Page 73 of The Love Playbook

What a dumbass I am.

Reaching out, I take her hand in mine, brushing my thumb over her knuckles as I say, “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

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The sun hangs lazily in the sky, its golden rays pouring over the makeshift football field in our backyard?the same miniature field where my father taught me the fundamentals of the game. Patches of grass are worn to dirt from years of sibling skirmishes and illegal tackles into the mud, the boundary lines long since faded and redrawn.

The air buzzes with energy as it comes down to the wire. After more than an hour of play, my team is tied with Lettie’s. It’s me, Tyler, and Quinton against Joey, Tuck, Bailey, and Lettie. The win all comes down to whoever scores the last goal as my brothers line up. We Collins brothers are anything if not competitive and unsurprisingly, Lettie fits right in.

The air buzzes with energy as I face off with her.

She cracks her knuckles with an exaggerated flair while I fight the chuckle that rumbles in the back of my throat. “You’re going down pipsqueak.”

“Oh-ho-ho, don’t let my size fool you, Collins.” She shifts her weight side-to-side, hair swishing around her face. “I might be small, but I’m mighty, and we’re about to make you weep.”

Joey readies himself to the left, lifting the whistle—an old kazoo someone found in the junk drawer in the kitchen—to his lips.

My hands twitch as I crouch down with a smirk. “We’ll see about that.”

The whistle blows, and chaos erupts.

Tyler snaps the ball to me, and I easily dodge Tuck’s clumsy attempt at a tackle and take off, my shoes kicking up small clouds of dirt and bits of grass as I zigzag toward the end zone with Lettie on my heels.

Turning around, I run backward with a taunting grin while her eyes lock on me like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. If I run at full speed, I’ll completely gas her. But what would be the fun in that?

“Think you can catch me?” I tease.

“Oh, IknowI can,” she shoots back, and just when I’m about to spin around and take the ball over the goal line, she surprises me by diving for me, wrapping her arms around my legs and bringing me down with a triumphant whoop.

The impact over the hard ground loosens my grip, and the ball tumbles from my grasp and bounces directly into Tuck’s waiting hands.

Tuck freezes for a heartbeat, looking like a startled deer.

“Run, Tuck!” Charlotte yells, jumping to her feet and flapping her arms like a windmill. “Run!”

Snapping out of it, Tuck clutches the ball tightly to his chest and bolts, but it’s in the wrong direction, right where I’m lying, sprawled out like a starfish in front of the goal line.

“Wrong way!” Joey and Bailey shout in unison.

Realizing his mistake, Tuck spins around, but it’s too little, too late as Quinton barrels toward him like a human freight train. For twelve, he’s built like a brick shit house, and with a dramatic leap, he collides with Tucker, sending both of them sprawling into a pile of leaves at the edge of the field.

“Fumble!” Ty yells as he grapples for the ball, only for Joey to swoop in and scoop it up.

“Shit!” I jump to my feet, launching down the yard toward Joe like a missile. I manage to grab his arm, but Joe whoops and spins around me in a move I taught him, causing me to lose my grip and stagger to the ground.

“Touchdown!” Joey shouts as he skids into the makeshift end zone—a line of overturned buckets and an old garden rake?where he performs an elaborate victory dance that involves finger guns and questionable hip thrusts.

“That doesn’t count!” I argue, scrambling to my feet, trying not to laugh at his defunct version of twerking. “You stepped out of bounds!”

“Did not!” Joey replies, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

“Did too! The rake was in!” I point.

“It’s always the rake with you.” He scoffs.

“And it’s always blurring the boundaries with you,” I clap back.

Joey scoffs.