Page 8 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

“Fun or feisty?” Derek adds, pointing down the hall at me. “So many choices, bro.”

“I think I’ll go alone,” I say flatly, motioning toward the two girls. “Less complicated.”

“Hey!” one of them protests, clearly offended.

“I’ve got a… thing to do this afternoon,” I add quickly, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile.

Darnell folds his arms in exaggerated suspicion. “Like a distraction thing?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Just a thing for my mom.”

He smirks firmly in place. “Sure. Totally not suspicious at all.”

I glance toward the floor, buying myself one second too many. “I’ll catch you guys later. Don’t party too hard. We’ve got a short week before Thursday’s game.”

“Yes, Mom,” Derek jokes, already reaching for another slice of toast.

I roll my eyes and step into my room.

They can joke all they want. I’ve got my priorities straight.

Football.

School.

And today, I’m doing my mom a favor.

The future I’ve spent years building comes first.

Everything else can wait.

***

This definitely wasn’t part of the plan.

From the sidewalk outside the café, I spot her immediately. Library Girl.

She’s tucked into the back corner, wrapped in a navy scarf, completely absorbed in a book. Her red hair spills over her shoulder and arm, catching the window light, while her finger follows the lines across the page. Her lips move silently, shaping the words like she can hear them in her head.

She’s somewhere else entirely, untouched by the noise around her. I don’t know why that gets to me, but it does.

She’s exactly where Mom said she’d be.

I check the message again anyway.

Back corner. Navy scarf. Her name is Lucy. Be nice.

Last night, beneath a flickering parking lot light, she looked ready to bolt. Through the glass, surrounded by coffee and books, she looks untouchable. Completely at home.

I pace in front of the door. This is supposed to be quick. I’ll introduce myself, explain that my mother overstepped, and leave before either of us mistakes this for a date.

Five minutes. Maybe ten. Then I’m gone.

There was a detour once, back in high school. My girlfriend called me selfish when I chose football over us. Maybe she wasn’t wrong. She eventually got tired of coming second to workouts, games, and recruiting visits. I couldn’t blame her, but I couldn’t change it either. The relationship ended, and I promised myself I wouldn’t put someone through that again. Not until football was over. If it was ever over.

Most people don’t understand it.

I don’t even think the guys on the team get it.