Page 52 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
Jacob knows.
He was there.
For all of it.
For Ingrid.
For the quick, regrettable town hall wedding that was supposed to be low-key before we moved to San Francisco where I swore I would be winning all the fucking games and be happy.
Jacob was there for how she changed the moment we signed that fucking marriage certificate. For how she transformed from my college girlfriend into a woman who suddenly recognized she was a football player’s wife.
For the fights. The exhaustion.
For the day I found out she had a whole-ass post-nuptial plan in case things didn’t work out in her favor. For the way she looked at me—not like I was Lucian, the guy she’d spent years with. But like I was a fucking investment that wasn’t paying off fast enough.
I exhale through my nose, pushing all of that away.
Jacob remains silent for a moment, as if giving me time to process the storm that has just erupted in my mind.
“Luc.” His voice is calm, even. “Maybe your neighbor is different, but you’re already pushing her into the friends-and-fuck zone.”
I huff, shaking my head. “Yeah. Maybe. Or maybe she’s just better at playing the game than Ingrid was.”
Jacob groans. “If she is, then why the fuck are you trying to win her?”
I wish I knew why I want . . . no it’s not want, I crave her mouth.
Why I want her to see me. The real me.
Why I want her to stop looking at me like I’m just some arrogant asshole determined to make her life miserable.
Maybe all I really want is to prove her wrong—show her I’m not the guy she thinks I am—and then walk away. I’m not some mindless jock who coasts through life on talent and charm, who treats women like trophies, who only cares about the next win. But while I’m at it, while I prove I’m more than she ever gave me credit for . . . I also want to fuck her.
Because why not have a little fun?
I’ll have to design a new play, and this weekend, I’ll stay away from her before I make a complete mess of things.
Chapter Sixteen
Lucian: Spending the weekend in New York with the fam. Try not to miss me too much, Doc.
Olivia: I’ll survive.
Lucian: Will you, though? What if you need something?
Olivia: I won’t.
Lucian: You sound very sure of that.
Olivia: I am.
Lucian: Mmm. So confident. I like it. But hypothetically . . .
Olivia: No hypotheticals, Crawford. I have plenty of wine and the house all to myself. You don’t affect me. Maybe I’m even tipsy enough just to let you talk shit without even bothering.
Lucian: Hypothetically, what if a pipe bursts? What if Pete starts using the wrong materials and you don’t realize it until your house starts leaning to one side?
Olivia: Then I’ll deal with it like a grown adult.
