“Cooper makes donuts?” I ask.
“No, our other brother, Grady. He has a bakery back home. If Cooper made donuts, we’d all die from being forced to eat his crimes against sugar. But Grady would offer his goat as a date for someone with—you know what? Never mind. I’m gonna shut up.”
“Grady is adorable,” Marisol says with a dreamy sigh. “And you know what else he did? He put a ring on it. That’s a real man.”
“It took him over ten years to do it.”
“Never mind. Grady’s not a real man either if it took him that long.” Marisol glances at me. “Can you write me a happy ending, Henri?”
“Emilio adores, you, Marisol,” Mackenzie interjects. “I’m not saying he shouldn’t have popped the question already, but you’re absolutely number one to him. Brooks says you’re all he talks about in the locker room.”
“Being his lucky charm isn’t the same thing as being the woman he’s planning to marry.”
“I’d offer to talk to him, but I don’t exactly have a good track record with seeing men all the way down the aisle,” I say.
Crap.
Crap.
Now they’re giving me the matching looks of you poor thing, and we know how Luca feels about love, so he won’t be the one either.
Except for Mackenzie, who’s already guessed my secret, even if I keep expanding on the story about how much deeper in love we fall every time we’re together, and then away, and then together to keep up appearances.
“That’s why Luca and I are so great together!” I blurt. “Because this is for fun. I love it. Honestly. He lives such an interesting life, and I think I’m a good influence on him too. No matter what happens. We could be together forever as long as he doesn’t pop the question. Isn’t that what’s important?”
Tillie Jean nods solemnly. “That’s such a great attitude. It’s sort of the same reason I flirt with Max Cole all the time. Except not. Because I flirt with Max basically to piss off Cooper, who thinks he can tell me who I can and can’t date. But there’s no doubt I’m a good influence on Max. You can tell by the way his eye twitches when I make duck lips at him.”
Mackenzie leans over the empty chair between them—reserved for one of the guys whenever they get here—and hugs her. “I’m so glad you’re an honorary Fireball.”
“I’m so glad you all don’t care that I’m only here to annoy my brother.”
I don’t believe her for a second, because there are easier ways to annoy a sibling than driving an hour plus in heavy traffic to show support for his dreams and his job.
But I also know superstitions take many forms, and I’d bet Tillie Jean’s is that if she says out loud that she’s cheering for the Fireballs to support Cooper, they’ll start to lose.
A familiar face on one of the TVs in the corner catches my eye, and I smile at the familiar sight of Luca in the shower, holding out a bottle of Kangapoo.
Is it hot in here?
Or is that just me and my overactive ovaries?
“There’s my favorite lady,” a voice says nearby, and I jerk my head away from Luca’s commercial to see Brooks making his way toward us, beaming at Mackenzie.
He’s followed by Cooper, Emilio, Darren, Max, Francisco, Robinson, a player I don’t recognize but whom I think is a pitcher, and finally, Luca himself, fully dressed and dry, unlike his persona on the TV a moment ago.
Pretty sure he didn’t just catch me drooling.
Probably.
Darren fusses over Tanesha and sits, clearly eager to take over holding the baby whenever he’s done eating. Brooks kisses Mackenzie. Emilio kisses Marisol. Cooper pretends he’s going to kiss Tillie Jean, who shoves him away and waves flirty fingers at Max, who grimaces and takes a seat as far as he can get from her.
“I know he’s secretly in love with me,” she stage-whispers loudly enough for all of us to hear.
“Quit embarrassing yourself, TJ,” Cooper mutters.
“You know he’d be all over me if you hadn’t threatened to turn ants loose in his hotel room,” she fires back.
I can’t decide if she’s yanking Cooper’s chain, or Max’s, or if she does secretly have a crush on Max, but it suddenly doesn’t matter, because a hand settles on my shoulder, and then there’s a face in my face, and Luca’s kissing me so soundly the rest of the sports bar disappears.
There are no other people.
No food. No Shirley Temples or Riley Annas.
There’s simply this man who tastes like mint and whose jaw is rough and scratchy, but whose hair is thick and luscious, and whose tongue is teasing mine like we’ve done way more than lay facing opposite walls and jumping apart every time any parts of our bodies accidentally touch in the middle of the night for the last forever.
Because that’s exactly how long it feels like I’ve been living in Luca’s room.
Forever.
Without any of this.
I know it’s for show. His Nonna is in town for a few more days at least, and it’s not outside the realm of possibility that she’d show up here too. Plus, I overheard her on the phone working on a plan to do some TikTok videos with the Fireballs, so Luca’s teammates need to think this is real.
And hoo boy, does this feel real.
This feels more real than being jilted five times.
And is that my clit demanding attention, or do I have a sudden growth in my vaginal region that I should have examined?
Probably my clit.
Luca gives good tongue.
And my clit knows it.
Is it wrong to wish this was something I need to see a gynecologist for? Because that could be cured with antibiotics, whereas whatever this is will definitely have much longer repercussions.
Luca Rossi is supposed to teach me how to not fall in love.
Not be so unexpectedly irresistible that I break every promise I’ve made to myself since my last—and final—attempted wedding.
“Get a room, Rossi,” someone shouts entirely too closely, and Luca stills, then slowly pulls out of the kiss.
“Hi,” he says, and poof.
There I go.
It’s one step, right over the cliffs of love, and I take it, and now I’m tumbling headfirst into smoky green eyes and a dimpled smile that says sorry, I had to do that because people were watching, but it wasn’t exactly a hardship, was it? and he has no idea how attractive it is for him be all grumpy about The Eye in private, yet also so attentive to the little things like making sure there’s an air conditioning unit installed in the guest room for Nonna, and ordering special soy milk for me in his normal grocery delivery when he notices I like the taste of it better in my tea, and putting the toilet seat down now.
He even bought an electric tea kettle to replace the rusty kettle that sits on the stove, even though I have yet to see him drink tea or coffee at home.
“Do you have any idea how sexy you looked leaping onto Glow like that?” he murmurs. “I fucking hate that firefly.”
I know he wouldn’t say the same in private, but I still can’t help hoping he would. “Fiery forever.”
He glances down, touches the Fiery Forever button proudly displayed on my left breast, and I should probably make an appointment with a doctor anyway, because a man looking at my boobs shouldn’t cause a mini-orgasm, should it?