Page 25 of My Pucking Valentine

I’ve also never had a man buy me roses before in my life. When I move toward the flowers, the scent becomes so strong that I have to close my eyes when I lean my head down and fully take them in.

My God.

Straightening, I know that Barbara and Sarah are watching me, but I don’t care. I can’t take my eyes off these gorgeous roses. They are such a deep red that they almost look black, and the petals appear to be velvet. I reach out and touch them just to be sure that they aren’t indeed velvet—they aren’t.

“There’s a card,” Barbara interrupts my focus on the petals.

Shifting my focus to the card, I reach for the small rectangle, then open the flap, gently slide out the heart-printed cardstock, and look down at the writing.

It’s Luke’s handwriting.

I would know it anywhere.

I sillily memorized it a while ago.

Clara,

I love you.

-Luke

Closing my eyes slowly, I let out an exhale. How am I supposed to forget him, supposed to move on when he does something like this? And it’s not just any card, either. He loves me. He freakinglovesme. I know he said it the other day, but reading it in print hits so much differently.

“There are a couple of other things, too,” Barbara says and thrusts an envelope at me. There is my name and a 2 written on the envelope, which I assume means to open it second. It’s not sealed, so when I open the flap, I reach inside to find three tickets.

“They’re tickets to the game tomorrow night,” I whisper. “On the glass.”

“Shit,” Sarah whispers.

Shit is right.

“I broke up with him,” I say.

Barbara snorts. “Well, he didn’t accept that shit, and he’s making it very clear that he wants to keep you, social media judgments be damned.”

It seems as if she’s right, and as much as I want to smile and accept all of this, I know it isn’t what I should be doing. Keeping my excitement inside, I put the tickets back in the envelope and gently place them next to the flowers.

“This is the last one,” Sarah announces and hands me a box.

It’s wrapped in light-pink paper with little gold hearts printed on it. It’s super cute, and I almost hate to tear it open, but I don’t hate it that much because I’m too curious. I rip the wrapping off and place it on the counter, then stare at the contents.

It’s a box.

A jewelry box—a little one.

Holy. Shit.

TWENTY-THREE

LUKE

I could have madea whole fucking fool of myself, or I could have changed the entire trajectory of my life. I won’t know until tonight. As I walk from my car to the stadium, I wince at the sight of the cameras and the people.

We usually have a following of some kind when it’s game night, but nothing like this, and I have a feeling that they’re all here for me. As I approach, the flashes from the cameras in my eyes make it hard to see, but when I’m peppered with questions that are being shouted all around me, that’s when I decide to stop.

I’m sure the team publicist and my agent are going to have something to say about this, but I don’t think I care too much anymore. The more I think about their suggestions, their thoughts, and almost threats, the less of a fuck I give.

The thing is, the money I’ve made and invested is enough to get me through some sort of schooling for a different career. No clue what it would be, but I could take a couple of years to get that shit done and start a whole new life.

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