Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
I hand-feed my tranquil little Fur Ball, while searching for cat videos and sending them to Maggie. The girl can’t ignore a good cat video. And some of these reels are hilarious. Fur Ball would never act this way. She sleeps, she snuggles, she eats. I lucked out in the cat department.
And while I wait for Maggie to send me a heart or laughing emoji, I want so much more. I want more conversations, more time, more moments with Maggie—like we had in her home.
I switch over to my texting app and send a message to the only helpful friends I have.
Me: I need the three of you to throw a party.
Stella: Why?
Fran: Ooo! A baby shower for Stell!
Me: No. A party for couples.
Rosalie: Couples?
Fran: A couples baby shower? I guess that could be fun.
Me: Not a baby shower.
Stella: I’m with Lucca. No baby shower.
Fran: STELLA.
Rosalie: She doesn’t like attention.
Fran: Then she shouldn’t have gotten pregnant.
Stella: At least no baby shower YET. We don’t even know the gender. Can we learn the gender first and then you can throw Roman and me a couple’s baby shower?
Stella: Because if I have to go get showered, so does he.
Me: Ladies. Can we please get back on track?
Stella: Yes. Lucca wants a party.
Rosalie: Is it your birthday?
Me: No. I just need a reason to socialize with a certain someone. Understand?
Stella: No.
Fran: I do!
Rosalie: Do you care to share?
Fran: This is about Maggie.
Stella: Ooo, the super cute ref that Lucca gets all worked up over.
Rosalie: I like her. She came to your art show, right, Stell?
Stella: That’s her.
Me: You caught me. No sense in trying to hide it. Maggie and I have recently formed an unexpected friendship. Only she’s a bit of a stickler for rules. She won’t accept any of my invitations to hang out.
Rosalie: Is that code for make out? Maybe she just doesn’t want to make out.
Me: No. Just friends. Very platonic.
Stella: Wait. Lucca can do platonic?
Me: I’m friends with the three of you. And now with Maggie. Of course I can do platonic.
Me: I just don’t normally.
Rosalie: So, you need us to plan a party for no reason so you can see Maggie.
Me: You got it.
Stella: Lucca!
Rosalie: That sounds a little…
Rosalie: What’s a nicer word for desperate?
Fran: I’m in.
Fran: Earth Day is coming. An Earth Day party? A picnic in the park? A cherry blossom party? A spring cleaning party? April Fool’s Day was a week ago, but we could still do an April Fool’s party if that interests you.
Me: Wow. How did you type that so quickly?
Stella: Fran, did you JUST come up with all of those?
Rosalie: She has a notes app on her phone with party ideas.
Fran: I use voice text. And I am not ashamed of being party prepared.
Me: No cleaning. No fools. Something closer than Earth Day and something for both men and women. Thanks, Fran.
Two days later, Franny comes through. I am texted an invitation. There’s a cartoon guy standing next to a grill and big blocky letters that read: COUPLES POTLUCK PARTY.
There are details telling me when and where—Thursday evening, our night off, no game or practice.
Perfect. Fran and Callum’s place. She’s also added what to bring—a side dish and a partner.
She’s so detail-oriented—not subtle, but very thorough.
She’s even added a small note at the bottom saying the Liberty and Rovers game will be on for our viewing pleasure.
Me: A partner is mandatory?
I reply. Fran is quick to write back.
Fran: You said something for couples. Something for men and women. I made sure it’s a couples dinner. I invited several friends—Maggie included—and everyone on the team who’s in a relationship.
Did I say couples? I just meant I wanted a reason for Maggie and me to both be invited to the same party. How can we be friends if we never see each other off the pitch?
Me: That’s a lot of people.
Fran: Not everyone can come.
Fran: Now what are you waiting for? We party in four days. Call her and ask her to be your other half. You’re single, she’s single. Just casually suggest you go together.
Casually suggest. I can do that. A nice and friendly invitation.
But nerves that I hadn’t anticipated stir inside my body, making me feel jittery and anxious. So, I don’t text Maggie. I don’t casually suggest anything. I wait. For two days.
“The entire reason my wife is throwing this thing is so that you and Maggie can go together. You haven’t even texted her?” Callum scoffs.
I shrug one shoulder like there aren’t jumping beans in my stomach. “I’m giving it a couple days. No need to get anxious, Superman.” Especially since, for some strange reason, I’m quite anxious.
“Lucca,” Roman groans.
I point at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side. At all times. I’m your best friend. Not to mention, I saved your marriage.”
“You didn’t save my—”
“Having a female friend is difficult,” I say. I’m not sure why, but it is.
“Fran’s your friend. That’s not difficult.” Callum turns to his locker, opening it up and setting his cleats inside.
Zev crosses his arms, giving me no sympathy. “Stella and Rosalie, too.”
“What Lucca means is”—Roman sits on the bench across from me—“having a single, attractive female friend who has no problem resisting him is difficult.”
I screw up my face until I must look thoroughly confused. “That’s not what I meant. At all.”
“That’s exactly what he meant,” Zev says. “He’s attracted to Maggie.”
“That makes sense.” Callum leans against the lockers behind him, folding his arms over his chest. “I always wondered why she got under his skin the way she did.”
“It was a love-hate relationship,” Zev says.
“Fran calls it the Romeo and Juliet effect,” Callum says.
“Of course she does,” Roman says, stifling a laugh.
“It’s not that.” I toss off my shirt; it’s too sweaty to sit in any longer. “It’s the fact that I’ve gotten to know the girl. She’s interesting. And I think it would be fun to get to know her better.”
Callum laughs and grabs a bottle of shampoo from his locker. “Yeah, you just described the reasons a man wants to date a woman.”
“I described friends. Friends hang out. But Maggie has some issues with that.”
The others only snicker at me.
“None of you are helpful, you know that?” I stand, stretch, and peer at the three of them.
Before I can walk away, Roman sets a hand on my arm. “Sorry. Just call her. It’s not a big deal.”
“I know that.” I roll my shoulders with the lie. My nerves are acting up. The guys are making more out of all this than they should. So are my nerves. But I grin. Vovó always said my smile melted away anything wrong with the world. “I’m not worried about it.”
Maybe I should have worried about it.
Me: What do you mean you have a date?
I stroke the coat of my nameless gray kitten. I’m still referring to her as Fur Ball most of the time. She’s curled herself into a ball right on my lap, and I have to admit, it’s helping in this moment.
Maggie: Fran said it was a couples party. When I told her I wasn’t seeing anyone, she said I just needed a date.
Maggie: So, I got a date.
My mouth goes dry. I sit up on my couch and try to remember how to play it cool. It used to be second nature. What’s happening to me?
Me: Perfect. I was worried.
Maggie: Worried?
Me: Just making sure you didn’t need help finding one.
Me: It’s not the mouse man, is it?
She deserves so much more than that little man.
Maggie: Do you honestly think I can’t get a date? You were actually concerned?
Me: Does that mean it is the Mouse Man?
Maggie: LUCCA. That was a blind date. One I didn’t even ask to go on, okay? Why do you keep going back to him? I’ll say it one more time: NOT MY TYPE.
Me: Again, you mention a type without much context. Your type is?
Me: As a friend, I should know. I could come across the perfect man for you and not even realize it.
Maggie: My type is: Not Reggie.
Me: That’s pretty broad.
Maggie: And I have no issues getting dates. You don’t have to worry about me.
The feline in my lap rises—as if, somehow, I’ve offended her, too, with this conversation. She stretches her legs, then walks across the couch opposite where I sit and lies back down. I squeeze my hand into a fist. She’s bringing a date. Maggie won’t be alone.
Thanks, Fran.
Me: It was just a question.
Maggie: Well, I’m done with this conversation.
Me: Fine.
Maggie: Did YOU need help finding a date?
Me: Me? Negative. I’ve got one, too.
I peer at my cat, who just separated herself from me. What is happening?
I roll my neck. I am still Lucca Cruz, Red Tail, top defender in the league.
More importantly, voted by female fans all over the country as the most handsome Brazilian in all of professional soccer.
And I will have a date—as soon as Maggie ends our conversation.
She’s always the one to end it. I keep texting, and she tells me to go to bed, then doesn’t reply again until morning.
Maggie: Then it looks like we’re set. See you Thursday, Lucca. Now go to bed.
See? Every single time.