Me: Don’t call my wife hot.
Lucca: I call it like it is. You know that.
I do. I know these guys better than I thought I did. And Stella and my coach might be right. Maybe I do need them.
Lucca: So, what’s the mission this time?
Me: No mission. Just letting you know you aren’t in danger of going to jail for me.
Lucca: There’s got to be a mission if you’re staying hitched.
Me: Nope.
Lucca:You like her?
My fingers hover over the keyboard. I’m not sure what to say to that.
Lucca: You do.
Lucca: Got it.
Lucca: You know, Superman owes me for basically his whole relationship with Franny, right?
Lucca: This might be my expertise. After soccer, of course.
Lucca: I got you.
Me: Whoa. Hold up. I’m not Superman.
I’ve never called Callum by his team nickname before. Ever.
It’s proof I’m going soft.
But not that soft?—
Me: I don’t need help getting the girl. I’m married to the girl. Remember?
Lucca: But does she love you back? Because if not, you’re gonna need some help.
Lucca: Don’t worry. I got this. I’ll work it out.
Who said anything about love? I don’t need anyone’s help with anything. And I don’t have feelings for Stella.
My jaw clenches.
Yeah, that’s a lie.
I absolutely have feelings for Stella.
Me: There’s nothing to work out.
The hum of the shower turns off. The bathroom will be free soon, and I’m ready for bed.
Me: I’m done for the night.
Lucca: No worries, bro. We’ll work on this tomorrow.
“That’s not what I meant—” I groan out a sigh and stand, trudging into my bedroom. I change from my current sweats to clean sweats, then throw off my T-shirt.
