Page 58 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

For most of my life, safety has meant avoiding moments like this. Slipping sideways before conflict could find me. Letting discomfort pass without challenging it.

But tonight, I didn’t disappear.

I stood.

Dylan turns to me. His jaw tightens as he tracks Greg’s retreat.

“You okay?” he asks gently.

I nod, managing a small smile. “Yeah. I just… didn’t expect that.”

He tucks a loose curl behind my ear, and the brief touch distracts me from the crowd. “He wasn’t listening. I’m sorry. Greg’s—”

“A creep,” I finish.

“That about covers it.”

Dylan lifts my basket, holding it up slightly. “Don’t worry. I found yours.”

“Thank goodness.” My shoulders finally loosen.

His eyes light as he looks inside. “Hot chocolate from our first date,” he says. “And the rose from Romeo and Juliet in the park.”

“A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” I say quietly.

He looks at me like I’ve handed him something priceless. “You’re so thoughtful, Luce.”

When his fingers thread through my hair, I lean into him before I can overthink it. He pulls me close and kisses me. It’s tender, unwavering, and unmistakably Dylan. The noise stalls. The lights blur. For a heartbeat, nothing exists beyond the way he holds me.

Then Meredith’s voice cuts through the air.

“Five minutes left!” Meredith announces brightly. Her expression tightens for half a second before the public smile returns. “Find your basket, win the game. If not, well, better luck next time.”

Quiet satisfaction settles over me. Dylan gets me. He sees me—not the label, not the stereotype, not the version people project onto me—but me. I can’t help the smile that curves my lips as I look up at him, a flutter blooming low in my stomach.

I’m falling in love with Dylan.

It should terrify me. Instead, it feels steady. And less like losing my footing and more like finally trusting where I stand.

“What do you think Meredith’s ‘consequences’ are going to be?” I whisper, leaning closer so only he can hear me.

Dylan arches a brow, mischief flickering in his blue eyes. “No idea. But I’m not too worried. I picked right.”

I smile and lace my fingers through his, the way they seem to fit without effort. Whatever Meredith’s planning, I decide I won’t let it ruin this moment.

“Lucy!”

Meredith’s voice slices through the room over the loudspeaker, sharp and calculated, yanking me out of my bubble. I blink and scan the stage. She’s standing front and center, a sly grin on her face as she waits for every last conversation to die down.

“Well, lovebirds,” she drawls, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, “aren’t you going to tell us if Dylan picked the right basket?”

Dylan squeezes my hand. The pressure reminds me that I’m not standing up here alone.

I take a breath, lift my chin, and step forward with him at my side. “Yeah,” I say steadier than I feel. “He did.”

For just a second, Meredith’s smile falters. Then it snaps back into place, sharper than before. “How sweet,” she purrs. “Looks like someone got lucky.”

She doesn’t mean the basket.