Lindy slips through my bedroom door, shutting it behind her. I stare at Abe, hoping he’ll give me some kind of answer. “Who says I’m not happy?”
By the time I’m ready for bed, I’ve convinced myself that Lindy actually doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking about. I’mveryhappy. And Lucca is an acquaintance, a newish friend at most.
So why does my stomach flip, then flop, when my phone pings with a text and his name lights up the screen? It must be a nervous flip or an annoyed flop.
Because Icannotlike Lucca Cruz. Everything in the Laws of the Game guidebook forbids it.
Lucca: Thinking about you.
Me: Why would you say it like that?
Lucca: How should I say it?
Me: Not at all. Keep all your ‘thinking about me’ thoughts to yourself.
Lucca: Maggie, lying to you and to myself will do no good.
Me: Are you having a stroke?
Lucca: Am I what? Confused…
Me: Okay, let’s start over.
Me: Lucca. Buddy. Pal. Chum. What’s happening, dude?
Yep, I’ve turned into a ’90s TV sitcom side character. One that’s heart pounds and stomach acrobats every time it sees five little letters: L-U-C-C-A.
Lucca: Chum?
Lucca: I don’t know this word.
Lucca: Does it mean: incredibly handsome man that I’d like to try kissing again?
I press my lips together and hold in a delirious laugh.
Me: No. It’s an old word. It means FRIEND.
Lucca: Ah.
My heartstrings tug. I don’t want to hurt him. I never thought that possible before. Who hurts playboy Lucca? At least, I used to think of him as a playboy. A man like Lucca doesn’t fall for a girl like me. He is simply a ticket to me working at the market with Lindy.
Me: You know that’s all this is. I’m sorry, Lucca. I don’t have romantic feelings for you. And I don’t think you do for me. I’m not your type.
Lucca: I think you’re wrong. I think you are exactly my type.
Okay… Not what I was expecting.
My heart pounds, and I try really hard to remember my goal here—convincing Lucca that he shouldn’t like me, that something between us would never work.
Me: Sure, I’m female. Is that all it takes to be your type? Up until a couple months ago, you couldn’t stand me.
Lucca: Ouch. No wonder you’re making me chase so hard. You think so little of me.
Ugh.
Me: No. I’m sorry. I don’t. But Lucca, you have to admit, you have a not-so-small reputation of being a bit of a ladies’ man.
And then my phone is ringing.
