Page 10 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
Olivia: And what exactly do you want, Lucian?
Lucian: You. Spread out, gasping my name, wrecked and satisfied because I made you feel better than anyone ever has.
Lucian: You there, Liv? Ready to beg for it?
Olivia: I refuse to dignify that with a response. (Throws phone against the wall and plans another change of zip code)
Lucian: You don’t need to. I know exactly what you’re thinking about now.
Olivia: That you’re a menace to society?
Lucian: That you’re wondering if I really could make you come undone. Wondering if you want my mouth in your cunt or my fingers inside your ass while I’m fucking you with my big cock.
Lucian: Babe, are you there?
Olivia: Don’t call me babe.
Lucian: Why? Because it makes you feel things? It makes you feel like mine?
Olivia: Because it’s annoying, more so when we don’t know each other at all.
Lucian: You know what else is annoying? That you’re still pretending my texts aren’t getting to you. That you’re not soaking wet and ready for me.
Olivia: Oh my God. You’re insufferable.
Lucian: And yet, you haven’t stopped texting me.
Olivia: I have something to tend in the clinic, get lost, Lucian Crawford and . . . fix my fence.
Lucian: I’ll see you when you’re back home. If you need my hands or mouth, just text, they’re ready for you.
Chapter Four
Lucian
To Flirt or Not to Flirt . . . When You’re on The Fence About It
I probably should’ve let her find out about the fence on her own.
Would’ve been hilarious, actually—Olivia coming home after what I assume was a grueling shift at the vet clinic, ready fora quiet evening, only to find her backyard resembling a crime scene. Fence panels scattered across the grass, some leaning at odd angles, others fully collapsed as if they just gave up on life. A total disaster.
But I guess I’m feeling generous today.
So, not only did I text about it. I handled it. I cleaned up the mess and called a guy. Set it up so he can be here first thing tomorrow. Now, I’m here, leaning against her porch, waiting for . . . something.
Not sure what exactly. I could’ve left a note: a simple, “Hey, don’t forget your fence is wrecked, I called someone. You’re welcome.” But no, I like to be personable and shit.
Also, let’s be honest—I’m bored.
Everyone in my family is busy. My parents practically live at Leif’s house these days, obsessed with baby Luna. Not that I blame them—kid’s ridiculously cute. Leif himself is in full-on dad mode, which means I don’t hear from him unless it’s about baby milestones or emergency parenting favors. Kade is a newlywed and acting like one, which means he’s basically dead to the rest of us.
His twin, Killion, is plotting ways to convince Camille to elope so they can avoid the wedding drama. I could reach out to my younger siblings, but Scottie’s busy being a badass businesswoman, and I’m trying to connect with Greyson. The kid is too young and annoying—we end up fighting sometimes, and I can’t have that when I might need a dog sitter during the season.
Which leaves me with . . . my new neighbor.
Shit. I need a hobby. A casual hookup. Maybe both. My parents suggested I grow up, but where’s the fun in that?
I hear the engine before I see the car pull into the driveway. Then, Olivia steps out—her ponytail barely hangingon, her puppy-print scrubs rumpled, and her expression set to maximum exhaustion.
