Page 58 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

“I love you,” he says, his eyes still closed as he breaks away.

And I know right now that if Logan and I can make this work, if we stay together, he will have to force me to leave the country, leave him. And even if he begs, I doubt I’ll go.

20/

logan

I made the mistake of telling my mom I met someone. I didn’t want to freak Rachel out, but that’s the real reason my parents are driving up to watch the game this weekend. My mom couldn’t care less about watching me play football. It makes her a nervous wreck. But if there’s a girl to meet, Olivia Ford will bust right through a halftime show to get her hands on the girl who caught her pumpkin’s eye.

She’ll be sure to call me that, too. At least once. Probably twice. Pumpkin. She knows I hate it. Fine, okay. There is a part of me that loves it, but that part is in private, like when I’m helping her pull the turkey out of the oven on Thanksgiving. That’s when it’s called for. Not when I’m introducing the only girl who’s ever made me want to be a better version of myself.

I’m afraid she’s going to drive Rachel absolutely nuts. But there’s no way around it, because they have to meet. I love Rachel, and I can’t keep her hidden from my mom forever.

She spent the week in my bed. I mean, not the entire time—we did go to class, and I went to PT while she worked late on labs. But every night, her body was next to mine. The warmth of having her here, being able to reach over when I woke up just to feel her, it was a comfort I’ve never understood. Things feel possible. Like I’m on top for once. Not on a bubble.

She’s been watching me dress this morning. She woke up early and went to her place to get ready for the big meet and greet with the Edwards family before coming back to my place. Even my sister is coming, though I think she wanted a reason to ditch the husband and twins for a weekend. Lola’s also nosy, though, and she likes to watch Mom embarrass me in front of girls.

“Are you sure you’re okay on that knee?” Rachel asks, stopping short of poking it with her finger.

I give her a sideways glance and hold my gaze on her for a few quiet seconds, my open-mouthed smile caught.

“What? I’m worried about you. That’s all.”

I drop my compression sleeves into my gym bag and walk over to her, stepping between her legs and pulling her head into my stomach so I can hold her. I kiss her head.

“I was worried about my mom making you crazy today, but I’m starting to think you’re going to get along swimmingly.”

She links her hands behind my back and twists her head so her chin is against my stomach, her eyes blinking wide, blue and beautiful. She’s wearing braids today, so I slide my hands down her hair and tug gently.

“You know how I love these,” I say.

“Mmm hmm,” she hums, her chin pushing into my diaphragm as she nods. I slide my hand down her jawline and cup her chin, holding it in place before bending down to kiss her. I nip at her lip, a nonverbal promise of how I intend to celebrate a win today.

My phone buzzes on my nightstand, so I pull myself away from Rachel and check the message.

“My parents are early. Not a shock at all,” I laugh out.

“Oh, man,” Rachel says through an exhale. She stands and stretches her arms up as she shoots me a toothy, overexaggerated grin. She’s adorable in overalls that roll at her ankles, blue sneakers, and a yellow long-sleeved shirt. She’s wearing contacts today, though she’s cute in her glasses too.

“They’re going to love you,” I reassure. She’s putting up a good front but I can tell underneath she’s pretty nervous.

“I wish I knew how to make a potion to guarantee that,” she jokes.

I roll my eyes at her nerdy chem humor.

After zipping up my bag and shoving my feet into my slides, I link our hands and promise I won’t let go until she has to shake my dad’s hand.

“Mom will hug you,” I warn as we walk out to my truck.

Rachel sits on her hands for the entire trip to the stadium. I don’t mention it because I know it’s her nerves. She does this move a lot when she’s feeling out of place. It’s her coping tool, and I respect it.

We pull into the player lot, and I spot my parents’ SUV near the suites entrance. Tiff reserves one of the boxes for family and friends every season. When my dad comes alone, he likes to sit in the seats, as close to the fifty as possible. He indulges in the luxury when my mom tags along, and I’m sure Lola insisted they take the offer. My sister never passes up freebies.

“Wait here and I’ll walk you up,” I say, squeezing Rachel’s shoulders and kissing her forehead before jogging to the team entrance. I let the training staff know I’ll be right in for prep and remind Coach that I’ve been cleared as I pass his office. By the time I get back to Rachel, she’s sitting on my tailgate, swinging her legs and staring at her phone. I pause for a second so I can remember her this way. Her head pops up just then, catching me, and she holds out her palms.

“Are you torturing me?” she shouts, kicking off from my truck and pushing the tailgate closed. She walks toward me, her hands shoved in her pockets as she scans left and right. It’s early yet, so there’s not much traffic. I think she’s looking for somewhere to run.

“I was taking a mental picture,” I say when she finally reaches me. Our hands link, just as I promised. I hold on tight and kiss her knuckles.

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