Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Brinkley
My phone vibrated as I made my way toward the cove, and I glanced down to see the group chat already going.
Hugh
The football player that we are all supposed to hate has apparently hired Brinks to tell his story, and she’s yet to mention it.
Cage
Absolute bullshit. You demand we hate a guy that we’ve idolized for years, and now you’re working for him and fail to mention that?
Don’t get your panties in a twist. He hired me last night. The sun has barely come up. I haven’t had a chance to fill you in yet.
Georgia
Go Brinks. Do you still hate him?
Of course, I still hate him. He’s the devil. But I need this story, and he’s willing to tell it.
Hugh
He was also worried about her being with Breen Lockhart and came out of his way to ask me to make sure she got home safely.
Did someone give you a bottle of truth serum this morning, Loose Lips Reynolds?
Georgia
Swoon.
Hugh
Just speaking the truth, Brinks.
Finn
Damn. Hard to hate a dude who was looking out for you.
It’s all part of his game. He and Breen have a beef over a personal issue.
Cage
Release us from this ridiculous demand to hate the man. I haven’t been right since I agreed to this stupid pact.
Did you not make us all swear that we’d never talk to Jimmy Peters again after he stole your fifth-grade book report?
Cage
I was ten years old. You can befriend the dude now if you want. Mind you, he’s missing two teeth and reeks of whiskey every time I see him at Roddy’s Motor Shop. But have at it. He’s all yours.
Hugh
He smelled like pickles to me when I was there last week.
Finn
Interesting. I thought he smelled like deviled eggs.
Georgia
I’m kind of hungry now.
I’m here. First meeting with your favorite QB. You can worship the man if you want, you big traitors.
Georgia
Maddox will be so happy. Can you take a selfie with him for me?
Cage
Send me the selfie.
Finn
I want it, too.
Hugh
Well, if everyone else is getting it, just send it my way.
I tucked my phone into my fanny pack and continued walking.
I’d always been a morning person, so I didn’t mind meeting him this early for a run.
I’d played collegiate volleyball. I could hold my own when it came to cardio.
And I couldn’t wait to see if he was a man of his word or if this was just some sort of twisted game for him.
He’d acted irrationally last night when he saw me with Breen.
Breen was a playboy, and of course, he’d taken his shot.
But he’d missed.
Because I could take care of myself, and I didn’t need warnings from some arrogant NFL player who’d been an ass to me more times than he hadn’t.
Now he was suddenly concerned about me?
I made my way through the trees and down toward the cove. It was a gorgeous morning. A perfect day for a run. The sun was shining, and I could hear the water lapping against the shore as I made my way to our meeting point.
It had been a nice break being back home. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed the simple things, like a quiet morning or a peaceful run outside versus a busy gym in the city.
I’d been working in my garden and had even started cooking and exploring new recipes.
Life was slower here.
Calmer.
Easier.
I looked up to see Lincoln standing with his arms folded over his chest, glaring at me.
“You’re late.” He raised a brow.
I glanced down at my watch and laughed. “It’s 7:02. Seriously? You’re calling me late?”
“I was here at seven.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, I’m here now. Are you going to tell me what’s off-limits and what I’m at liberty to ask you while we run?”
“No. The run is just to get some exercise. We can make small talk. Nothing I say on the run is on the record. Got it?”
I groaned. “Why make me come on the run if I’m not interviewing you?”
“Don’t you need a pen and paper or a laptop to do a proper interview?”
I was going to record him, but I did prefer to have my iPad with me.
“Fine. Run first. Questions after.”
We walked toward the road, and he turned to look at me. He was tall and too good-looking for his own good.
It made me dislike him even more because I hated that I found him so attractive.
“It’s four miles to my place. We can stop there, and you can ask three questions today. So, take your time to choose them wisely while we’re on the run.”
“Three questions? That’s ridiculous,” I said as we started running. He moved to the outside of the road, forcing me to the inside, which seemed like a chivalrous gesture for a jackass.
“We’ve got weeks. No sense rushing it.”
Our pace was pretty quick, but nothing I couldn’t keep up with. “Did you drive down to the cove? I didn’t see a car.”
“No. I ran there this morning. I wanted to get a long run in.”
I wouldn’t lie. I was impressed. But it wasn’t too surprising, seeing as the man was considered a machine in the world of football.
“So, am I allowed to make basic small talk while we run? Or does that count as one of my three questions?” I was fairly fluent in sarcasm, and I made sure he knew I was annoyed.
He chuckled. “Small talk is fine. But it goes both ways. You ask something, off the record. I get to ask something. That’s how small talk works.”
“Says the guy who barely speaks to the press. Now you’re the expert on small talk?”
“Offending me will not earn you any points. Stop fighting it and just start with the damn small talk.” He glanced over at me with one brow raised before turning his attention back to the road.
“Oh, this is just so twisted,” I said as my breathing grew a bit labored. I had a hunch he was pushing the pace in hopes of keeping me quiet. But then, why bring me out here at all? I could have just met him after his run for the interview. “How are you liking Cottonwood Cove?”
“I actually like it. I can finally breathe.”
Honest.
Humble.
Unexpected.
“Good answer.”
We ran in silence for a few minutes before we turned the corner near Main Street, and he spoke. “Did you grow up here?”
“Yep. I’ve lived here my whole life, aside from my time away at school. I played collegiate volleyball for four years and then moved to San Francisco to be close to home after I graduated.”
“That explains the running skills,” he said. “Do you want to move back to the city?”
“Um, you just had your question. It’s my turn. Aren’t you the small talk expert?”
He laughed. “Touché. Go ahead.”
“Are you really going to Cottonwood High School next week to help Brandy surprise Lionel?” I asked because Brandy had cornered my brother and me last night when we were leaving Reynolds’ and told us about her surprise.
“Yes. I like Lionel. He’s a good kid.”
“Yeah. He really is. He’s had it rough.”
“How so?” he asked.
“His dad ran off with some woman when he was, like, five years old. It’s always just been him and his mom.
He works at the restaurant to help her pay the bills.
He was hoping to get a football scholarship, but nothing’s panned out yet, so he’s probably going to go to community college here in town. ”
Lincoln was quiet. Like he was processing my words.
“I know he’s a kicker. Is he any good?”
“I’ve never seen him play, but my brother, Hugh, and his fiancée, Lila, went to all his games this season, and they said he was really good.
But it’s a small town. He wasn’t on anyone’s radar, and his mom didn’t really know how to go about helping him put himself out there.
Lila had him reach out to a few college coaches, but he hasn’t heard anything yet. ”
“It’s a tough road. First, you’re fighting for a college scholarship, then you’re trying to get drafted.”
“Says the guy who probably had endless scholarship offers and got drafted before he graduated from college.”
“Wrong. I started playing at a small college in the Midwest. It was the only one that wanted me and offered me money. And then I transferred into a bigger program.”
I knew he’d graduated from the University of Alabama, but I hadn’t realized he’d transferred in. So much about him was unknown.
“I didn’t know that.”
“It’s not something I talk about. I also didn’t go in the first round of the draft. Hell, I barely went in the second round. No one expected much from me, but that only made me work harder. That’s public knowledge, so I’m guessing you know that.”
“I did. Is the college stuff on the record for me to share?” I asked as we turned the corner, moving onto the strand, the path that ran along the water, and he picked up the pace.
“No. It’s all small talk, sweetheart. If you want it on the record, you’ll have to ask it again as one of your three questions.” He chuckled as he glanced over. “I’m the house at the end of the path. Let’s go.”
I pumped my arms as hard as I could as we sprinted along the water, and I gasped for air.
I couldn’t feel my legs, and when we came to a stop, I dry heaved when I bent over to catch my breath. It was a little mortifying when a loud burp escaped, and a large hand came down on my back.
I barely felt it, but it was there. He patted me a few times. “Too much?”
I pushed to stand and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Never.”
“Come on. Let’s get you hydrated.” I followed him as he walked around the side yard and led me to the back door.
Wow. The house was right on the water.
“Is this your house?” I asked as I stepped inside and took in the dark wood beams on the ceiling, which matched the floors. We’d come in through the back door and entered through the kitchen and family room.
“No. This is my agent’s house.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said, feeling like I was going to hurl again. I hadn’t pushed myself this hard in a long time.
He studied me and then walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a blue Gatorade. “Drink.”
“So bossy,” I said as my throat constricted, and I dry heaved again.
“Keep your insults in for a few minutes until that hits your system.”
I didn’t argue this time. I drank, and he pulled out a chair in the kitchen, unscrewed the lid from his bottle, and started chugging it.
After a few sips, I felt remarkably better.