Knot So Lucky (Destination Love, #1)(73)

I spin around, my jaw dropped, eyes wide.

“Millie. It was the right thing to do. You act like he was in love with me. We were fucking and playing house. That’s it! It’s like Sami said. And frankly, if he wanted to make a move, he has my fucking number.”

I lift my phone, swiping it open. “Oh look, no new messages.”

I swipe a cup off the counter and dunk it into the sudsy water in the sink.

“But did you tell him how you felt? No, you wrote a note like a Shakespearean Ted Bundy, strangling his heart just so he wouldn’t follow. You’re so scared. When did you become so scared of falling for someone?”

“Millie.” My voice is too loud. So I take a breath, dumping what’s in my hand into the sink.

Fuck you, broken dishwasher.

My eyes meet hers, and I speak calmly this time. “Crew and I are the ultimate right-person, wrong-time scenario. I’ve said this. I’m not afraid. I’m realistic. Did you see his press conference? He’s about to accomplish everything he’s always wanted. And I’m about to do the same. That takes focus. And relationships steal from you. I like him—yes. I still like him. But it’s over.”

Her palms smack on the counter as she lets out a growl.

“So then be the right person at the right time.”

My hands shoot into the air, carrying suds and water with them.

“I don’t control the time, Millie. I’m not the timekeeper of life.”

She rolls her eyes, digging her heels in.

“You absolutely control the time. It’s your decision. But you know what? Fine, if you want to feel like that, feel like that. But then stop moping around and come out with me tonight.”

The answer leaves me before I can catch it.

“Fine.”

God, I don’t mean it. I just want to shut her up.

“Good. Fine.”





Four hours later, I arrive at the pinned location Millie sent me. But as I open the door to the Irish tavern, I’m assaulted by a sea of red and gold.

“Jesus Christ, is she serious? This has to end. I’m going to kill her.”

I navigate through the crowd with more of a bouncer-style quality than I need, finding Millie almost immediately. But before I can say something I might regret, the panic on her face tells me she knew nothing about this.

“Oh god, you’re here. You didn’t get any of my texts, did you? I didn’t know. Everything was fine an hour ago, when you were supposed to be here…and then Niner Nation swarmed this place.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t get them, but it’s okay. Let’s go somewhere else though. Preferably somewhere not showing the preseason opener.”

She nods, calling the bartender to pay her tab as my eyes drift up and my heart stops.

On the television above the bar is a fleeting picture of us kissing outside the chapel before the camera switches to Crew.

He’s in full uniform, smiling and joking with TJ. The camera pans to his number—22. And the whole fucking bar erupts in cheers.

I’m starting to think that I must have fucked the universe’s boyfriend. Because payback is really feeling like a bitch.





thirty-two





“Get your cherry… And put him on top of you.”





crew


“Goddammit,” I shout, hitting my fist on my palm.

Everything about today’s practice has been a fucking disaster. I can’t throw for shit, my feet feel like fucking lead, and I can’t see a fucking pathway to anyone.

Everything’s wrong.

I’m thrown another ball so I can try the play again. So I set up, calling it out to the line, and fall back into the pocket, knowing the fucking route, and still, I throw way above TJ’s head.

“Fuck,” I grind out again, punching the air.

My hands come to my knees as I stare down at the turf, berating myself quietly.

“This is bullshit, Crew. Get your head in the game. You’re better than this, you fucking idiot.”

I hear my name called as Coach jogs over to where I’m posted and pats my back, so I stand.

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” he offers. “You’re letting all the shit—the press conferences, the news, the divorce…you’re letting it get in your head.”

If you only fucking knew what I’m really thinking about right now.

“Listen, son. I asked a friend of mine to come and talk to you today. He just got here, and I’d like to introduce you. I think he can help you through this time of transition, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s a Hall of Fame quarterback.”

A v forms between my eyes before I glance over my shoulder, immediately recognizing who’s standing about six feet away.

Alec Price walks toward me. The legend himself.

And also one of Eleanor’s sister’s boyfriends. And I do mean boyfriends because, apparently, she has four.

He extends a hand, and I take it, shaking it as Coach pats both of us on the shoulder and says, “I’ll leave you to it.”

What he thought he was leaving us to, I’m not sure because neither of us says a thing, choosing to silently size each other up. I’m debating on whether or not it’s a power move to speak first when he beats me to the line.