Page 26 of Layla Meets Her Match

Lincoln’s answer comes faster than I expect. He’s probably already at their hotel, relaxing for the night and getting his head in the right space.

Lincoln: The truck was super busy today. I’m so glad that closing down for a few days didn’t hurt Mila’s business.

Layla: Her cookies are too good. If people knew, they’d probably risk poisoning for them. *crazy-face emoji*

Lincoln: I don’t doubt it. The line this morning says it all. How old do you think Margot needs to be before she can start helping?

Layla: She’ll be a great runner in a couple years, I’m sure. Or maybe she can take my place taking orders if I ever land something better. Which would be hard. Mila is the best boss.

Lincoln: I wish Mila was my boss, tbh.

Layla: Are your parents coming to your game tomorrow? Do they live close enough?

Lincoln: Yes and yes. They live in Pennsylvania, but they’re flying in for the game.

Layla: I bet you’re excited to see them.

Lincoln: I am. No educational day trips this time though. We’ll probably just do dinner.

Layla: A little bit of a disappointment, I’m guessing.

Lincoln: I think my mom mentioned something about bringing me souvenirs from their trip to Philadelphia last week.

Lincoln: They’ve been a million times. It’s a wonder they still find stuff to see there.

Lincoln: She also put in a request that we take a quick, self-guided tour of some historical sites like the Federal Hall National Memorial on Wall Street, which I unfortunately had to squash.

Layla: Party pooper …

Lincoln: *laughing emoji* Seriously. I’ll just have to make it up to her at the end of the season. She’s always talked about visiting Paris and seeing its history. I want to take her next summer.

I have to forcibly stop myself from texting a line of heart-eyed emojis. Also a request to go with them. He’s sweet without even meaning to be. I think. He probably knows I got a little melty on our date when he was talking about the cute trips he takes with his parents. He could have steered the conversation this way on purpose.

But the thing is, my heart says Lincoln’s not that kind of guy. He’s no actor. It’s definitely something the Phantom Dad would do.

Layla: Best Son of the Year Award goes to you. Stop making the rest of us look bad.

Lincoln: *blushing emoji*

His response is so spot-on and so self-aware of the kind-of-shy thing he has going on that it makes me laugh out loud. Margot copies me, and I set my phone down for a second, ignoring the buzz that tells me another text from Lincoln has come in. I laugh loudly again but say “hee hee hee” instead, which makes Margot giggle and pull herself toward me. She’s not crawling yet, except for a kind of wormy army crawl thing she does, but it will come soon. She claps her hand on my lips and laughs again, so I let out another loud laugh, this time snickering in a high-pitched tone.

It's several minutes later before Margot is bored with the game and becomes enthralled instead with the empty box from the curtains that arrived today. I grab my phone up.

Lincoln: Ever the party pooper … I have to go. Gotta watch a little bit of film with the rest of the offense before I get to bed by curfew. Talk to you tomorrow.

Layla: You’ll be amazing!

He won’t see my text for a while anyway, so I make Margot laugh again and snap a picture to send to him, captioning it Margot wishes you good luck too! Then I slide my phone into my pocket and roll myself up to make us some dinner.

CHAPTER 16

LINCOLN

There was nothing that amazing about my texting conversation with Layla last night, but the picture she sent me of Margot feels amazing, and I have a spring in my step on the field against the New York Empire. Maybe some oil got on my jersey, because it’s like no one can hold me. We run a play where the offensive line is supposed to make a hole up the middle. It’s so tight I shouldn’t be able to squeeze through, but I do, and the defenders are so sure that I’m down that when I break out into the field, it takes a beat to realize that I’ve gotten away. I run into the end zone dragging a couple of guys. It should’ve been a three- or four-yard gain for a close first down, but instead I got thirty yards and the TD. That’s my favorite play of the night, obviously, but I get a bunch more runs just like it—slipping through spots and getting extra yards like Oprah’s handing them out. You get extra yards on THIS play and THAT play and ALL the plays. Hurley even sends me an Oprah gif when we’re all on the bus headed back to the hotel. I’m taking a later flight than most of the guys so I can have dinner with my parents before I leave. As soon as I sit down at the table of the hotel restaurant (it was the easiest to arrange), my mom eyes me in a knowing way. “Looks like love has you playing better than ever.”

I halt the slice of bread I was about to take a bite of and widen my eyes at her. “Love, Mom?”

She nods excitedly. “That woman. Layla? The pictures that were all over the place on Friday. Why didn’t you tell me about her?” Luckily, she’s too excited to be hurt about it. When I told my social media manager that I didn’t care about the speculation as long as Layla looked good, I didn’t think about my mom seeing the pictures.

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