Page 51 of Good Girl's Guide to Love
Working. Last day of the week for me. Why?
Katie was seeing if you were planning on coming to the game. But no worries.
My heart sinks at the mention of his publicist wanting to know, and not him. Which is silly. This isn’t real. Him putting boyfriend as his name in my phone is part of the bit. And frankly, him mentioning that she wanted me there and not him is another reminder that this is all for show. Because frankly, all this texting this week has me forgetting sometimes that this isn’t real.
It’s been nonstop. The only time we’re not texting is when he’s at practice. I rarely check my phone during work hours, but I’ve found myself doing it more and more this week to see if he’s messaged. I also apparently have a “Linc smile,” according to my coworkers. Which is good for this charade, but bad for my heart.
Because I can already tell what’s going to happen. I’m going to fall for this man and forget that it was never real to begin with.
I can’t forget. I won’t let myself. Linc is a great guy, but he’s been nothing but honest that he’s not a forever guy. And I’m a forever girl.
I need to do something to remind me that this is fake when it’s feeling too real. Or when he invites me to his apartment. Or when he FaceTimes me shirtless. Oh! Maybe I need to do that rubber band trick and snap myself every time I start getting a little too smiley. Yes, that’s what I need to do.
Yeah, I get off work right when the game starts. And Lord knows because I’d have to leave on time, or maybe early, that a baby will start to be born right then and there. I’m sorry. Sunday games will be easier for me.
No worries. How about Friday? I have the night off since we played the night before. Can I take you to dinner? Our first official date?
I reach across the desk at the nurses’ station and grab a rubber band and slip it on my wrist before answering. At least it’s pink and matches my scrubs.
Sounds good. Where are you thinking?
Are you asking because you need to look at the menu before we go?
You already know me so well.
I’ve got a few places in mind. I’ll send them after my position meetings.
Sounds good. Do good at practice today. Catch all the balls!
Did you just make football sound dirty?
Not on purpose.
You really are something, aren’t you, Ainsley Mae?
“Drat,” I whisper to myself before snapping the rubber band on my wrist. “I’m doomed.”
15
linc
“All right boys! Bring it in!”
There are some hoots and hollers, and a round of in-unison claps, as we run back to the center of the field where our coach, Hunter McAvoy, has just called us in. Like clockwork, because we’ve all done this thousands of times in our football lives, we remove our helmets and take a knee, ready to listen to whatever our coach says.
And we all listen—intently—because it doesn’t get better than the man in front of us. And he has the championship rings to prove it.
“Good practice today, and frankly, all week,” he begins. “It’s never easy starting the season with a mid-week game—personally it throws my timing all off—but y’all are handling this like the pros you are. I have no doubt that Charlotte isn’t going to know what hit them on Thursday night!”
That gets a little bit of a reaction from the guys, but I don’t say anything. The season opens in two days. In forty-eight hours, I’m going to be running on the field as the starter in a season opener. It’s something I’ve never done before. And something I’m not taking for granted.
“Make sure everyone gets the treatment they need before they take off,” Coach McAvoy says. “Tomorrow is just going to be meetings and a quick walkthrough before we report to the hotel tomorrow night. All right, let’s bring it in!”
We all rise from our knees and lift our helmets in the air for the final huddle of the day. Our captain, quarterback Bryce Donald, waits for us to quiet down before he parts us with his words of wisdom.
“I’m proud as hell to be out here with you guys, and more so, that we’ve all had our eyes on the prize since the end of last season. Let’s start this week with a fucking bang and show the league we aren’t fucking around this year. Bring it in, three in four, on three! One…two…three…”
“Three in four!”
