The Goal Elle Kennedy Epub Download Read
She'due south skillful at achieving her goals…
College senior Sabrina James has her whole future planned out: graduate from college, kick butt in constabulary school, and land a high-paying task at a cutthroat house. Her path to escaping her shameful by certainly doesn't include a gorgeous hockey actor who believes in love at first sight. 1 night of sizzling heat and surprising tenderness is all she's willing to requite John Tucker, but sometimes, i night is all information technology takes for your entire life to change.
Just the game simply got a whole lot more complicated
Tucker believes beingness a team role player is every bit important as beingness the star. On the ice, he's fine staying out of the spotlight, but when it comes to becoming a daddy at the historic period of twenty-2, he refuses to be a bench warmer. Information technology doesn't injure that the before long-to-exist mother of his child is cute, whip-smart, and keeps him on his toes. The trouble is, Sabrina's heart is locked up tight, and the peppery brunette is too stubborn to have his aid. If he wants a life with the woman of his dreams, he'll have to convince her that some goals can but be fabricated with an assist.
The Goal
An Off-Campus Novel
Elle Kennedy
Table of Contents
About the Book
Championship Page
Affiliate 1
Affiliate 2
Affiliate iii
Chapter 4
Affiliate 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Affiliate viii
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Affiliate fourteen
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter xix
Affiliate twenty
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Affiliate 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Affiliate 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Affiliate 34
Affiliate 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Affiliate 38
Affiliate 39
Epilogue
Other Titles by Elle Kennedy
Writer's Note
Near the Author
Copyright
1
Sabrina
"Crap. Crap. Crap. Craaaaap. Where are my keys?"
The clock in the narrow hallway tells me I accept fifty-2 minutes to make a threescore-viii-minute drive if I want to get to the party on fourth dimension.
I check my bag again, just the keys aren't there. I run through the various locations. Dresser? No. Bathroom? Was just there. Kitchen? Mayhap—
I'thousand about to pivot when I hear a jingle of metallic behind me.
"You looking for these?"
Contempt lodges in my throat every bit I plow effectually and step into a living room so small that the v pieces of dated piece of furniture—ii tables, one loveseat, one sofa, and one chair—are squashed together similar sardines in a tin. The lump of flesh on the couch waves my keys in the air. At my sigh of irritation, he grins and shoves them under his sweatpants-covered ass.
"Come and get 'em."
I drag a frustrated hand down my flat-ironed hair before stalking over to my stepfather. "Give me my keys," I need.
Ray leers in render. "Da-amn, you wait hot this evening. You've turned into a real babe, Rina. You and me should go it on."
I ignore the meaty mitt that's falling to his crotch. I've never known a man so drastic to touch his own junk. He makes Homer Simpson wait like a admirer.
"You and I don't exist to each other. So don't look at me, and don't telephone call me Rina." Ray'due south the merely person who e'er calls me that, and I fucking hate it. "Now give me my keys."
"I told you—come up and get 'em."
With gritted teeth, I shove my hand under his lard-ass and root around for my keys. Ray grunts and squirms similar the icky piece of shit he is until my hand connects with metal.
I drag the keys free and spin dorsum to the doorway.
"What'southward the big deal?" he mocks after me. "It's not like we're related, so there'south no incest problem."
I end and use thirty seconds of my precious time to stare at him in disbelief. "You're my stepfather. You married my mother. And—" I swallow a rush of bile, "—and you're sleeping with Nana now. And then, no, it's not about whether you and I are related. It's considering you're the grossest person on the planet and you vest in prison house."
His hazel optics darken. "Watch your rima oris, missy, or i of these days yous'll come home and the doors will be locked."
Whatever. "I pay for a third of the rent here," I remind him.
"Well, perchance you'll be in charge of more."
He turns back to the tv, and I spend another valuable xxx seconds fantasizing about bashing his head in with my purse. Worth it.
In the kitchen, Nana is sitting at the table, smoking a cigarette and reading an issue of People. "Did you see this?" she exclaims. "Kim M is nude again."
"Goodie for her." I take hold of my jacket off the back of the chair and head for the kitchen door.
I've plant that information technology's safer to leave the business firm through the dorsum. There are usually street punks congregating on the stoops of the narrow townhouses on our less than affluent street in this less than affluent part of Southie. Likewise, our carport is behind the business firm.
"Heard Rachel Berkovich got knocked up," Nana remarks. "She should've aborted it, simply I guess it'southward against their religion."
I clamp my teeth again and turn to face up my grandmother. As usual, she's wearing a ratty robe and fuzzy pinkish slippers, but her dyed blonde hair is teased to perfection and her face is fully made-upward even though she rarely goes out.
"She'due south Jewish, Nana. I don't think it'due south against her faith, merely even if it is, that'due south her option."
"Probably wants those actress food stamps," Nana concludes, blowing a long stream of smoke in my direction. Shit. I hope I don't smell like an ashtray past the time I become to Hastings.
"I'k guessing that isn't the reason Rachel'southward keeping the baby." One hand on the door, I shift restlessly, waiting for an opening to tell Nana goodbye.
"Your momma thought well-nigh aborting you."
And there it is. "Okay, that's plenty," I mutter. "I'm going to Hastings. I'll be back tonight."
Her caput jerks up from the magazine and her eyes narrow as she takes in my blackness knit skirt, black short-sleeved sweater with a scoop neck, and iii-inch heels. I can run into the words forming in her mind earlier they even leave her mouth.
"You're looking uppity. Going off to that fancy higher of yours? You got classes on Saturday dark?"
"It'south a cocktail political party," I respond grudgingly.
"Oooh, cocktail, schocktail. Hope your lips don't get chapped kissing all the ass downwardly there."
"Yeah, thanks, Nana." I wrench open the back door, forcing myself to add together, "Dear yous."
"Love you also, baby girl."
She does honey me, but sometimes that dear is and so tainted, I don't know if information technology'southward pain me or helping me.
I don't make the drive to the modest town of Hastings in fifty-two minutes or sixty-eight minutes. Instead, it takes me an entire hour and a one-half considering the roads are so damn bad. Some other 5 minutes laissez passer before I can notice a parking space, and past the time I reach Professor Gibson'south house, I'k tenser than a piano wire—and feeling most as delicate.
"Howdy, Mr. Gibson. I'm so sorry I'm late," I tell the bespectacled homo at the door.
Professor Gibson's husband gives me a soft grin. "Don't worry about information technology, Sabrina. The weather is terrible. Let me have your glaze." He holds out a hand and waits patiently while I struggle out of my wool jacket.
Professor Gibson arrives as her married man is hanging my cheap coat amongst all the expensive ones in the closet. Information technology looks as out of place equally I exercise. I shove aside the feelings of inadequacy and summon upwardly a bright grinning.
"Sabrina!" Professor Gibson calls out gaily. Her commanding presence jerks me to attention. "I'thousand and then glad you arrived in one piece. Is it snowing all the same?"
"No, merely pelting."
She grimaces and takes my arm. "Fifty-fifty worse. I promise yous don't plan on driving back to the city this night. The roads will be one sheet of water ice."
Since I have to piece of work in the morning, I'll be making that trek regardless of the route conditions, simply I don't want Prof to worry, so I smile reassuringly. "I'll be fine. Is she still here?"
The professor squeezes my forearm. "She is, and she's dying to meet you lot."
Awesome. I take my first full breath since I got here and allow myself to be led across the room toward a brusque, greyness-haired woman dressed in a boxy pastel suitcoat over a pair of black pants. The outfit is rather blah, but the diamonds sparkling in her ears are larger than my thumb. Also? She seems too genial for a professor of the law. I always envisioned them equally bleak, serious creatures. Like me.
"Amelia, let me introduce you to Sabrina James. She's the student I've been telling you about. At the top of her grade, holds down two jobs, and managed a one seventy-seven on her LSATs." Professor Gibson turns to me. "Sabrina, Amelia Fromm, ramble scholar extraordinaire."
"So dainty to run into you," I say, holding out my hand and praying to God it feels dry and non damp. I proficient shaking my own hand for an hour leading upwardly to this.
Amelia grips me lightly before stepping dorsum. "Italian female parent, Jewish granddaddy, hence the odd combination of names. James is Scottish—is that where your family is from?" Her vivid eyes sweep over me, and I resist the urge to fidget with my cheap Target clothing.
"I couldn't say, ma'am." My family unit comes from the gutter. Scotland seems far as well nice and regal to be our homeland.
She waves a hand. "It's non important. I dabble in genealogy on the side. So, you lot've practical to Harvard? That's what Kelly has told me."
Kelly? Do I know a Kelly?
"She means me, beloved," Professor Gibson says with a gentle express mirth.
I blush. "Yes, lamentable. I think of you as Prof."
"So formal, Kelly!" Professor Fromm accuses. "Sabrina, where else have y'all applied?"
"Boston College, Suffolk, and Yale, but Harvard is my dream."
Amelia raises an eyebrow at my list of tier two and 3 Boston schools.
Professor Gibson jumps to my defence force. "She wants to stay shut to abode. And manifestly she belongs at someplace better than Yale."
The two professors share a cynical sniff. Prof was a Harvard grad, and manifestly once a Harvard grad, always an anti-Yale person.
"From all that Kelly has shared, it sounds like Harvard would exist honored to have you."
"It would exist my honor to be a Harvard student, ma'am."
"Acceptance letters are being mailed out soon." Her eyes twinkle with mischief. "I'll be sure to put in a expert give-and-take."
Amelia bestows another smile, and I near faint in happy relief. I wasn't just bravado smoke up her ass. Harvard actually is my dream.
"Cheers," I manage to croak out.
Professor Gibson points me toward the food. "Why don't yous get something to eat? Amelia, I want to talk to y'all near that position paper I heard was coming out of Brown. Did you have a chance to expect at it?"
The two turn away, diving deep into a discussion virtually intersectionality of Black feminism and race theory, a topic that Professor Gibson is an expert in.
I wander over to the refreshment table, which is draped in white and loaded with cheese, crackers, and fruit. Two of my closest friends—Hope Matthews and Carin Thompson—are already standing at that place. One dark and 1 light, they're the two near beautiful, smartest angels in the globe.
I rush over to them and nearly collapse in their arms.
"And so? How'd it go?" Hope asks impatiently.
"Expert, I think. She said that it sounded like Harvard would be honored to have me and that the beginning wave of acceptance messages is going out shortly."
I grab a plate and offset loading information technology up, wishing the pieces of cheese were bigger. I'yard so hungry I could eat an entire cake. All day I'd been sick with anticipation because of this meeting, and at present that it's over, I want to fall face up-outset into the food tabular array.
"Oh, you are so in," declares Carin.
The 3 of us are advisees of Professor Gibson, who's a big laic in helping young women forth. There are other networking organizations on campus, but her influence is solely geared toward the advancement of women, and I couldn't be more than grateful.
Tonight'due south cocktail political party is designed for her students to run into with faculty members of the nearly competitive graduate programs in the nation. Hope is angling for a place at Harvard Med while Carin is headed for MIT.
Yep, it'southward a bounding main of estrogen inside Professor Gibson's business firm. Other than her hubby, only a couple of other men are present. I'thousand really going to miss this place later on I graduate. It'due south been a dwelling away from habitation.
"Fingers crossed," I say in response to Carin. "If I don't get into Harvard, then it'south BC or Suffolk." Which would be fine, but Harvard virtually guarantees me a shot at the job I want postal service-graduation—a position at one of the nation'southward peak law firms, or what everyone calls BigLaw.
"You'll get in," Hope says confidently. "And hopefully one time you lot get that acceptance letter, you'll stop killing yourself, because Lord, B, you lot look tense."
I roll my head around my neck stiffly. Yes, I am tense. "I know. My schedule is barbarous these days. I went to bed at two this morning because the girl who was supposed to close at Boots & Chutes bugged out and left me to close, and then I was upwardly at four to sort mail. I got home around noon, crashed, and almost overslept."
"You're withal working both jobs?" Carin flips her red pilus out of her face up. "You said you were going to quit the waitressing gig."
"I can't yet. Professor Gibson said that they don't want us working our outset year of police force school. The but way I tin swing that is to have enough for food and hire saved upwards before September."
Carin makes a sympathetic noise. "I hear yous. My parents are taking out a loan and then large, I might exist able to beget a small country with it."
"I wish you'd move in with us," Hope says plaintively.
"Really? I had no idea," I joke. "You've only said it twice a twenty-four hours since the semester started."
She wrinkles her cute nose at me. "You lot'd honey this place my dad rented for us. It'southward got floor-to-ceiling windows and it'south right on the subway line. Public transportation." She wiggles her eyebrows enticingly.
"Information technology's besides expensive, H."
"You lot know I'd encompass the difference—or my parents would," she corrects herself. The daughter'south family unit has more money than an oil tycoon, but you lot'd never know it from talking to her. Promise'south as downward to world every bit they come.
"I know," I say between gulping downwards bites of mini-sausages. "Merely I'd feel guilty and so guilt would plough into resentment and so we wouldn't be friends anymore and not being your friend would suck."
She shakes her head at me. "If, at some point, your stubborn pride allows you to enquire for help, I'm here."
"Nosotros're here," Carin interjects.
"See?" I wave my fork between the two of them. "This is why I can't live with y'all guys. Y'all mean also much to me. Besides, this is working for me. I've got nearly ten months to save up before classes showtime next fall. I've got this."
"At
least come for a beverage with the states after this thing is over," Carin begs.
"I have to drive dwelling." I brand a face up. "I'm scheduled to go in and sort packages tomorrow."
"On a Sunday?" Hope demands.
"Time and a one-half. I couldn't plough it down. Really, I should probably have off soon." I lay my plate on the table and try to catch a glimpse of what'due south going on beyond the huge bay window. All I see is darkness and streaks of rain on the drinking glass. "Sooner I'm on the road, the meliorate."
"Not in this weather you lot're not." Professor Gibson appears at my elbow with a glass of wine. "The weather advisory is for sheets of drinking glass—temperature's dropping and the rain is turning into water ice."
1 look at my advisor's confront and I know I have to concede. So I practice, but with great reluctance.
"All correct," I say, "merely I exercise this under protest. And you—" I tip my fork in Carin'due south direction, "y'all ameliorate have ice cream in the freezer in example I have to crash with you, otherwise I'yard going to be really mad."
All three of them laugh. Professor Gibson wanders off, leaving united states of america to network as best every bit three college seniors can. After an hour of mingling, Promise, Carin and I grab our coats.
"Where are we going?" I enquire the girls.
"D'Andre is at Malone's and I said I'd encounter him there," Promise tells me. "It'southward similar a ii-infinitesimal drive, so nosotros should be fine."
"Really? Malone's? That'due south a hockey bar," I whine. "What's D'Andre doing there?"
"Drinking and waiting for me. Also, you need to get laid and athletes are your favorite type."
Carin snorts. "Her only blazon."
"Hey, I have a very good reason for preferring athletes," I contend.
"I know. We've heard it." She rolls her eyes. "If y'all want a stats question answered, go to the math geeks. If you want a physical demand met, get to an athlete. Bodies are the tools of an elite athlete. They take intendance of it, know how to button its limits, yada yada." Carin makes a yapping gesture with her left hand.
I flick upwards my center finger.
"Simply sex with someone yous similar is and so much better." This comes from Hope, who's been with D'Andre, her football thespian boyfriend, since freshman yr.
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