Page 41 of Layla Meets Her Match

“Good luck tomorrow,” I say in a quiet voice. Then I wave and get myself the heck out of there. I even dart into the stairwell since it’s closer than the elevators and I won’t have to wait. When I hear Lincoln’s door swing closed, I lean against the wall and gulp in a long breath.

It’s time to be honest with myself. It’s not just a crush. I don’t just think he’s gorgeous. I’m not just some fangirl like thousands of women in LA who follow the Rays because half the team could work as models.

Despite all my hard work to focus on my daughter and the life I need to build for us, I think I’ve accidentally fallen for Lincoln Knight.

CHAPTER 24

LINCOLN

Layla: I feel like I should warn you that there’s going to be some more pictures on social media of us. Kind of.

Lincoln: Where could someone have taken pictures of us? *thinking emoji*

Layla: To be fair, it’s a picture of me.

Layla: With your jersey on in the suite.

Layla: Which is apparently a clear indication that we’ll be announcing our wedding any day.

Lincoln: You want me to put out a comment?

Layla: You don’t have to. I’m fine with people speculating.

Layla: Are you?

Lincoln: Totally fine.

Layla’s text is waiting for me when I reach the locker room, and it’s a bright spot after losing a tough game to Seattle. During the long walk from the field, down the tunnel, and into the locker room, I went over all the plays I know I should’ve done better on—pushed for another half yard to get the first down, held the ball out farther the time we went for the touchdown on fourth and inches, something in one of the many plays to get us another score to win the game.

Pulling out my phone and seeing Layla’s name on the screen makes my shoulders fall back in relaxation a little bit. I lean back against my locker as I answer, and then I swipe over to Instagram to search up the picture she’s talking about. It’s easy to find since my account has been tagged about a million times.

The picture is grainy, but it’s a clear shot of Layla, wearing dark wash skinny jeans, white Nikes, and a white version of a Rays jersey with my name and number on the back. She’s turned, facing Court, and her long hair is up in a thick bun on top of her head. She wore it the same way when she came to my hotel room last night, and I’d spent a good few seconds picturing what it would be like to pull her hair out of the bun and run my fingers through it. This version of the bun looks more purposeful though, with strands hanging down around her face.

A big gossip site has picked up the picture with the caption, We’re hearing rumors that LA Lights is getting a spinoff and the directors are talking to actress Layla Delaford about reprising her role as Sloane Campbell and reigniting her relationship with Detective Leclair. If the rumors are true, maybe Delaford celebrated by going to her boyfriend’s game against the Seattle Torrent today. She was spotted in the private suite with quarterback Eli Dash’s wife and sister among other friends. Wearing Lincoln Knight’s jersey seems like a clear sign to us. Who do we like more, Sloane and Detective Leclair, or Layla Delaford and Lincoln Knight? Don’t ask us. We can’t choose! It already has thousands of comments asking for an official comment from someone to confirm it.

Her boyfriend. I like that part.

“You sure you’re not dating her?” a voice asks, and I look up to see Hurley leaning over my shoulder, checking out the picture. He straightens and holds up a finger. “She snuck into the hotel last night to bring you food.” He holds up another one. “She’s at the game, wearing your jersey.”

I shove his hand away before he can add any more reasons. “Playing the long game,” I say, stowing my phone in my locker to get ready to take a shower. I want to make it quick. There’s a chance that Layla rode to the game with Court and Mila, meaning she might be in the family room, the room where family and close friends can wait for players after games if they have passes. Court and Mila both do, of course, so if Layla’s with them, security will let her in. I’d really like to see her wearing my jersey in person.

Hurley chuckles as he moves past me toward the showers himself.

I walk to the family room with Eli, and though the room is crowded with people waiting for players and a handful of kids are buzzing around the room, my gaze goes right to Layla. I can find her in a room like she has some kind of beacon flashing just for me. She turns, and our eyes meet.

There’s a reason we check into the hotel on nights before games and our partners aren’t allowed to come. It’s about focus, and Layla showing up last night proves that Coach knows what he’s talking about. My head was in the game, but it’s been hard to keep my mind off Layla since I saw her last night, thinking about how I wished I could have kissed her goodbye when she left or how I should have called Eli and told him not to come by until I texted and let her stay longer. I don’t think straight around her, and maybe if she was my girlfriend, like everyone on social media thinks, she wouldn’t be the distraction she is.

That’s probably a pipe dream. She’ll always be a distraction for me.

I’m already almost across the room and standing next to her, barely noticing Eli by my side. Will you be my girlfriend? I feel like a second-grader, infatuated with his first crush. Dottie’s words are heavy in my mind, telling me that I need to let Layla know how I feel about her—soon.

She throws her arms around my neck when I reach her, and I pull her against me, letting the rest of my frustration from the game melt away. What would it be like to come home to her after every practice, every game, good or bad? I have always envied Eli and Mark for having Court and Hannah to help shoulder the weight that a pro player carries during the season.

“I’m so sorry, Linc,” she says into my chest. “You played such a good game, and you worked so hard.”

My chest warms at her words. They don’t make everything okay, don’t make me forget the yards I didn’t get that could’ve led to first downs, or the plays I know I should have done differently. But it does make me feel better.

She lets go sooner than I’m ready for, and I reluctantly let her. She steps back.

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