Page 77 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
Olivia: You’re impossible. TTYN!
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lucian: Morning, sunshine. How are my favorite girls?
Olivia: Who are these “girls” you speak of?
Lucian: You and Sarah, obviously. How’s she doing today?
Olivia: Your child is thriving. Obviously—she’s with me.
Lucian: What does that even mean?
Olivia: It means I’m the fun parent in this situation.
Lucian: So I’m the bad cop here?
Olivia: I’m parenting a dramatic, sock-stealing, doorbell-hating diva. That qualifies me for something.
Lucian: Sounds like you’re describing yourself.
Olivia: Wow. So ungrateful to the woman raising your child. Plus, you owe me several pairs of socks already.
Lucian: I never said I wasn’t grateful. I just said you’re dramatic. The two can coexist. I’ll add the socks to your payment.
Olivia: Whatever. How’s training camp? What do people even do at those? Shouldn’t you be here signing autographs and flexing, or whatever you do when you want attention?
Lucian: That’s next week. This week is for altitude conditioning. No oxygen. Lots of pain. It’s literally kicking my ass.
Olivia: So, you’re telling me you’re sweaty, breathless, and sore? You’re basically describing my cardio nightmare.
Lucian: I’m living your worst-case scenario. Except hotter. With more grunting.
Olivia: Grunting? That’s not the selling point you think it is.
Lucian: You haven’t heard me. It’s very . . . primal.
Olivia: Ew. Did you just refer to yourself as primal?
Lucian: I did. And I stand by it. You’re welcome.
Olivia: I’m amazed you can text complete sentences between that and the high-altitude hallucinations.
Lucian: Who said I was coherent? For all you know, I’m just lying on the floor of a gym, dying slowly, texting my favorite girl for emotional support.
Olivia: You’re so dramatic. Now I get where Sarah got her personality from.
Lucian: Takes one to know one, Fun Parent.
Olivia: I am the fun parent.
Lucian: So, Fun Parent. Admit it. You miss me.
Olivia: I don’t miss you at all.
Lucian: Well, if you must know, I miss you. I miss a lot of things. Your sarcasm. Your coffee. That little noise you make when you pretend not to laugh at my jokes.
Olivia: That’s not a noise. That’s called restraint.
