“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 worldwouldn’tyou 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 wholelot 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?”
