Chapter 37
Thirty-Seven
Lindy is also incorrigible. She lies on my bed, reading the text thread between me and Lucca. I didn’t feel like wrestling her again, only to lose.
“He got ejected from the game?” She gasps, but there is a grin as wide as Texas on my sister’s face.
“This is serious, Lindy. He could have been fined. He could have been kicked off his team. It could have been so much worse.”
“Over a little singing in the headset?” she scoffs and waves away the seriousness of what he’s done.
“If this were the majors—”
“Well, it’s not.” She pushes up until she’s sitting, my phone still in her hands.
“Did you not see the part where he says he’d do it again?” I shake my head. “What am I going to do? I can’t have Lucca’s career on my conscience.”
She’s beaming like an idiot and staring at my phone. “I guess you’d better not ignore him again.”
I roll my eyes and snatch back my cell. “He’s being ridiculous. He’s going to get himself ejected from more than just one game.”
“Sounds like you’re more important to him than a game—maybe even his career.”
“That’s insane,” I scoff, but my breaths are uneven, and it turns into almost a choke. Swallowing, I pull in a rush of air. “We haven’t even been friends that long.”
“Maybe not. But you’ve been enemies for a very long time. There’s passion in that.”
“And you read too many romance novels,” I say, stuffing my phone into my pants pocket.
“Impossible.” She drops my phone onto the mattress. “You can’t read too many romance novels. Besides, I’m not the one who can’t stop myself from kissing him.”
“One time!” But my tone is unnaturally high.
“Two times!” Lindy’s left brow rises on her head. She sighs. “You can’t control everything, Mags. No matter how much you’d like to,” she mutters.
“Hey.” I smack my sister’s arm. “When did this conversation turn into a personal attack?”
“Maybe control is the wrong word. Care for. You want to care for everyone. For everything. You can’t deny that.”
My head aches with the truth of her words. But I also can’t help that I’m needed. “Wyatt’s six. He needs me.” I don’t mention that, at twenty-five, Lindy needs me, too.
“He does.” I appreciate that she doesn’t deny it. “And I’ve needed you, too,” she says, possibly reading my mind. Lindy reaches for my hand. “Hopefully, I need you a little less now than I did a few years ago. But you cared for us both.”
I sniff. “I wanted to. I love you and Wyatt more than anything.”
“I know. We love you, too.”
I blink back my tears and huff out a breath. I press my back into the headboard and peer at her. “I don’t know what any of this has to do with Lucca.”
Lindy slides up next to me on this bed. She leans her head on my shoulder. “You’re so worried about his job, about him missing games, about his reputation.”
“He’s going to ruin everything,” I say in my defense.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But he gets to make his own choices, Maggie. And clearly, he wants your attention. Apparently, you’re worth some trouble to him.”
My voice catches in my throat. I can’t speak, nor do I know what to say to that.
I spend the next week in one long text conversation with Lucca. It feels safe enough. But today is the first time I’ll see him since he was ejected from the United game last week. He’s missed his suspended game—one where the Red Tails really could have used him—and he’s back to starting today.
The team exits the tunnel and disperses onto the field, and I silently and discretely find Lucca in the crowd. His eye catches mine and I turn away, looking back to my safe little huddle of referees. From the corner of my eye, I see him walking right toward me and the other officials.
“Hello,” he says, just outside our circle. He’s cordial and friendly. And while I haven’t looked at his face yet, I know it’s him. There’s no denying that accent.
Sam, our fourth official, peers up from our group. His brows raise on his head when he sees Lucca. “Cruz. Are you feeling the need to borrow things today? Do I need to keep a close eye on my headset?”
Lucca laughs. “No. I highly doubt that will ever happen again.” His gaze shifts to me, but it’s so brief, so short-lived. Yet, it tells me that the decision is truly up to me.
Sam scoffs. I don’t blame him. That wasn’t a definitive no.
Lucca nods a hello to the other two refs, waiting for a greeting back, before he turns to me. “Hello, Maggie.”
I swallow, fearing that if I say nothing, he will take up thieving again today. “Hello, Cruz.”
I am a nervous wreck for the rest of the game. Thanks a lot, Lucca. I am certain I miss a couple calls, and when Lucca slides into another player, I am so tempted to call it harsher than it is.
The man is going to make me crazy.
Maybe I already am crazy, because for the first time in my life, I don’t hurry to shower, change, and race home. No, instead, I tug the locker room door open an inch and peek through the crack I’ve made. I’m keeping an eye out for the players who will pass right by this place on their way home.
Red Tail after Red Tail passes by. But not the one I’m waiting for.
Where in the world is Lucca? How long can it take one man to shower and dress? Oof. Now, my mind is conjuring a showering Lucca.
Crap.
I let the cracked door shut tight, and I pace in the entryway of the empty women’s locker room. Huffing out a tired breath, I storm back to my locker, retrieve my phone, and pull up Lucca’s name.
Me: Where are you?
Lucca: Did we have a date? Am I late? My apologies. I’ll be right there. Just tell me where THERE is.
Me: No dating. Friends. I just want to talk to you. I swear, everyone has left this stadium but you!
Lucca: This would be a whole lot easier if you just told me where you were.
Maybe it’s better if I text my message anyway. I take a seat on the bench across from my open locker and blow out a puff of air. I haven’t even showered yet.
Before I can text one word, there’s a knock on the locker room door.
“Not again—” I say. But then, Lucca has already proved that he has no objections to hanging out in a women’s locker room or just walking right inside.
I hurry to the door, much too eager for a girl who is determined not to have a relationship with Lucca Cruz. I peek out, and sure enough, broad shoulders, tight chest, and dark, cocoa-colored eyes that make me weak in the knees stare back at me.
No—eyes that are brown, just like dirt on the ground, and do nothing to my knees look back at me.
Geez, Maggie. Get yourself together.
His brows raise, and I pull the door open. Quickly, before anyone can see, I reach out, snatching a fistful of Lucca’s T-shirt, and pull him into the room.
“What are you doing in here?”
“Ah, you just yanked me inside.” He shrugs. “Not that I mind.”
“How did you know where I was?”
“You knew I hadn’t left yet. I assumed you were still here, too.”
He makes it sound as if I were spying on him. “You wanted to talk?”
“I just—” I swallow. “We need to have some boundaries, Lucca.”
He steps closer, and I back up into the room until my calves hit the bench behind us.
“Boundaries,” he says, two feet away. “I can do that.”
“Can you? Because I’m not so sure.” It would greatly help if my voice weren’t so weak.
If I could speak a little stronger and force a scowl on my face.
But my heart is racing, and my head is reeling, and I might be drowning in his musk.
He’s so darn close. I reach out a hand, resting the tip of my pointer finger on his chest, telling him without words that he’s close enough.
It's not my best idea. Lucca only lifts his hand to mine, lacing our fingers together and raising my hand to his lips. He kisses my knuckles, and a small volcano erupts in my chest.
I take one step closer to him, which is the exact opposite of the boundaries I just spoke of. My body and heart have taken control, no matter what I’ve been professing.
His mouth moves to my wrist with kiss after kiss. Sparks swarm through my body like a dry ember catching flame.
His eyes meet mine, silently asking for permission, and while I should protest, I can’t.
The words won’t form. So, I watch him, my mouth dry, my body frozen, as his lips graze my inner elbow.
My arm and hand have no life left in them.
They are under his control. That’s clear as he drapes my hand over his shoulder and steps in a foot closer.
His fingers trace over my cheekbone and down to my chin. My eyes flutter closed, and I stand in the circle of his arms, frozen, eager for his next touch. “Boundaries,” I whisper.
“I promise,” he breathes, “to be on my best behavior.”
I don’t believe you. But the words stick in my throat.
They only form in my head. I swallow and try to muster my voice and any sense, but Lucca’s sweet breath warms my skin as he closes in, pressing a kiss to my neck.
He lingers there, as if he’s checking for a pulse. I’m not sure I have one anymore.
And when I speak, it doesn’t sound like the words rehearsed in my head. “You’re awfully good at that.”
“And you’re good at allowing me to do that.”
I hum—when I should be resisting.
I hum.
This man is a hypnotist. I’m simply his victim.
“This feels like a good boundary,” he whispers, his lips fluttering softly at my ear. I don’t care that he’s formed supernatural powers. I might be a willing victim.
I cup his head in both my hands, press my body to his, and draw his lips to mine.
I had no intention of kissing Lucca today. Or ever again So why does this kiss feel like the kiss I’ve been waiting for my entire life?
His lips tease mine open, and I am too eager for a woman who spoke of boundaries just minutes ago.
I kiss Lucca until my strength is gone, and death is now free to take me.
His breaths are heavy when we part. Lucca leans his forehead to mine. “Yes, you’re awfully good at that.”