Page 23 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
Which, for the record, I have not.
In my defense, I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart.
Well. Mostly.
Sarah seemed to need a friend to talk to—someone other than me. She’s bored out of her mind, and I get it. It’s summer. There’s no family around to pay attention to her, and she can’t go to training camp where the guys would spoil her like she’s a damn princess. I don’t bring her to visit often, but when I do, she acts like she’s royalty, and my teammates are her knights.
My girl truly believes she’s the team mascot. Not the weird felt knight, nope. It’s Sarah Buttercup Crawford.
So, really, I’m here to fixherproblem.
And since Olivia is a veterinarian, she has to understand the psyche of my pup, right?
That’s my logic.
I press the doorbell, rocking back on my heels, fully prepared for Olivia to be thrilled to see me.
The door swings open, and she is—dressed in a tank top and shorts, hair piled up in a messy nest atop her head, looking deeply unimpressed.
Her gaze flicks to the groceries, the beer, and my face.
She exhales. “Lucian.”
I flash her my best,I’m-charming-don’t-be-madsmile. “Olivia.”
“What are you doing here?”
I lift the bag slightly. “Cooking for you.”
She blinks at me, then at the beer. “With that?”
I grin. “Beer pairs with everything.”
Her jaw tightens. “Lucian.”
“Olivia,” I mimic. My voice isn’t as feminine as hers, but I want to think it’s close enough.
Her fingers twitch like she wants to strangle me but is still weighing the consequences.
I take the opportunity to step past her because technically, she hasn’t shut the door in my face yet. That’s like awelcome home, Luc,right?
Sarah trots in after me like she owns the place.
Olivia pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is not how normal people function.”
“Good thing I’m not normal.” I place the groceries on the counter. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“For what?”
“For fixing your evening.” I shoot her a smug grin. “You were going to have a sad, half-assed meal, weren’t you?”
She glares. “You don’t know that.”
I glance toward the sink, where an instant ramen packet sits in all its lonely, sodium-filled glory.
I arch a brow.
Her nostrils flare. “That is not sad. Ramen is one of my favorite foods.”
