Page 137 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
Lucian: Doesn’t your sister know you’re temporarily living with me?
Olivia: Uhh . . . nope.
Lucian: Why?
Olivia: She may or may not have told me to keep you close but stay the fuck away. “He’s a Crawford,” she said.
Lucian: What does that even mean?
Olivia: It means: football star. Certified player. Walking red flag with abs.
Lucian: I feel seen.
Olivia: That wasn’t a compliment.
Lucian: No, but it was accurate. And deeply flattering.
Olivia: Wait—why would you tell your dads I’m coming with you?!
Lucian: I didn’t tell them you were coming. I told them I wasn’t coming alone. Very different.
Olivia: Oh good. That’ll definitely hold up when I show up and they immediately assume we’re sleeping together.
Lucian: Technically, we are sleeping under the same roof. And let’s be honest, if they knew we weren’t sleeping together, they’d be more concerned.
Olivia: Are they going to interrogate me?
Lucian: One hundred percent. Dad will pretend it’s casual. Papa will hand you a glass of wine and say “So. Olivia. What are your intentions with our disaster of a son?”
Olivia: Great. Can’t wait. Should I bring a PowerPoint?
Lucian: Only if it includes a section titled “Why He’s Worth the Chaos.”
Olivia: I’m going to need stock photos of stress eating and long sighs for the background music.
Lucian: And a whole slide for “Times I’ve Almost Murdered Him and Didn’t.” You can always use the score from an old horror movie.
Olivia: That one might need a bonus round, what horror movie are we talking about? Chucky? Children of the Corn? The Omen? All of them have creepy music.
Lucian: Your choice, the point is that you’re coming. Right?
Olivia: You didn’t really ask. You kind of . . . assigned me. Like I’m emotional carry-on.
Lucian: High-end emotional carry-on. You even come with your own dog. They might be more lenient with Sarah if we pretend she’s yours. They love her but don’t like when she lets the horses out.
Olivia: We’ll talk about this tonight. I might need to supervise those playdates with the horses—they all need to learn to get along.
Lucian: I’ll bring wine. You wear that sundress I like. And maybe nothing else under it, for morale.
Olivia: You really don’t know how to be serious, do you? I already told you. I don’t own dresses. Well, I do, but they’re in storage.
Lucian: I’m always serious. Just not when you’re picturing me pressed against your back, whispering what I’ll do to you once your sister stops texting you long enough for me to get your clothes off.
Olivia: Lucian.
Lucian: I’m just saying—maybe we can use our time on the plane wisely. Show you the traveling benefits. We haven’t gone through those yet, have we?
Olivia: You keep talking like that, and I might just make you sleep on the couch.
