Page 28 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

“What did you expect?”

She considers that. “I assumed you’d look at me and decide I was just Library Girl. Like everyone else.”

“You don’t like that nickname.”

“Not when everyone uses it like my real name doesn’t matter.”

“I’m sorry. I won’t call you that again.”

“You’re different,” she says after a moment. “When you say it, it doesn’t always sound cruel.”

I reach for her hand. “I like you.”

Her fingers squeeze mine. “You don’t really know me.”

“I know enough,” I say softly. “And I want to know more.”

Her fingers tighten around mine. She seems so accustomed to being overlooked that even simple interest is difficult for her to trust. I want the chance to prove it isn’t.

“Lucy Clarissa Bennett!”

A tiny woman marches toward us, hands planted on her hips. Relief flashes across her face before irritation replaces it.

“I do not pay you to disappear into parking lots and make kissy faces at hunky football players in suits.”

Lucy groans. “Dylan, this is my Aunt Joss.”

I straighten instinctively.

This woman means business.

“Dylan?” Aunt Joss cackles, her stern expression melting into a wicked grin. “I knew you had a secret boyfriend. I am absolutely telling your parents.”

My mouth opens as I look between Lucy and her aunt, completely at a loss. “I—”

“She won’t,” Lucy says quickly, turning to face her aunt. “I’ll be back inside in a second.”

“I thought something happened to you,” Aunt Joss mutters. “You scared me.”

“The Lucky Bennetts,” Lucy says with a small smile. “Remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Aunt Joss waves her hand dismissively. “Two minutes. If you’re not back by then, Dylan and I are having a very serious conversation involving my meat cleaver.”

“Oh my gosh,” Lucy groans under her breath. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Two minutes!” Aunt Joss calls as she marches back toward the auditorium.

I watch her go, then glance back at Lucy, amusement getting the better of me. “She’s… intense.”

Lucy drags a hand down her face. “She’s actually pretty great. She just enjoys humiliating me whenever possible.”

I chuckle. “What did she mean by ‘hunky football player’?”

Lucy shakes her head. “Long story.”

“Can you tell it in”—I check my watch—“one minute and forty-three seconds?”

She smiles, unapologetic. “I’m afraid I can’t.”