The Goat in the Bedroom (The Cocky Kingmans #6)

Chapter 1 Goat Intervention

GOAT INTERVENTION

GRYFF

Three weeks before finals and my best friend was buried alive under a mountain of practice tests like the academic apocalypse was nigh.

I'd seen Artemis get tackled by an entire women's rugby team, then carry half of them down the field on her back to score without breaking a sweat.

But watching her lose a fight to a pile of accounting textbooks? That was where I drew the line.

That was my cue to be the guy who stages an intervention. I was going with the nuclear option, weaponized cuteness involving baby animals.

It was time to remind her that some things were more important than accounting finals, like not losing her damn mind. Most guys would let their friends stress-spiral in peace, but I'd never been accused of being that fucking boring. Especially when Artie was involved.

If we weren't having fun together, we were probably dead.

I took the stairs to her dorm three at a time and rapped on her door. I wasn't that surprised I got no response. But I knew she was here by the sound of her binaural beats techno flow study music worming its way into the hall.

The fact that I had to use my emergency key to get into her room told me everything I needed to know about how far gone she was. I was intervening not a moment too soon.

“Jesus donkey, Artie,” I said, surveying the disaster zone that used to be her dorm room. “It looks like your textbooks staged a revolt in here.”

She was buried so deep in papers and books that I could barely see her brown braid poking out from behind the fortress of studying doom. The only sign of life was the swishy sound of a highlighter on paper and the occasional muttered curse.

“How did you get in here?” she asked without looking up. “I locked that door for a reason.”

“Emergency key. You gave it to me for exactly this kind of situation.”

“This isn't an emergency, Gryff. This is responsible adult behavior.”

I picked up one of the practice tests scattered around her like academic confetti. “Artie, you've already taken this same practice test three times. I can see your scores written on all of them.”

“Perfect practice makes perfect.”

“You got a ninety-eight the first time. There's nowhere left to go except completely insane.”

She finally looked up at me, and I bit back a wince. Dark circles under her eyes, hair that hadn't seen a brush in days, and the kind of manic exhaustion that came from too much caffeine and not enough sleep and sunshine.

This is what happened when the rugby season was over. Every damn year. But the added momentum of finals and graduation made it worse this time.

And maybe it was worse for me too, because watching her hurt always made something twist in my chest in a way that went beyond friendship. Not that I'd ever let myself think about that too long. We'd both always been with other people anyway, and some things were too important to risk.

“I need to be ready,” she said, gesturing at the chaos around her. “Finals are mere moments away, and I don't want to let my mom down by flunking out of college in my last semester. No one knows if I'll make the Olympic team, and I can't just coast on rugby skills and thick thighs forever.”

“First of all, you absolutely could crush skulls with those thighs and make a living doing that if you wanted to.

Second, you're one of the best rugby players in the entire world, so the team is going to be lucky to have you.

Also, finals are three weeks away, you already have straight A's, your mom is proud of you no matter what, and she called me asking when you had last left your study cave.”

Her mom hadn’t called me, but that was irrelevant.

Artie looked around like she was genuinely trying to remember what century it was much less if she’d been outside, which was answer enough.

“That's it,” I motioned with my hand for her to get up. “You're coming with me, right the fuck now.”

“I can't. I have four more practice tests to review, and I want to go through the tax section again because I'm still not confident about—”

“Artie.” I used my captain voice, the one that made three-hundred-pound linebackers shut up and listen. “You're starting to resemble that creepy ghost girl who crawls out of the TV, and I’d be afraid, except you’ve got a cheesy poof in your hair.”

I threw open the blackout curtains, letting the sunshine in, and she hissed at me zombie-style.

“That's what I thought. Come on.” I started gathering up her shoes from where they'd been abandoned by the door. “We're going outside and getting your blood pumping.”

She stuck out her tongue at me.

“Professor Martinez moved class outside today because it's beautiful out and she wants us to connect with nature or some shit like that.” The lie rolled off my tongue smooth as butter.

I'd been planning this for two weeks, since the end of the rugby season and the beginning of Artie's villain origin story or whatever the fuck was happening here.

“I don't have time for connecting with nature. I have to connect with accounting principles.”

“The accounting principles will still be there when you get back. Your sanity might not be.”

She looked at me for a long moment, and I watched the internal battle playing out on her face. The responsible part of her that wanted to keep studying versus the part that knew I was right.

“Fine,” she said finally. “But only because you're going to keep bothering me until I say yes, and that'll be more distracting than just going.”

“Correct.”

She threw a highlighter at my head, which I dodged easily. Good reflexes were useful both on and off the football field.

“Give me five minutes to make myself look like a human being,” she said, already heading toward the bathroom.

I had this planned down to the second. By the time we walked across campus to the quad, the animal sanctuary van would be there with a dozen baby goats, class would be set up with yoga mats, and Artie would get the surprise of her life.

Ten minutes later, we were crossing the quad and she still looked tired and stressed, yet somehow was absolutely beautiful, which was not a thought I was supposed to be having about my best friend.

But then she saw the goats.

Her face transformed from resignation to confusion to absolute wonder in the span of about three seconds. Her mouth dropped open, and she just stood there, staring at the pen full of tiny goats like she'd discovered buried treasure.

And fuck if that expression of pure joy didn't make me fall a little bit in love with her, which was a problem I definitely couldn't think about right now.

“Gryff,” she said slowly, walking toward me without taking her eyes off the animals. “Please tell me those are real.”

“What? I don't see anything,” I teased. “You’re probably hallucinating from all the vitamin D.”

“Are those...” she started, pointing at the portable pen full of baby goats that had been set up on the grass.

“Oh, those? Yeah. Baby goats,” I confirmed, trying not to look too smug about her reaction. “For baby goat yoga. Apparently it's a thing.”

“You did this?” Her voice had gone soft in that way that made something warm settle in my chest. She was pure joy, uncomplicated and bright. “This is... this is incredible.”

“Tempest and Trixie helped me arrange it with that sanctuary they volunteer at. But don't thank me yet. There's a distinct possibility one could pee on you. Or worse.”

“Oh my god,” Artie breathed beside me. “They're so smol.”

“Don't get any ideas,” I warned, knowing that look. “You cannot adopt a goat.”

“I'm not going to adopt a goat.”

“You're thinking about adopting a goat.”

“I'm thinking about how cute they'd look in tiny rugby jerseys.”

“Artemis.”

She was already walking toward the pen like she was in a trance, drawn by the irresistible pull of small, fuzzy creatures. The goats started bleating in greeting, like they knew they'd found their person.

“Look at their little faces,” she said, crouching down next to the pen. “Oh my god, look at this one.”

She was pointing at a brown and white spotted goat who was pressed against the fence, trying to get as close to her as possible. The little guy was practically vibrating with excitement, making soft bleating sounds that seemed designed specifically to melt hearts.

“I think he likes you,” I said.

“I think I love him,” she replied without hesitation. “Look at those spots. He's like a tiny dalmatian but with hooves.”

Other students were starting to gather around, phones coming out to document what was clearly about to become the most InstaSnap-worthy yoga class in Denver State U history.

“Alright, everyone,” Professor Martinez called out, clapping her hands to get our attention. “Welcome to our outdoor yoga session. Today we're going to be practicing mindfulness and presence with some very special guests.”

She gestured to the goat pen. “These beautiful babies are here to remind us that joy can be found in unexpected places, and that sometimes the best way to find peace is to embrace a little chaos.”

“That's very philosophical,” Artie said, settling onto her yoga mat.

“Just wait until they actually let the goats out,” I said, taking the spot next to her.

“They're letting them out?”

“That's kind of the whole point. They wander around during the poses. Sometimes they climb on you.”

Her eyes went wide. “They climb on you?”

“Artie,” I said seriously, “you're about to have tiny goats using you as a jungle gym. If this doesn't cure your stress-induced study psychosis, nothing will.”

And I was right. The moment the woman from the sanctuary opened the pen and the goats came tumbling out, Artie transformed.

Gone was the anxious, overwhelmed student who'd been buried under textbooks.

In her place was someone completely present, laughing as baby goats explored the yoga mats and climbing over anyone who stayed still long enough.