Page 117 of The Backup Plan

He nods. “You and Brendan and Derrick and on and on.” He laughs. He twists his lips and then looks up and meets my eyes. “For the record, I don’t do this.”

“What’s that?”

“This part that we’re doing right now. The staying. The talking. The ordering food instead of pretending that what’s happening isn’t happening or that it’s nothing.”

I swallow as I stare at his hand on my foot, nodding. There is no rush or scrambling to explain his comment away, just a slow acceptance that there is actually something here. Just the understanding that we’re both standing in the same place, even if neither of us is ready to name it yet.

I smile and say, “There’s no one I’ve wanted to do this part now with. Not for a long time.”

“You’re taking risks for this. Please know that I appreciate that.”

I don’t know why those words, his acknowledgment means so much to me. Maybe because Jared was an everything for himself type of guy, and Lucas seems to be the polar opposite.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I had a meeting with Grant today.” I need to change the subject before I say something reckless.

Lucas’s hand stills. “And?”

“I thought I was in trouble. Like heart-racing, stomach-in-my throat, I’d-been-fraternizing-with-a-player trouble.”

His brows knit. “What happened?”

“He noticed how much time I’ve been spending at the office. How late I clock out. Security footage of me leaving.”

“Shit—”

“It was fine,” I say quickly. “He said my dedication had been noticed. That it counts.”

Lucas exhales, relief edged in the tone. “Good. I was worried for a second.”

“You have no idea. It scared me though. How fast everything could change if . . .”

His thumb traces a slow circle on the top of my foot. “That’s fair.”

What’s next? The question floats through my mind. The reckless comment I wanted to make is still there when I look at him. I feel so much more than I should.

But for now, there’s lo mein going cold on the table, a half-finished glass of wine, and for the first time in a long time, I like where I am in my life.

Lucas

The kids don’t care who I am.

That’s the best part.

They care about whether I can catch, whether I can throw the ball, and whether I’ll laugh when they trash-talk me like they’ve been doing it their whole lives.

Some of them are damn good at it too.

The field smells like grass and mud and hints of something fried from the concession stand on the other side of the bleachers. The lights are on and the bugs are out—gotta love Texas. The Rebels logo hangs crooked on a banner behind us right above a table where some of our players are giving out free team stickers and Rebels merch.

There are ten of us here—my group for the time being—of Rebels players. Each group is scheduled to attend one community outreach event at different times during the season.

Community outreach. Image management. Whatever they want to call it.

I call it necessary.

A girl no older than ten plants herself in front of me with her hands on her hips. “You gonna actually try this time or just keep embarrassing yourself?”

I grin. “Careful. I’m fragile.”