fell. He’s married, and I didn’t know it until last night when I met his wife.”
All he offers is a nod. I want to ask how he knows him and if they have history together.
“Did you know he was married?”
“I don’t know him that well.”
I snort. “Apparently I didn’t either.”
As we turn another corner leading into my driveway, I swallow over my nerves. I fidget with my keys. The orange glow from the porch light shines against his face. “Would you like to come in?” That’s how this works, right? He protected me, I could you know, repay the favor? Crap. I’m so not good at this. Dylan, she can fuck guys in the parking lot and have no regret about it. I could do that too, couldn’t I?
The idea of not having him seems unbearable.
Without warning, Lincoln laughs, a deep laugh that vibrates through me in the most delicious way. “You don’t have a clue what you’re asking for.” He keeps his eyes on the gravel, his troubled face hidden from mine. “Do you?”
I hate the way the heat of his touch fades and the way his smile disappears just as quickly as it surfaces, replaced with a frown when I say, “I know exactly what I’m asking for.” I don’t though. At least not when it comes to someone like him.
Reaching for a cigarette from his pack in his jacket, Lincoln tucks one hand into his pocket, the other reaching for the cigarette now dangling from his lips. “Yeah, what’s that?” He pins me with a smirk as he lights the cigarette, enveloping himself in curls of smoke and obscurity.
“You.”
He takes a drag of his cigarette and then tosses me a look that makes my heart flop around like a fish out of water. The weariness eases from his face with the smoke from his lungs, mixing with the fog that parts as he steps toward me. He gives a nod to the house, as if to say okay.
Overboard - Over the side of a boat and into the water.
What now? I actually ask myself that when I have him inside the house.
Do I kiss him?
Do I lead him to my bedroom?
Damn it. Why don’t I know any of this?
I bet other almost twenty-three-year-olds know it.
With my thoughts all over the place, I’m not sure what to expect once we’re inside my house. Maybe small talk? Do I offer him coffee? I have no clue. What I am met with is the sound of his boots squeaking against the hardwood floors and consumed by cinnamon, cigarettes, and the glow of sea green in a low-lit room.
I’ve worked in a bar long enough I know when a man wants a woman. And Lincoln, he may be hard to read, but there’s an undeniable hunger filling his eyes. It’s exactly what I need to lead him back to my bedroom and lock the door behind us. As soon as I have the door closed, without warning, Lincoln’s hard body has me pinned against the wall.
Okay, so this is how it works. Good to know because I wasn’t so sure I was going to be able to make the first move.
There’s a tickle in my belly, anticipation for where this is going. I smile at him, and very awkwardly whisper, “Hey,” as I slide my hands to his chest, gripping the front of his flannel shirt underneath his jacket.
“You sure you want this?” he asks, his voice rough with need, his stare on my lips. His warm breath sends shivers down my spine. It tightens my throat and holds my next words captive, trapped by the idea of someone like him wanting me.
At first I don’t say anything. I take inventory of his face this close. I memorize the graceful angles of his nose, his thick black lashes damp with raindrops, and the artful way his tongue peeks and drags over his bottom lip. My breathing kicks up a notch, desire flooding through me.
Do I want this? Hell, yes.
I nod, because it’s a loaded question. Look at him. Of course I want this. Any woman would be crazy not to. While fuckhead Devereux was a businessman, well dressed, proper; Lincoln Hardy is none of that. He’s badass, rugged, and exactly what I’m looking for to get fuckhead Devereux out of my head. And yes, I’m well aware of the fact that I’m constantly referring to him as fuckhead Devereux, but… fuck that bastard.