But what about my other problem? Namely, the fact that I’m going to be one of five player liaisons at camp. In that role, I’ll be staying at the players’ hotel across the street from the facility, which means I could very well bump into Luca in a hotel hallway or in the lobby if I’m not extremely careful. I’ll definitely need to find out Luca’s room assignment so I can request a room on a different floor. Also, while Luca’s still here, I’ll make sure to go to and from the players’ hotel at odd hours so there’s little chance of me running into him.
I sigh with relief.
Yes.
That should work out okay.
Surely I can finagle this unexpected curveball without one day and night of extremely bad decision-making as a teenager coming back to ruin everything for me here.
What a bummer. In another world, I would have loved to see Luca again and at least chat with him. Chatting with himwas so much fun way back when. Man, could that boy make me laugh. In fact, back then, I enjoyed my conversations with Luca so much, I couldn’t stop googling his name for updates on his stats and photos of his personal life when I returned to Northwestern. Of course, once Luca’s personal photos made it clear he was an even bigger player off the field than on, that made it easier to stop fantasizing about meeting up with him again at the upcoming Nebraska/Northwestern game and begging him to pretty-please do that thing he’d offered to do to me after all, the thing I’d been kicking myself for refusing at the time. On the contrary, I ordered myself to stop thinking about Luca Maguire at all. Ever again. I told myself thoughts of him were completely off-limits.
It was admittedly a tall order to forget about Luca at first, but after a few months, once I got my first couple flings under my belt, I finally managed it. Mostly. Yes, I still thought about him now and again, simply because a) his brother was constantly in the news in relation to whatever recent game he’d played for his NFL team, the Crusaders, and b) it turned out my first make-out sessions back at school—and then, eventually, sex itself—paled in comparison to the electrifying, intoxicating sensation of making out with Luca Maguire. Not to mention, nobody made me laugh like Luca did, either. Not even close.
Time heals all wounds, though. When I eventually agreed to become someone’s girlfriend for a while, I threw myself into that relationship and stopped romanticizing Luca. Admittedly, I still had sex dreams about him now and again. Which was only natural, considering how scorching hot and impossible to duplicate our chemistry had been. But mostly, Luca eventually faded into the recesses of my mind and became nothing but a pleasant, locked-away memory of that one time I did something extremely forbidden and naughty as a teenager withsomeone who curled my toes like nobody else. I thought that secret would remain safe and secure forever. But now, clearly, I’m suddenly in extreme danger of my secret getting out.
Across the room, the top scouting guy says, “On a positive note, everyone I talked to about Luca praised his universal likeability. ‘Everyone loves Luca.’ That’s what they all said.”
Dad scoffs. “That and ten bucks won’t even get me a hamburger these days, Frank.”
The scout chuckles. “I know likeability isn’t reason enough to keep him around. I’m just saying it’s reason enough to give him a shot, especially with Moriarty holding out. And reason enough to keep him around beyond that, all other things being equal.”
With a roll of his eyes, Dad looks down at his iPad. “Okay, enough about the Edge Rusher with the Famous Last Name. I’m sick of talking about him. What’s next on our list?”
The conversation moves on to the next topic on the meeting agenda, one that’s fairly mundane, so I use the time to tap out a distress signal to my best friend.
Me: Red alert! Remember the hot football player I made out with freshman year in Bloomington? HE’S COMING TO TRAINING CAMP!
Daisy’s the only person in the world who knows what I did that night with a handsome prince from a rival kingdom. Other than breathlessly whispering the story to her and writing about it briefly in my diary that night, my secret about Luca and the magical time we spent together has been locked securely away inside my own head all these years.
Daisy: YASSSS!!!!!
Me: NOOO!!!! It’s not a good thing, mofo! He might say something to someone about what we did! Also, he’s a linebacker—the same position I was hoping to assist with before the end of training camp!
Daisy: It’s fate! Maybe this time, you’ll finally let the poor,blue-balled boy give you the O he so kindly offered you, baby girl.
Me: OUT OF THE QUESTION. I need to stay far, far away from him while he’s here so he doesn’t recognize me and say something that ruins my life.
Daisy: No offense, babe, but what are the odds he’d even recognize you out of context after all this time? That was many, many years and women ago for Luca. And as memorable and fabulous as you are, I can’t imagine he’d remember you from a few hours of making out that didn’t even lead to sex.
Me: Excellent points! Plus, for most of the time we made out, it was dark in the room and his eyes were closed!
Daisy: Exactly! Girl, I’ve had mediocre sex with a couple guys I seriously couldn’t pick out in a lineup if my life depended on it, especially if you put them next to other guys with similar features.
Me: Oh my God, I can feel my heart rate coming down. THANK YOU! Even if he vaguely remembers my face from somewhere he can’t place, why would he ever think the head coach’s daughter at an NFL team in PA is some random nobody mathlete he made out with years ago in Indiana? Phew.
Daisy: All you have to do is pretend not to know him when you see him again, and he’ll never in a million years suspect your paths have crossed before.
Just as I’m tapping out a reply that says, “I don’t plan to cross paths with Luca at all during the short time he’s here,” my father halts the movement of my fingers by calling out my name from across the large conference room.
My cheeks flushing, I jerk my head up from my laptop to meet his blue gaze.
“Did you get a chance to look at that email I sent you last night?” he asks. And by the way he’s saying it, I’m pretty sure he’s repeating his question.
“Uh …”Email, email, email.Oh! “Yes. I’ve already madethe spreadsheet you requested and attached it to the meeting agenda at Tab D.”
Dad and everyone else at the table reacts with murmurs and facial expressions that make it clear they’re all impressed with my quick turnaround. As they should be. Dad’s email came in just before midnight, right as I was about to shut my eyes for the night, and what I whipped up in record speed in response included even more data and analysis than he’d requested of me.
“Great work, Chelsea,” Dad says with a wink. “Let’s take a look.”
