Page 50 of The Lucky One

I roll my eyes. “I know you better than I know some of my friends.”

“I can’t decide if this is a compliment or if I should feel bad for your friends.” His smile widens, and I relax a little bit more. The more we talk, the more I’m convinced that maybe Weston is the adventure I’ve been yearning for.

The forever kind.And that’s terrifying.

We’ve done weddings for people who fell in love fast. And some have lasted. But I’ve always scoffed at the idea becausehow can you possibly get to know someone that well that you know you want to spend the rest of your life with them in such a short time period?

But maybe that’s what I’ve been missing. The indescribable feelings that you’re connected to someone in ways you can’t understand and don’t make sense.

Logic says it’s too soon.

But it also says I need to be as open and honest as he’s been to give it a fair shot and see if that feeling is right.

“We’ve spent a lot of time together this week. You learn a lot about people when you do that.”

He watches me, unconcerned by the chaos of the pub around us. We only have to talk a little louder as the crowd gets louder with the band.

“Are you saying you’re okay with a potential future with someone who doesn’t know what the future holds?”

“Are you?” I volley the question directly back to him. “Honestly Weston—does anyone? I thought I had my future planned before I found out things about my mother and my engagement fell apart. I’m sure you thought the same before your injury. What’s the point?”

With that question, I’m completely exposed. Again.

That’s theotherquestion that’s been plaguing me in the deepest parts of my soul. I’ve been afraid to actually ask it out loud, but it slipped out before I could stop it.

“Adult responsibilities,” he says with a crooked grin. “I think that’s why we’re driven to care.”

“It’s a pretty convincing reason.”

“What if I don’t do anything but coach high school football?” he asks.

His identity is just as shaken as mine, and I hate that I haven’t caught onto that. He’s practically begging for reassurance that he’s worth more than his career, and as we sithere, I wish I could climb onto the table and scream it at the top of his lungs.

He could never play football another day in his life and it wouldn’t change how I see him.

“Then the Phoenixes are lucky to have you. Or whoever.” I take a sip of my Lucky Toad Lager. “The point is, you could also be asked to be an announcer for ESPN.”

“You’ve got some big ideas over there.”

“I’m just saying it’s possible.” I study his face, and decide since we’re on the subject I might as well jump all in with my own questions. “Were you here last time to hide from the Super Bowl?”

“Coming in guns blazing, I see. Alright.” He swipes another pretzel. “I totally was. I missed every game in January and I felt like I let my team down.”

“That could’ve been Cade though,” I say. “You took that hit to protect the quarterback. How would that disappoint your team? You were practically a sacrifice.”

He tips his head. “I thought you didn't watch football.”

Busted.But to be honest, I’m glad he knows now. The only reason I didn’t say anything before was to not feed his ego. Which I sorely misjudged and I feel like crap about. But I’m trying to fix it.

“I never said that.”

He studies me, like he’s seeing me for the first time again.

“You surprise me, Spitfire. Likeevery day.”

“You’re nothing like I expected,” I agree. “A definite surprise.”

“This week I’ve spent with you—it’s the first time since the injury that I’m not hyper focused on how much it’s changed my life. Or what it might’ve cost me.”

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