Page 74 of The Long Game

Tucker’s eyes lift to mine as he turns to place the bubbling hot, made-from-scratch mac and cheese –one of Tucker’s favorites – into the oven.

The oven mitts barely covering his huge hands, earning a small snicker from me. He looks so much more domesticated than the Tucker I’m used to seeing on the field in full football pads.

This is the Tucker I want.

Not the football star.

But he’s one in the same. Isn’t he? And in all reality, aren’t I falling for them both? The whole package?

It’s his determination, perseverance, and drive that sets him apart from all other men I’ve met. That’s what makes him so irresistible.

He smiles at me and then turns back to give my mother his full attention as they discuss the neighborhood watch that she’s a part of.

“Here Lexi…” my mom says. “Can you take the salmon and asparagus out to your dad? I think he’s ready for them.”

“Sure,” I say as I walk up to the items already wrapped in foil, sitting on a tray on the island.

Tucker doesn’t break eye contact with my mom as he reaches for the fridge, pulls out a hard cider, pops the top and hands it to me.

I smile up at him but he’s still deep in conversation about the ‘recycle sniper’ who has the neighborhood busy bodies in a stir about their soda cans being stolen. I love how deeply committed he’s taking her concerns.

I could kiss the man right now.

I pull the items off the granite countertop and head for the back deck where my dad is gauging the temperature. Right as I slide the glass door open to the backyard, I glance back at Tucker.

He’s checking out my ass.

When he looks up to notice I caught him, he winks and takes a long pull of his beer. My body clenches between my legs at the way he’s looking at me with no shame.

I smile back before I step out, closing the door behind me.

After dinner, my dad suggests we use his study to go over the sketches I drew in high school. They might have been juvenile at the time but I feel my design ideas still held up.

Tucker and I spend a couple more hours going over the designs I had in my sketches and the walk through he and I had done two weeks ago.

I make notes of all the additions he says he would like – mostly to the gym and theater room. The rest of the changes are ones that I suggest.

“Whatever you think, Lex,” he says for probably the hundredth time.

“This is your house.”

“But I’m asking what you want.” He says, looking back at me contently.

You. Just you.

Tucker looks down at the labradoodle that I doodled in the bottom left-hand corner of one of the pages as he speaks.

“Do you still want what you told me you wanted before?”

“A husband, two-and-a-half kids and a labradoodle?” I laugh.

“Named Doug?”

“Duane.” I correct him.

“Oh yeah, that’s right.” He smiles up at me.

“No,” I say.

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