Page 39 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

“Okay?” I murmur.

She nods, smiling shyly. “Yeah.”

And somehow, that single word feels bigger than every cheer I’ve ever heard in a stadium.

I pull her close, my hands settling at her waist as her arms wrap around my shoulders. When I kiss her again, it’s unhurried and sure and unmistakably real.

For once, I don’t feel like I’m moving between places. I’m exactly where I want to be.

Chapter Nine

Lucy

My lips are still tingling in the best way. Dylan’s hand rests at the back of my neck as our legs tangle on the plaid blanket beneath us, the warm fabric pressing into my back. The autumn breeze slips beneath the edge of the blanket, cool against skin that still feels overheated from his touch.

I’m not sure when Casablanca ended. At some point, the dialogue faded, the screen dimmed, and it became just us kissing beneath a canopy of stars until the rest of the world no longer existed.

Around us, volunteers are cleaning up while the projector clicks through the final frames of the reel. The park smells of damp grass, fallen leaves, and the hot chocolate Dylan spilled near the edge of our blanket. A streetlamp flickers beyond the trees, but our corner remains hidden in the shadow of an old oak, separate from the quiet cleanup happening around us.

I had no idea kissing could feel like this.

Dylan’s hand slides to my waist, drawing me closer, and whenever I lose the rhythm, Dylan slows without drawing attention to it.

“I need…” I manage, pulling back just enough to breathe. “To… catch my breath.”

He laughs quietly, resting his forehead against mine. “Sorry. I got carried away.”

“It’s okay,” I say, tracing the edge of his jaw with my thumb. “I’m just… not very good at this.”

His arms tighten around me.

“There’s nothing you’re supposed to be good at,” he says. “We’re figuring it out.”

“Are you an expert?”

“Not even close.”

“How many girls have you kissed?” I ask, more curious than jealous.

He props himself on one elbow, moonlight softening his expression. “Including you? Three.”

I blink. “Only three?”

He shrugs. “I’m not exactly experienced either. It’s been four years.”

“Why?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

He looks toward the darkened screen. “That’s complicated.”

“How?”

Instead of answering, he sits up, pulling me with him and wrapping his arms around me. My head rests against his chest as I stare at the stars overhead, my heartbeat slowly settling.

“I dated a girl in high school,” he says quietly. “But I couldn’t figure out how to balance being a boyfriend and playing football.”

Unease slips beneath the comfort of his arms.

“I didn’t know how to make room for both back then,” he says. “I’m not trying to make that same mistake again.”