Page 3 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
Also, when did my sister become friends with a guy like this? And why does she look so smug about it?
She shakes her head. “Nope. I don’t like sports. I’m Hailey’s friend. Leif’s fiancée. We met when your niece Luna was born.”
Oh, that makes a lot more sense. I do know Hailey, but I haven’t met Luna. I’ve seen her in pictures. Does that count? She’s an adorable baby girl. Aspen is trying to fight her way into being a godmother, but the father’s sister seems to be a lot more headstrong than Aspen. I must meet this woman because no one can be more than my sister in anything.
His gaze flicks to her, something clicking into place. “Right. I remember now. You and Scottie are fighting for the title of the best aunt in the world. Hail is helping you edit or produce or something, right?”
“And you catch a ball, run with it, or something, right?” Aspen deadpans, as if his job is merely a side hustle.
Lucian’s eyes gleam with amusement. “That’s the rumor. People prefer to call itfootball.”
I give him a once-over. The ridiculous muscles, the way he carries himself, the overwhelming ‘I get paid absurd amounts of money to be both athletic and infuriatingly good-looking’ energy.
Yeah. Okay. I can see it.
I exhale dramatically. “Great. I moved next door to an athlete.”
Lucian chuckles, completely unbothered. “And I live next to a woman who apparently doesn’t watch sports. This might be the first time I’ve ever been humbled.”
I’m about to give him a piece of my mind when Aspen nudges me with her elbow. “Be nice. Mom taught you better.”
“Nice?” I ask as if the concept is foreign. “You could introduce me to your friend’s . . . friend instead of letting me figure it out like I’m in some weird celebrity guessing game.”
Aspen sighs. “Olivia, meet Lucian Crawford, running back for the Bridgemont Knights. Luc, this is my sister, Olivia. The new vet in town.”
I tilt my head, pasting on the most painfully artificial smile I can manage. “Nice to meet you, Lucian.”
His grin widens. “That sounded painful for you.”
“It certainly was.”
He laughs, loud and easy, then gestures toward the sprawled-out dog. “So, about Sarah, could I go?—”
“Yeah, she’s not leaving.”
He raises a brow. “Excuse me?”
“You said it yourself. She chose me.”
His expression freezes for a moment, then he scoffs. “Okay, that was just?—”
I motion toward the dog, who is currently stretched out on my kitchen floor as if she owns the place. “Look at her. She’s at home. Just bring me her stuff, and we’re all set.”
Lucian stares at me, then exhales, biting back a laugh. “You’re stealing my dog?”
“I plan on inviting her to stay—of her own will.”
“Uh-huh.”
I cross my arms. “You let her escape. I’m merely providing a safe environment.”
Lucian drags a hand down his face like he’s reassessing all his life choices. Then, without a word, he pulls out his phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask, suddenly suspicious.
“Texting myself.” He types something, then glances up. “Give me your number.”
I blink. “Why?”
