Page 18 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

“Was it a sports romance?”

“Of course.” She says it like the answer should have been obvious.

“I’m sure there are books with linebackers in them,” I say.

“Somehow, I doubt they’re as popular,” she teases.

The line moves faster than I’d like. I enjoy standing this close to her, hearing the way her voice softens when she relaxes. She isn’t trying to impress me. She’s just herself.

“Have you ever played a sport?” I ask.

“Field hockey. Freshman year in high school.”

“That surprises me.”

“It surprised everyone.” She laughs. “My parents thought I needed a club that didn’t involve books. Somehow, I made the team. They encouraged me to quit once they saw me play.”

“How bad were you?”

She flushes. “I scored a few times.”

“For your team?”

“For the other team.”

I laugh, unable to stop myself. She hides her face in her hands.

“You did not.”

“I did.”

Her smile fades as the line moves forward. “I’m sure you weren’t that terrible.”

“If you’re expecting me to be like the girls who hang around the football team, I’m not them.”

“I wouldn’t want you to be.”

Her gaze drops to the leaves scattered at our feet. She looks like she’s waiting for me to take it back.

“I know you love to read, Lucy. I know crowds make you uncomfortable. None of that bothers me.”

Her head lifts. “It doesn’t.”

“You’re still the girl who threatened to pepper spray me.”

“I’m not made of confidence and spunk. I’m—”

“You’re Lucy.” I hold her gaze. “That’s who I came to see.”

Her shoulders lower and her breath evens out, like she’s finally stopped bracing for impact.

“I like the girl who sat across from me yesterday and told me her favorite Shakespeare tragedy is Romeo and Juliet.”

Her smile wavers, something more vulnerable slipping through. “I’m not very good at this, Dylan.”

“No one is.”

A laugh escapes her, soft and surprised, and some of the tension drains from her frame.