Chapter 35
Thirty-Five
I pack my things for the Red Tail game tomorrow, ignoring the nerves in the pit of my stomach. I haven’t talked to Lucca in five days. Things were getting out of hand, and I think we both needed some distance and perspective.
Yet, I keep thinking about what he said about his mom and his grandmother all those days ago. His behavior with women makes sense, almost like a defense mechanism. What doesn’t make sense is that he’s ready to lift that defense for me.
Lindy taps on my bedroom door before poking her head inside. “Getting ready for your game already?”
“Yeah. I’ve got that referee meeting tonight, too. Remember?”
“I remember.” Lindy tugs on the end of her blonde braid. “I’m taking Wyatt to Kash’s birthday party.”
I let out a breath. Good. She remembered that, too.
“I just came in for the address.”
“Oh, right.” I stuff my cleats into my pack and nod toward my dresser. “It’s on my phone.”
Lindy picks up my cell, types in my four-digit password, and stares at the screen for far too long.
“Did you find it?” I ask, zipping up my bag.
“You have eight unanswered texts from Lucca.”
“Whoa,” I grunt out a low, non-humorous laugh. “That’s not Kash’s address.” I reach my arm out across the bed and wiggle my fingers, telling her to give up the phone.
She takes one step backward, though. “Tuesday morning: ‘Can we talk about last weekend?’” she reads.
“Hey!” I lean farther, but she’s out of my reach now.
“Tuesday evening: ‘Can we meet up tomorrow? I can’t just stop liking you, Maggie.’”
She pants, and with the sound, I flounder onto the bed. “Lindy! That is a private message!”
She holds the phone closer to her face and farther from me. “Wednesday,” she reads. “’It was just a kiss. Surely, we can talk about it like grown-ups.’” Lindy gasps. “You kissed him again?”
“Lindeey!” I wobble on the mattress, hobbling closer to my sister.
I’m close enough to reach for the phone, but the woman has a death grip on my cell.
So, I wrap my fingers around her wrist, trying to loosen her hold.
When I yank, I don’t get my phone, but my entire sister in my lap.
We topple onto the bed, Lindy sprawled on top of me.
I wrap my legs around Lindy’s waist, locking her in place.
Her voice is strained under my hold, but she keeps reading. “Thursday: ‘These aren’t superficial feelings. There’s nothing paper-thin about how I’m feeling.’”
When retrieving my cell fails, I wrap one hand around her mouth and shut her up. At the very least, she won’t read those texts out loud. I’ve already read them—a dozen times.
I huff out a breath, my chest heaving. “Shh,” I hush, keeping my hand in place over her mouth. And then, my twenty-five-year-old sister licks the inside of my palm. I fling it away, pushing her off me, and wipe my fingers down the side of my pant leg. “Gross! Lindy!”
“That’s what you get for covering my mouth.” Her breaths are heavy. She sits across from me, clutching my phone to her chest. “What’s going on with Lucca?”
“So, he’s texted a few times…”
“He’s texted, he’s confessed to liking you. There’s been more kissing!”
“Shh!” I hiss once more. “I don’t ask you about kissing Brent.”
“I’d gladly tell you all about kissing Brent,” she says, then sticks her tongue out at me.
I shake my head and pull in a breath. I hold it for only a second before saying, “Things were getting confusing with Lucca—”
“You mean good. Things were finally getting good between you two.” She crosses her arms, my phone now in her armpit.
“And,” I shout, “completely out of hand—”
“You mean, juicy,” she huffs. “Things were getting good and juicy.”
But I ignore her. “It’s silly to put effort into something that can’t be. So, tell me what’s new with Brent. Last weekend must have gone well. I mean, he came to the house for dinner last night.”
“Ha,” she groans, combing through the hair on the right side of her head; it’s roostered up and out after our topple. “Don’t pretend you suddenly like him.”
“Hey!” I smack her foot with my hand. “I don’t dislike him!”
“Yeah,” she snorts, “but you don’t like him either.”
I sigh and reach for her hand. “I don’t know him. And I love you. That’s all.”
“I’m trying to give you a chance to get to know him,” she says.
And the thing is—Brent wasn’t totally awful at dinner. He may be a bartender and a decade older than my baby sister, but I think he sincerely likes her. Man, it’s annoying. “That’s fair,” I say. “I’ll try harder.”
She presses her lips together, her chest rising with breath. “Thank you. I love you, too.” Her eyes turn to slits. “Which is why I’m not going to let you deflect this conversation so easily. Be serious, Mags, do you like Lucca?”
“I don’t know.” I flop onto my back and stare at the ceiling.
“What would the point be? Officials and players cannot be involved. It’s completely unethical.
Not to mention, a relationship with Lucca the playboy.
Why in the world would I want to get mixed up with that?
” Only something inside me tells me he’s not the playboy I’ve always thought him to be.
He told me about his mom, about his vovó, and I believe him.
“Why in the world wouldn’t you want to?” she says. “Did you see his abs? Did you see his back? His arms—Mags, tell me you saw his arms—”
“Lindy,” I groan, rolling onto my side to see her better.
“I’m serious. Even Mom was drooling when he took that jersey off.”
“Lindy!” I sit up, snatch a pillow, and smack my sister.
“I’m just being real. So, it’s against the rules. You’re telling me you aren’t even going to try. What if—”
“What if, nothing,” I say. “It’s just like—” I cut myself off. “Well, it’s a lot of emotions and effort for something that can’t exist.”
“Like all that effort with your U-23 team?”
“What?” I shake my head. “No. I don’t regret any of that.”
“But it was a lot of work, a lot of effort, and a whole lot of emotion for a girl who didn’t get to accept her spot on the U.S. team.”
“Stop,” I whine. “I don’t regret that. I’d never want a spot on that team more than Wyatt.”
Lindy runs a hand down the length of my long hair. “You can want both, Mags. It’s okay. Wanting that spot doesn’t mean you love Wyatt any less.”
“I know that.” At least, I think I do. “But I don’t want you thinking I wish I’d made another choice. Because I don’t.”
“So,” she says, lifting her shoulder. “Maybe that’s how things would turn out with Lucca.”
I scoff. I’m truly not following her thought process.
“Maybe one of you would have to give something up. But maybe it would be worth it.”
I puff out my cheeks with pent-up air. “We’re just friends—”
“Who kiss occasionally.”
“No.” I hold up one finger. “Friends who kissed once—”
“Twice.”
“And who won’t ever again!” I huff. “The fact is, we’re talking about Lucca Cruz. One of us would give up something huge, and then he’d change his mind. Or it wouldn’t work out. Then what? I never get to ref again?”
Lindy flaps her arms into the air. “Why are you always the one giving something up? Why couldn’t he?”
I choke. “Give up his pro soccer career? For me?” The thought is preposterous.
Something he’d never do.
Something I’d never allow.