Page 97 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

“I missed you,” I murmur.

“I was gone ten minutes,” she teases, her fingers tracing idle shapes against my stomach.

“Still,” I reply, smiling. “It was lonely without you.”

She hums, relaxing further into me, and the tension from the day slowly slips away.

“I love your mom and Gemma,” she says softly. “They’re great.”

“I think they feel the same way about you,” I say before taking a weighty breath. “Can I ask you a question about the future?”

She grows quiet then, her fingers hesitating where they rest against my chest. I can feel the shift before she says anything.

“Yes,” she says softly.

I swallow hard. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before. About writing, teaching, maybe graduate school. Has any of it started feeling more like yours?”

“Teaching has always been the practical option. I think I’d enjoy high school English, but I don’t know whether it’s the thing I’d choose if I stopped being afraid of trying something less predictable.”

“Yeah?”

She nods. “But seeing you play football—the way you’ve pursued it—I wonder if there’s something out there for me, too. Something that matters to me just as much.”

I hate that she speaks about her own future as though it’s only a backup plan. I’ve always known exactly what I’m chasing. Lucy’s still searching for hers.

I play with her fingers as she takes a slow breath.

“Have you thought about writing?” I ask.

She frowns. “Writing makes me feel vulnerable. That’s hard for me.”

“You don’t have to show anyone yet. You could start by writing something only for yourself.”

“Maybe.”

I know better than most how lucky I am to see the most vulnerable parts of her. I wish other people could see, too.

I understand why the idea scares her. Sharing words she created would mean letting other people see something she can’t take back.

“Well…” I clear my throat. “There’s plenty of time to figure it out.”

She licks her lips. “Yeah.”

“Mom and Gemma will be gone for a while,” I say, changing the subject. “Is there anything you want to do tonight?”

There’s a pause, her eyes lighting up.

“I want to…” she starts, then stops.

I can feel her heart racing where she rests against me.

Lucy isn’t impulsive. She thinks things through, turns them over carefully before she speaks.

“Have sex,” she murmurs just loud enough for me to hear.

When she finally says the words, the room seems to go still.

Not in a dramatic way. Just quiet.