Page 97 of Hail Marry
Luca rushes over and kneels down, hovering over me. “Are you okay?” It elicits a flash of memory from the first day we met.
I press my eyes shut and cringe. “No.”
“What hurts?” he asks urgently.
I open my eyes and meet his worried gaze, vaguely aware of the other wide receivers and the kids looking on. “My pride.”
He stares at me for a second, then lets out a breath of relief. His mouth spreads into a smile. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen from him in days, and it scrambles my brain. I will doanythingfor that smile.
He pulls a piece of grass from the corner of my mouth and drops it on the ground, then looks back at me.
Without thinking, I reach up and pull him toward me until our lips make contact.
“Oh, come on!” complains one of the kids while others wolf whistle.
“Get a room already,” calls Bennett.
Luca pulls back and stares at me, like he wants to ask me something. But we’ve got an audience.
Bennett strides over and picks up the ball I didn’t manage to catch. “Let us know if you plan to help with this camp or if you’d rather teach these kids about making out in public, Callahan.”
Cheeks warm, I roll to the side and get up, and so does Luca.
“So, youdon’tplay,” says the kid who thought I was here to cheerlead.
“Never in my life,” I say brightly. “But I bet I’ve got a better touchdown dance than you.”
He snorts. “One you’ll never get to use.”
“We’ll see,” I say, but between the two of us, I’m even more confident than him that he’s right.
Luca and his wide receivers run drills with the kids. There aren’t enough Admirals to occupy our whole group, so I hang out with the ones who are waiting. One of them is named Dallin. He’s the quietest of the group.
His arms are crossed, and he’s wearing faded clothes that are either old hand-me-downs or thrifted, while his brows are knit in an expression that could easily be a stand-in for the middle finger. Like a cherry on top of this attitude, he shifts away from me when I come stand next to him.
Little does he know, I’m married to Luca Callahan. Brooding men don’t frighten me; brooding boys don’t stand a chance.
“How do you think I did?” I ask.
He doesn’t take his eyes from the kid Luca’s throwing a pass to. “You…uh…definitely tried.”
I laugh at the utter savagery of his response. “And you think you can do better?”
He shrugs. “I don’t really care.”
I scan his face for a couple seconds. “You don’t wanna be here?”
“Not really.”
“Because you don’t like football?”
“I do. I just don’t see the point of this.”
It’s quiet for a few seconds, then I grab another ball out of the bag. “Come on. Catch.” I toss it to him, and he turns just in time to catch it. He’s got good reflexes.
I turn the conversation away from football and start asking him questions as we toss the ball back and forth. My throws aren’t pretty, and his answers are monosyllabic.
“How do you make it twist like that?” I ask after catching one of his nice throws.
