Page 163 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
For the girl who still hasn’t waved.
For the future that feels just barely out of reach.
And for the chance—just maybe—to earn something that isn’t on paper.
By the time the field clears, I’m drenched, my muscles aching and my joints humming in that familiar, not-quite-painful way. I duck into the facility, peel off my gear, and grab a protein shake from the fridge as if it might erase the afternoon.
Olivia doesn’t follow. She brought her car just in case anyone sees us together. You can’t be too careful with the journalists. Nothing against them, but I want them to focus on the game, not my girl.
More like I don’t want them to scare her. We have enough baggage to add the media to our relationship. It’s not like we’re in a bad place, not at all. I just learned from taking her to my family that I must slow the pace so she doesn’t run away.
Chapter Forty-Six
Olivia: You looked hot. Also, I think your right hamstring cramped at the 20-yard line. If it bothers you, I’ll ice it for you if you ask nicely.
Lucian: Bold of you to assume it was a cramp and not me pausing to admire your Witness Protection outfit.
Olivia: You did stop. Very publicly. Rookie mistake.
Lucian: I was momentarily stunned by the power of your judgmental latte sip.
Olivia: It’s a gift. Passed down through generations of women who don’t put up with bullshit.
Lucian: Noted. I’ll bring ice. You bring the hands.
Olivia: Is that your way of asking for a massage?
Lucian: It’s my way of saying I’m sore, needy, and possibly in love with your scowl.
Olivia: You just want a hand job then.
Lucian: Or . . . and this might be an innovative idea, a blow job.
Olivia: Innovative? Wow. Such vision. Have you considered applying for a TED Talk?
Lucian: “Revolutionizing Recovery: The Healing Power of Her Mouth.” Sold out in minutes. Standing ovation.
Olivia: Standing’s a stretch. You could barely walk off the field.
Lucian: I was fine. You were undressing me with your eyes and didn’t see it right.
Olivia: I was evaluating your gait. There’s a difference.
Lucian: Felt like a medical striptease.
Olivia: So glad you lived. Proud of you.
Lucian: Barely. I needed CPR. From the neck down.
Olivia: That’s not CPR, Lucian.
Lucian: Then I need a different acronym—one in which you kneel first, and I promise to return the favor later.
Olivia: You’re lucky I’m even still texting you.
Lucian: I know. I’m not even the hot brother.
Olivia: Correct. You’re the ridiculous one with a pulled hamstring and a hero complex.
