Page 84 of The Backup Plan

Shit. That’s right. I forgot I parked around in the corner lot because the buses were blocking the main lot entrance when I pulled in here today.

I adjust the strap of my bag and start walking, cognizant that I’m alone in the dark, but not really worried considering this place has serious security.

“Sorry about your bus and the tire.”

I startle, my shoes scraping on the pavement and my hand going immediately to my heart.

Lucas is leaning against the brick wall near the corner. He looks relaxed with his casual shorts and team crewneck, and yet I can tell the adrenaline from the game is still humming through him.

My pulse spikes for more reasons than just being startled.

“No big deal,” I say. “Those things happen.”

“I tried calling to see if you needed a ride. I didn’t see your car here”—he motions to the lot at my back. “Just wanted to make sure you had a way to get home.”

“I must have had my phone on do not disturb. Sorry. My car is over there.”

He nods. “You’re here late.”

“I had a lot of notes to make. I was busy.”

“You’re always busy, Emery. I thought you were trying to live some.” He tilts his head to the side, those blue eyes of his searching mine as the silence stretches.

I open my mouth and then close it. Why does he seem so annoyed? Did I do something wrong?

“What? No congratulations for a good game?”

I study him for a beat. For such a good showing, he seems irritated. Or is it that he had a good showing, and I didn’t praise him like he’s probably used to?

“You played exceptionally well,” I say.

His mouth tilts. “So, you did watch.”

“Of course, I watched,” I say. He knows I did. I smiled at him after his touchdown. “You’re my patient. It’s my job to watch so I can maybe catch something you’re hiding from me. How’s it feeling—”

“You watched because it was your job,” he states.

“Yes.”

“But for no other reason,” he says evenly and then chortles. “Yeah, I guess I couldn’t expect that.”

I laugh and decide to call him on it. “Is the Lucas Hale missing the acclamation?”

He pushes off the wall and moves toward me. “Yes.”

“Lucas—”

“I’m missing more than that though.”

“Like . . .?”

“Like I’m missing our morning runs. I miss seeing you on my doorstep at the apartments. I’ve even missed you during our last two torture sessions when a PT has had to fill in for you.”

“I was called into meetings—”

“Conveniently,” he says, annoyance and something else lacing his tone. Frustration? Over what though? “But what I miss more than anything, Emery, is you.”

Oof. That’s why the frustration.