Page 17 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

But then I see her.

Lucy stands near the edge of the park in jeans and a black sweater. The setting sun turns the edges of her hair copper, and for a second I forget that I’m late.

From a distance, I can tell she’s uncomfortable. A group walks by her, and her posture stiffens as she fidgets with the strap on her purse. Her gaze scans the crowd until it lands on me.

Relief crosses her face.

The tension I’ve carried since leaving the apartment releases all at once.

“Hi,” I say as I close the distance between us.

She tucks a strand of crimson hair behind her ear and looks up at me, shy but hopeful. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“I’m sorry I’m late,” I say quickly. “I lost track of time after my team meetings.”

She studies me for a second, then glances toward the stage. “Do you want to get a seat?”

“Before we do, can you put your number in here?” I pull out my phone. “Just in case I’m late again.”

Her eyes widen. “What makes you think there’ll be another time?”

“Oh—I, uh—” I wince.

“I’m kidding.” She laughs and takes my phone. Our fingers brush, and the contact sends an unexpected jolt up my arm. “I’ll just… put it in.”

She types quickly and hands it back, biting her lower lip like she’s nervous, too.

“Do you want to grab a drink before we sit?” I ask, gesturing toward the concession stand.

She nods. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

We fall into step beside each other, close enough that I’m hyperaware of every movement she makes. She’s pretty in a way that sneaks up on you—gentle eyes, flushed cheeks dappled with freckles, a dimple that appears when she smiles. It takes effort not to stare at her.

“What position do you play?” she asks.

“Linebacker.”

She scrunches her nose. “I don’t know what that means.”

“I read the offense, tackle whoever has the ball, cover receivers, and rush the quarterback when the play call for it.”

“You’re speaking another language,” she says, amusement softening her expression.

“You should come to the next game.”

She shakes her head as we join the line. “Crowds aren’t really my thing.”

“They’re not always mine either,” I admit.

“But you play in front of one every week.”

“Before the snap, I hear everything. Once the ball moves, it all disappears.”

She nods, thoughtful.

“Linebacker,” she murmurs, like she’s filing it away. “I think I read a book once about a quarterback. Never a linebacker.”

Figures. The quarterbacks always get the spotlight.