Page 12 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
“Lucian,” she says, pressing her fingers into her temples like I’m a walking migraine. “Why are you still here?”
I gesture vaguely toward her. “Figured you’d be mad about it. Wanted to see it in real-time.”
Her mouth opens, then closes.
Then she throws her head back, groaning at the sky like she’s begging for patience from a higher power.
God, she’s so fucking adorable.
“You are so exhausting,” she mutters.
“Yeah,” I agree easily. “But you like it.”
Her head snaps toward me, eyes narrowing like she’s going to use some laser beam and maim me.
“I do not like it—or you.”
“Then why are you still standing here, talking to me?”
She folds her arms, posture stiff.
“You’re blocking my door.”
I glance over my shoulder at the wide-open path leading straight to her house.
“Huh,” I say, turning back to her. “Doesn’t look blocked to me.”
Olivia lets out another dramatic sigh, rubbing her forehead as if she’s actively regretting every life choice that has brought her to this moment.
“Thank you,” she mutters.
“For what?” I ask, grinning.
“For tidying up and helping me fix the fence.”
I blink, pressing a hand to my chest like she just confessed undying love. “Wow. Did that physically hurt to say?”
She glares. “So much.”
I chuckle, leaning against the railing. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
She lifts an unimpressed gaze. “Are you done?”
I grin. “Not even close.”
She groans, pushing past me toward her door.
“You work too hard,” I say before I can stop myself.
She freezes, hand hovering over the doorknob. Then, slowly, she turns. “Excuse me?”
I shrug, watching her. “You’ve been going non-stop since you moved here a few days ago. When’s the last time you did something for yourself?”
She blinks, caught off guard. Then scowls at me, crossing her arms. “Why do you care?”
I smirk. “Because you look like you need someone to give a fuck.”
Her lips press together.
