Page 40 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

“What happens if your career takes off?”

“I don’t know yet. But I don’t want football to become an excuse for treating people like they’re temporary.”

His lips find mine again before I can ask what that actually means. The kiss is gentle enough to quiet the question but not erase it.

The world blurs.

For this moment, there is no future. No fear. No overthinking.

I’m not wishing I had Elizabeth Bennet’s courage right now. I’m not reading about intimacy between the pages of a book. Not imagining what it might feel like to be held and kissed and known the way so many of my favorite heroines are.

For a moment, there is only Dylan and the impossible feeling of being seen, wanted, and chosen.

And maybe that’s enough.

For now.

***

“It’s late,” Dad says, his voice a low rumble as I carefully shut the front door behind me. “Your mother made me stay up to wait for you.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, hanging my coat on the rack. “I lost track of time.”

“How was Casablanca?” Dad asks, his eyes narrowing, probably noticing the smile I’m trying to hide.

I wrap my arms around myself, still floating. “Good.”

“Just good?”

“Well…” I fail completely at hiding my expression. “Really good.”

“When are we going to meet this Dale character?”

“Dylan,” I correct. “His name is Dylan.”

“Does Devin normally woo his dates with—”

“Dylan, Dad. And he doesn’t date. Or hasn’t for the past several years.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Him? What about me? I’ve never dated. Ever.”

“That’s because you’re special, Lucy,” Dad says, his tone softening. “You’re not easily impressed by some random boy on the football team.”

“A random boy?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Just because Dylan plays football doesn’t mean he’s out there”—I gesture vaguely—“wooing dates.”

“He’s a chump until he proves otherwise,” Dad mutters as he heads into the kitchen. “And what kind of guy takes a girl out without asking her father first?”

“I believe that part is for marriage.”

“Not in this household.” He flips on the kettle. “Tea?”

“Yes,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. “I never thought I’d see Thad Bennett get his panties in a twist over a boy.”