Page 59 of The Backup Plan

“So, that was awkward,” he says, breaking the ice. “Pretty sure that warrants some chips and salsa and a margarita for you.”

I chuckle, grateful for the levity. “Sounds perfect.”

Lucas

“You really like Mexican food,” Emery says as we sit in the booth with a second basket of chips and salsa between us. “Breakfast tacos for a late lunch. This for dinner. I’m sensing a pattern here.”

I grin and chomp loudly on a chip so the crunch resonates. “When in Texas.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I should’ve known.”

“In all fairness, I’ll be sick of it in a few weeks and will be back to my regularly scheduled program of boring and healthy.”

The restaurant is alive, with music humming through the speakers and laughter floating in the air from table to table. The smell of limes and grilled meat and something spicy are all around us. It feels easy here. Uncomplicated. Much like the time I’ve spent with Emery today has felt.

And this most definitely was not how I’d planned on spending my day. It was recoup and recover day. Maybe watch a little of the baseball pennant race that’s heating up. Grill something on the barbecue on my balcony. Go over the schedule of interviews I have for the coming week. General housekeeping type shit.

Not this. A day full of random things with a woman whose laugh makes me smile and who I’ve learned needs to let loose a little more. She’s quirky and intelligent and while I’ve only learned a bit about her, I want to know more.

“There you go,” the server says as she slides a second blended strawberry margarita in front of Emery.

“You sure you don’t want one?” Emery asks. “They’re really good.”

“Nah. I don’t drink during preseason. Or season. Unless it’s a special occasion.” I shrug.

“Lucas Hale, are you telling me that I’m not a special occasion?” she teases, those big, brown eyes of hers owning me.

“You are, most definitely, but I’m still working toward making the final fifty-three, and so I need to be at the top of my game.”

“That’s admirable.” She curls her fingers around the stem of the glass as she takes a sip. And then she stills, her mood clearly shifting. “I guess I shouldn’t be having this either. I mean, not after the other week. What happened. It’s—”

“That’s ridiculous,” I say, hating the way doubt clouds her eyes. “You have to live your life, Doc. One bad moment doesn’t get to dictate the rest of it.” I pause. “Besides, you know I’m not going to let anything happen to you, so why not indulge?”

“Thank you for that. I’ve been . . . questioning myself over and over about that night. Why I decided to stop in and get a drink. If I gave the wrong impression to that guy. And then there’s the what ifs.”

“I can’t say I understand how you feel. I’m sorry it happened to you, and if I ever see that guy again . . .” My hands fist reflexively and I roll my shoulders. “But like I said, guys like that are far from the norm.”

Her smile is soft and tugs on parts of me that I didn’t expect. “You’re a good guy, you know that?”

I snort. “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want my asshole reputation ruined.”

“I have a hard time believing that people think that.” She pauses, then laughs. “Then again, the other day you were in rare form after practice.”

“Cole.” It’s all I say. It’s all I plan on saying, but then I exhale and roll my shoulders. I temper my words. I think them through before I speak. Yes, she’s now my friend, but she also works for my employer, and her loyalties most likely lie there. The last thing I need is my honest opinion about Cole getting back to Coach or another player. “I’ll just say that he plays a huge role in whether my day will be good or bad or somewhere in between.”

“Cole and not your shoulder?” she asks and then gives me time to respond. She doesn’t repeat herself. Doesn’t fill the space with endless chatter. She gives the silence and my thoughts room to breathe.

“I know why I’m here,” I finally say. “I’m not stupid. I wasn’t brought here to be the future of the team like a lot of second-string QBs are. I was brought in to be the safety net. The steady hand. The guy who makes the rookie look better simply by standing behind him, and not making waves.”

Her gaze stays on me. Curious but not judgmental. “A mentor. And you’re okay with that?”

I toggle my head from side to side. “It’s definitely harder than I thought it would be. Going from the guy everyone looks to when a game needs to be won to being . . . this.” I gesture vaguely. “The backup plan.”

“I’m sure it is. Infinitely harder.”

“I’m not saying that to take anything from Cole. There’s always going to be someone faster and better and more talented than I am—that’s just how the game and competition works. Even without age factoring in. And Cole is in fact all those things. He has incredible arm strength and has a great read on how he sees the field. There’s no shortage of confidence either. The kid’s a five-tool player.” I chuckle and shake my head. “Maybe he has more than that. I don’t know. Just like I used to.”

“Used to? C’mon, you still have them all. You just have to modify them a little,” she says with a scrunch of her nose.