“So, the coach’s daughter and this girl you would’ve nailed are like, your kitty mamas?” Lincoln laughs again. “I’m kidding … mostly. But, that’s weird.”
“She looks nothing like him, and she’s from Texas.”
Lincoln cringes, his gaze traveling to Derek Jones, our other starting wide receiver who spent the fall semester focused on Raegan Lawson—Paxton’s little sister, and now Lincoln’s girlfriend. Derek transferred to Brighton last summer from Texas, and to say Lincoln’s still a little salty is a gross understatement. His expression clears in an instant, and he claps a hand on my shoulder, coming to a full stop in front of me, several feet still from the locker room. He shakes his head. “Don’t do it. Don’t even think about it. Stay away from the coach’s daughter. That is guaranteed to blow up in your face.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You didn’t have to. The fact you’re telling me about her says enough. Wash your hands of that mess. Remember thinking Paxton would rip my balls off for being interested in Rae? Imagine Harris finding out you boned his daughter. You’ll be riding the pine all fucking season, and it’s your senior year, man. You do not want to meddle with this shit. There are a hundred girls who want to play nurse with you right now. Do that, or don’t, but stay away from her.”
“She has a boyfriend, and she wants to move back to Texas. I’m not getting involved.”
Lincoln stares at me, disbelief and doubt tugging at the outer corners of his eyes, nearly making him wince. “I hope not.”
Lincoln’s words stain my morning and afternoon, like a dark cloud. Classes feel longer, the task of moving around campus with my crutches greater, and when one professor trips and spills her iced coffee down my back, my day goes from marginally shitty to full-blown shitty in a split second. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to go home and change before my physical therapy appointment, so I stay in my damp shirt, reeking of caramel and coffee—guaranteed to spoil the drink for me.
“Arlo!” the guy at the front desk greets me with the same level of enthusiasm he uses each time he sees me—like I’m a local celebrity. It should make me feel better—instill hope that others believe I’ll overcome this and return to the field come late summer.
Then I remind myself this is only my second week of physical therapy, and the dude likely knows next to nothing about recovering from an injury of this nature.
I sign the clipboard he hands me to sign in and am about to pull out my phone when dark hair catches my attention.
“Olivia?”
She turns, her shocking blue eyes connecting with mine as recognition dawns. She’s wearing a white polo shirt, a stack of folded towels in her arms. Her brows pinch. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
“Are you stalking me?” I ask her.
She laughs, the reaction smoothing her brow and making her face and shoulders relax. “You aren’t that lucky, remember?”
“You work here?”
She nods. “My step-mom owns the place.”
I nod. “Yeah, I know.”
She glances at a computer. “You want to come on back? I can get you in a room and started with your warm-up.”
“Yeah. Sure.” As I follow her, she glances back at me, her gaze dipping all the way to my foot.
“You’re not putting weight on your foot today,” she says.
“It’s a little sore from when the furball made me slam on my brakes, and I braced myself with my knee.”
I catch her lips drawing down with a wince, seconds before she turns and shoves the towels she was carrying on an empty bay of shelves. “You’ll be over in this room today,” she says, pulling the green curtain back.
“How come I’ve never seen you here?”
Olivia takes my crutches as I heft myself onto the exam table where my appointments always start, propping them against the wall. “You probably weren’t paying attention.”
I shake my head. “I would have noticed you.”
She doesn’t lift her head, but she does lift her eyes. “I was off for the last two weeks.”
“Vacation?”
“You’re getting nosier by the second.”
I grin with defiance. “I thought we were friends? Can’t friends ask questions?”
Her dark hair is pulled back today into a ponytail, the strands all straight as pins. “Another person who works here is trying to save up some money for her wedding, so I gave her my shifts.” She lifts her shoulders as though dismissing the conversation, and then she takes a step closer, her