He bounces in place. “A soccer player!”
Snap.
“Oh.” My brows pinch. Even if I knew Messi, I can’t be asking soccer players to do favors for me. That definitely doesn’t fall under the category of unbiased. “I’m—I’m not sure I can do that, bud. There are rules.”
His blond brows lift in disbelief. “But you’re Aunt Maggie.”
Forget Messi. His faith in me makes me want to bring Pelé back from the dead. “My job makes it tricky. Understand?”
His face screws up, eyes closed, mouth pursed, and he shrugs. “That’s okay. Tricky is your specialty.”
Heaven help me.I don’t get to reply or explain that I don’t know every soccer player out there, and even if I did, I could lose my job if I started socializing with players. Nope, the front door opens, and a very dreamy-looking Lindy steps inside.
Ugh. There’s no Brent alongside her, so I’m assuming the man an entire decade older than my sister didn’t bother walking her to the door.
“Well, hello, you two,” she says, her lips parting into a wide grin.
Wyatt bounces on his seat. “Mom!”
“Hey, Lind.” I swallow, my pulse thudding, and do my best to look normal. “How was your date?”
Wyatt wrinkles his nose—he’s pretty sure dating is weird and gross and should not be talked about. I might agree with him when it comes to Brent.
She flops into the plush chair across from the couch Wyatt and I are perched on. Her arms and legs flail out, and she peers up at the ceiling. “Dreamy.”
Wyatt looks at me, his tongue out, shaking his head.
I make a face right back just to let him know I feel the same.
“Mom! Guess what! Guess what!” He rocks in place, calling out to her until Lindy looks at him. “I want a soccer player to come to my birthday party!” Wyatt is happy to change the subject.
“Ooo,” Lindy sings, standing once more. “Lucky for you, you’ve got an aunt Maggie!”
“Yes!” my little guy shouts.
“Lindy, my job?—”
“Come on, sis. It’s Wyatt. You can make this happen, right?”
I swivel my neck back to the big blue eyes of my little buddy. My mouth has gone dry. I could invite Callum. Callum wouldn’t say anything. We both know I won’t bebiased. He’s not the kind of person that would expect something from me. And if I say nothing, and he says nothing, and the six kindergartners invited to the party say nothing, who will find out?
It could be fine.
Ugh. The ever-growing pit in my stomach tells me all that justification is for the birds. It’s not fine. Not one little bit. That doesn’t mean we can’t pull it off. It means we’ll be crossing a line and giving Aunt Maggie an ulcer.
“Whew. Tricky,” I repeat. “I can’t guarantee?—”
“You can do it!” Wyatt says, bobbing until I’m seasick. “You’ve done it before!”
Before? Before when?
“Yeah, she can.” Lindy holds out a hand, and she and Wyatt high-five.
Wyatt grins up at me. “Okay.” He rubs his palms together. “I would like one Lucca Cruz to come eat banana cream pie with me and my friends on March twenty-sixth.”
Wait.
Lucca?
