Page 16 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

No distractions. That’s been the plan for years. Football first. Everything else second.

And then Lucy happened.

I didn’t expect to like her. Didn’t expect to enjoy talking to her. Didn’t expect the way her eyes lit up when we talked about books and Shakespeare to stay with me long after I left the café.

I know I said I wouldn’t pursue a relationship while playing football, but Lucy…

She told me you didn’t have many friends. And that she thought I might be someone you’d get along with.

Mom said it like a setup.

Because it was.

“You haven’t dated in three years, man,” Darnell says, shaking his head. “No one would care if you got some action.”

“Action,” I repeat. “You mean sex?”

“Exactly.”

“Thanks for the permission,” I say dryly.

“You’re welcome.” He smirks. “Whoever she is, bring her to the banquet on Friday.”

“Bring who?” I play dumb.

“The woman you’re obviously going to see right now.”

“Sharpe has a date?” Marcus yells, popping his head out of his room like a nosy neighbor.

“No,” I say quickly. “I don’t.”

“He’s wearing cologne!” Darnell shouts.

“He is?” Marcus pumps his fist. “Finally gonna give Meredith a chance?”

I’d rather gouge my eyes out with a plastic fork.

“I’ll see you guys later,” I mutter, escaping down the hall before they can dig any deeper.

“Tell Mere we can’t wait to see her Friday!” Marcus calls after me.

I don’t answer.

Instead, I head outside and shove my hands into my pockets.

Meredith is a slippery slope I want no part of. She and Greg have had an on-and-off thing for the past three years, and I’d rather stay as far away from that mess as possible.

Lucy feels nothing like that mess.

Being around Lucy is quiet without being empty. Maybe that’s why I’m heading down Oak Street toward the park more excited than I’d like to admit.

The closer I get, the busier the sidewalks become. Couples carry folded blankets under their arms, families steer kids toward the park, and volunteers in burgundy shirts wave people toward rows of temporary seating. Somewhere ahead, an actor tests his voice through the speakers, sending a line about love and death echoing between the brick academic buildings. Even from a block away, the smell of kettle corn hangs in the air.

I should’ve asked for Lucy’s number yesterday. Now that I’m late, I hate the idea of her sitting there wondering if I’m actually going to show.

The crisp autumn air bites at my skin as I cut across campus, trees shedding leaves in bursts of orange and gold. It hits me that this is my last year here, and the thought sends a wave of unease through me. If football doesn’t work out, everything I’ve planned starts to unravel.

I don’t like that feeling.