbreak looks like, and it hits a little too close to home, reminding myself, he’s just like my dad.

  Most girls will grow up to find a man just like her dad, and in some cases, that would be a great thing if he were a genuine person. Once upon a time, my father was an honest person, but just like a fairytale, nothing is ever as it seems.

  Brian Finley. It was a beautiful illusion, while it lasted, but the mirage cleared, and the rug was pulled from under me. The veil was lifted, and I no longer trusted men. The only thing I know for sure now is that I will fucking protect my own heart no matter what the cost.

  “Have a heart, Vada. I know you hate me and everything, but your brother is doing me a solid here. It won’t be long, a few months at the most. I promise you’ll hardly even know I’m here.”

  I sigh and play with the ends of my long auburn hair.

  “Fine. I guess you can stay here, but you can’t be a slob, Max. Please pick up after yourself. This apartment is not a hotel. I won’t be picking up your shit or fluffing your pillows. I’m going to be your roommate, not your maid, and absolutely no room service! No girls. I don’t want your “puck bunny” whores in my house.” I scratch my temple and try my best not to roll my eyes when I see Max’s left dimple get just a little deeper. This man is reading me like a fucking book, and it’s honestly scaring the hell out of me.

  He nods his head and unzips his red duffle bag.

  Silence hovers in the air like a bad smell, and I wish like hell that I had some air freshener and some more clothes to cover my body. I’m only now beginning to realize that I’m kind of naked. I’m only wearing a t-shirt and panties. I don’t say anything, and I just decide to bow out gracefully and begin to descend from the room backward.

  Creeping down the hall, I can almost see my bedroom door when Max calls out.

  “Blue lace looks great on you, by the way,” he says with a panty-dropping chuckle, and I’m surprised mine are still holding up.

  A few hours later, I call my best friend Monica to see what she is doing and see if she feels like getting out of the house for a while and get some dinner with me. There’s no way I can stand it any longer inside of this apartment with the man who wins the annual award for jackass of the year. I huff out a long sigh, and roll over to my side and grab my phone from its charging cord that’s plugged into the wall near my bed. I type out a quick text, crossing my fingers that she’s not busy. I need some distraction from my life that has quickly turned into an episode of “The Twilight Zone.”

  I only have one day off this week, and I’m not wasting it on Maxwell.

  I busy myself for a while, putting some clothes away in my closet and chest of drawers, as I wait for Monica’s reply text when I hear a loud clattering coming from the living room. My head jerks to the left, feeling my shoulders slump as fiery annoyance courses through my veins like wildfire.

  Clunk! Clunk! Clunk! What the hell is he doing out there?

  He better not be making a fucking mess because I swear I’ll kill him. I hold still for just a second, waiting for another loud clunk to hit the floor. CLUNK!

  Ugh! It’s only day one, and I already want to commit murder. I’m not used to all of this loud banging.

  I moved into my first place when I was nineteen and lived alone for a few years until Jack moved in so that I could save money on rent for tuition for nursing school. He’s not the “dream” roommate by any means, but at least he’s semi-clean and doesn't bug the shit out of me the way Maxwell does.

  Another clunk comes in from the living room, followed by a slick assault of hard rock; sharp guitar riffs smack me in the face and threaten to knock me over.

  Oh, hell, no! That’s it. I slam my dresser drawer shut, making the little trinkets and jewelry box atop shake suddenly. Balling my fists at my sides, I stomp out from the protective shelter that is my room and trudge down the hall. My poor neighbors are probably losing their minds at this point, and I hope they don’t call the police and file a noise complaint.

  The music grows louder and more irritating, and I recognize the high-pitched sound of the singer’s voice and place the band: Guns N’ Roses. Max is playing “Welcome to the Jungle,” and boy does it ever feel like I’m living in a jungle right now.

  Of course, this shithead would be playing this song right now; it seems appropriate. I’m going to watch you bleed, Axel sings out, and he’s right. I will watch Maxwell bleed as I beat him with his arm after tearing it from his body. His hard, toned, very delicious upper body.

  That’s it. Max is out of here.

  I’m shocked to my core as a very sweaty Maxwell stops me as he sits on the edge of the ottoman, which belongs to the rocking chair in the corner. He’s doing curls with a large silver dumbbell and rocking his head in time to the guitars' squealing sounds and echoing bass drums. He’s sitting there shirtless, hard, lean muscles glistening with sweat, and I find myself swallowing hard and doing my best to ignore the throbbing between my thighs.

  I stand there, hands on my hips, hoping he’ll look up and see the smoke surging from my nostrils. He sits there as if he has no clue that I even exist.

  “Maxwell! Turn this shit down.”

  He says nothing and keeps doing curls; those big biceps seem to be teasing me or sending out engraved invitations for me to lick them as if they’re ice-cream cones. My eyes grow wide; I’ve had enough of this for one day. No, for a lifetime. Even though I like this song and have it on a shuffle playlist on my iPod, there’s just something different about it when Maxwell plays it at an ear-splitting volume. The small speaker plugged into his phone is packing a surprising punch.

  I stomp over and rip the cord out, cutting the music off with a sudden rush of quiet that fills the small space. The symbolic record scratches as Maxwell lifts his head to look at me, mashing his mouth into a hard line, still holding the barbell in his left hand.

  I stand triumphantly with a smug smile that says, ‘fuck with me some more, and I’ll be pulling the plug on you next, buddy.’

  “I was listening to that, Vada.”

  “Yeah, and so was the entire apartment building, dickhead. Have you ever heard of being considerate or courteous? Or are those foreign words in your caveman dialect? ”

  He furrows his brow and lets a small growl escape from his chest, which I’ll admit makes me want to eat him like a rabid animal. He drops the heavy barbell to the floor, and I wince as the downstairs neighbor is probably this close to killing both of us right now.

  I connect the cord back to the speaker and the other end into his phone; the music kicks back on again, but a quieter, more manageable volume. Max picks his barbell back up and sits down and begins another set of curls. “Welcome to The Jungle” ends, and “Rocket Queen” begins.

  Max sits there as if I just disappeared into thin air.

  “Kind?” he begins and draws out one long rep that makes his taut muscles flex and tighten, which makes my stomach tighten with need. “Courteous? Considerate? Who do you think I am? A fucking Sunshine Cadet?”

  Smartass. I sigh heavily and try not to let my overwhelming urge to slap Max upside the head take over.

  “You live in my house now, douchebag. If you plan to live here until you find yourself another ‘den of iniquity,’ then I suggest keeping the noise down to a minimum and stop throwing your stupid barbells around. The neighbors will have a fit if that keeps happening, and I have a good reputation as far as being a long time tenant
here. I don’t want you messing that up for me.”

  Max raises a brow in my direction, stops his reps, and sets it down next to his foot. With his free hand, he salutes me and rolls his eyes. Ma’am, yes, Ma’am, he says in a mock-serious voice.

  “Hello?” comes a female voice as it travels down the hall.

  I look over my shoulder to see Monica has let herself in, which I don’t mind at all. She's a welcome company, unlike the ill-mannered asshole who continues to do confusing things to my lady parts, and I watch him do another set of curls, now with the opposite arm. She comes through from the kitchen and finds Max and me in the living room, and stops dead in her tracks.

  Monica looks from me to Max, then back at me, question marks dancing in her eyes, and I give her a look that says don’t even think about it. Monica seems more like Max’s physical type; tall, leggy, with long black hair that meets her tiny waist. But she’s not puck-bunny material—Monica is goofy, with a sense of humor and a huge heart.

  “Damn, Vahn! Looking good! Or should I call you ‘daddy?’'

  I damn near break my neck to look at my best friend in both horror and amusement. Max lets out a soft chuckle and stands up, and I swear we both let our eyes rake down his hard body. This man loves attention! He can’t tell me he doesn't. Maxwell likes it when a girl treats him like a piece of meat, and he’s a liar if he says otherwise. He would prefer to have two women fight over him, naked in a kiddie pool full of mud while being fanned by a giant palm leaf and fed seedless grapes from a golden bowl. Ugh. He’s such a pig.