Chapter 8
eight
. . .
Lincoln
We’d been in the gym at Drew’s house for over two hours, and she’d watched me work out and typed a few things into her notes app on her phone. I was fine with her sharing the details of my workout. It wasn’t completely traditional.
I was old-school in a lot of ways. Growing up with no money, I’d trained hard in the alley behind our dumpy little house.
I used to work side jobs for neighbors, mowing their lawns, washing their cars, and digging holes in their backyards for plants and trees.
All those skills had made me stronger when I was a teenager.
So, I still jumped rope every single day, just as I had as a young kid.
Sure, now I did it inside a fancy gym. But I didn’t need it. I could train anywhere, under any conditions.
I did my upper-body workout, which I did four days a week in the off-season. I ran, I swam, I biked, I lifted, I jumped, and I pushed myself every single day as hard as I could.
Music was bellowing from the speakers, but she didn’t seem to mind. She appeared to be interested in my routine. I hoped letting her in on this side of my life wasn’t going to bite me in the ass.
But so far, having someone to run part of my workout with wasn’t a bad thing. And seeing the way her eyes scanned across my biceps as I continued my reps long after my arms were burning, pushed me on. There was respect there, and I felt it.
After another hour, I dropped on the mat on my back and groaned.
Another day in the books.
She walked over to my phone on the bench and turned the music down before coming over to sit on the mat a few feet from me.
“How often do you push this hard?” she asked.
“Six days a week in the off-season. It’s my time to build and strengthen before the season starts. I always give myself one day to recover.”
“It’s impressive.”
I sat forward so we were facing one another. “I’m sure you’ve pushed yourself, being a collegiate athlete.”
“Yeah. We definitely did. It was a lot of work. I miss it sometimes. But I still run a couple of days a week and swim when I’m home.”
Thoughts of Brinkley in a bathing suit flooded my mind.
“You can join me on my swims. I’ve been cross-training a few days a week.”
“Sure. Seeing as now you’ve made me your training partner, when does the actual interview start?”
I smirked. “I knew you were going to ask that.”
“Don’t get a big head. I’m a reporter. It was sort of inevitable that I’d ask.”
“All right. Three questions today. Make them count.”
“I can ask anything?”
“Like I said, I’ll answer what I’m comfortable with. If you ask a question that I don’t want to answer, I’ll just tell you to move on to the next one.”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m going to record this, so anything that’s not on the record, just be sure to say that so I can make a note later when I type up our conversation.”
“Fair enough.” My jaw ticked, and I prepared for the worst.
“Why do you look so uncomfortable?”
“I don’t like talking about myself outside of football.”
I’d never been one to put myself in vulnerable situations, and for whatever reason, I didn’t feel like I was in complete control over this interview.
“Then we’ll start with football.” Her lips turned up in the corners the slightest bit, and her gaze locked with mine.
She held up the phone to show me that she was hitting the record button.
She said the date and the time, and her demeanor changed in that moment.
Her shoulders squared, and she let out a long breath.
She took her job seriously, that much was clear.
“Did you know that you wanted to play football when you were young?”
She’d thrown me an easy pass, and I appreciated it.
“From the first moment I held a football in my hands, something changed in me.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. I was maybe five or six years old when my grandfather gave me a football. I just remember coming alive. Waking up every day and wanting to play.”
I remembered that day with my grandfather like it was yesterday.
“Like it was a part of you?”
“Sure. I’d say that’s a fair statement. It was all fun and games back then. I played flag football for years, and then things started changing in high school. It was no longer just a hobby or something I looked forward to doing. It was what I wanted to pursue.”
She nodded.
“So, Lincoln, tell us about the next level of play. About getting recruited to college.”
I held up two fingers to remind her that this counted as question number two.
She glared in response, and I forced back a smile. I liked irritating her.
“I got one offer to play at a small college in Iowa, where I’d grown up.
My high school coach knew Jack Hardin, who coached at Iowa State College, and he took a chance on me.
He’s also the man who helped me transfer to Alabama from there.
I still wasn’t their best guy, so I didn’t get a ton of playing time when I first arrived.
But I was training with top-notch coaches and athletes.
Learning. Taking it all in. Working my ass off every day to try to get better. ”
She paused and studied me for a long minute, as if she was contemplating her next question. I already knew I wasn’t going to like it by the look on her face.
“We’ve all seen your mother out there at every game. Can you tell us about your father and if he played a role in your football journey?”
I could feel my face hardening. My hands fisted, and I made a conscious effort to relax before I spoke. “Next question.”
We sat in silence for a minute. “Tell me about the draft.”
“Not a lot to tell. I was happy to get drafted by San Francisco. I was their second-string QB when I first came on, and Pete McGuire ended up injured, which put me out on the field before anyone thought I was really ready.”
“And you proved everyone wrong, didn’t you?”
“Not sure about that, but I’d say the season went well that year. We didn’t make it to the Super Bowl, but we finished second in our division.”
“That’s where you started playing with Brett Jacobs and Lenny Waters, right?”
“Yep. They’re my brothers, and I miss playing with them.” I knew exactly where she was going to take this.
“That leads us to the question everyone wants to know. There are rumors that you will join them out in New York. I know you haven’t made your decision, but is that the team you are considering?”
“That was three, sweetheart. That’s enough for today.”
She groaned and turned off her phone. “This isn’t usually how this works.”
“Tell me how it works.” I pushed to my feet and held out a hand and pulled her up.
There was a charge when we touched that I couldn’t explain.
I quickly dropped her hand.
“Well, as soon as the conversation starts to flow, you’re calling it done. That’s usually when things start getting good.”
“I guess you’ll have to be creative, then.”
“You’re enjoying making this difficult, aren’t you?”
“Listen, I’m giving you my story. More than I’ve ever given anyone else. You can shop it around. Use this to leverage your dream job. But we go at my pace. We’ve got time.”
“Fine.” She followed me back out to the kitchen, and I guzzled another Gatorade, offering her one, but she held up the one I’d given her earlier to show me she was still working on it.
“So, were those questions okay? You seemed irritated when I asked about your father.”
She didn’t know when to stop, but she’d learn quickly that I wouldn’t suddenly change my mind. She was good, but no one was that good. There were things that were off-limits, and she’d have to respect that.
“I told you that if I didn’t want to talk about something, I would tell you to move on.”
She narrowed her gaze. “So, is talking about your father off-limits?”
“If I say next, you can assume it’s off-limits.”
“You’re so condescending sometimes.”
“You asked. I answered. Deal with it.” I was in a foul mood from the mention of my father, but I wasn’t about to say that.
Everyone was always curious. As if everything I’d accomplished couldn’t have happened without a strong man leading me there.
Well, I was living proof that a strong-ass woman could lead you wherever you wanted to go.
My mother had done that.
She’d believed in me since the first day I’d told her that I was going to be a football player when I grew up. She supported me and showed up for me.
That was what people should be asking about.
“How does this work? We meet once a day? You torture me in a workout and then I get to ask three questions?”
“Correct.”
“Okay. What time tomorrow?” she asked, reaching up to tighten the elastic on her ponytail.
Her face was free of makeup, and her skin shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the kitchen windows.
Her shirt rose the slightest bit, a sliver of her toned stomach peeked out, and my dick hardened again.
I was going to have to figure something out about that situation because my body had a physical reaction to this woman, which was not common for me.
But Brinkley Reynolds’ presence had me a little off my game.
“Tomorrow, we’re going to run and swim. So, meet me here, and bring your swimsuit. We’ll do a run and then swim a mile, and then you can ask me three more questions.”
“You’re just planning to exhaust me so I can’t ask much, aren’t you?”
“Nah. You’ll be fine.”
“Damn right.”
“Good to know. Let’s go. I’ll give you a ride home. Plan to be here at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow. Get your questions ready. You didn’t find anything out today that you didn’t already know.” I smirked.
“We didn’t know your grandfather bought you your first football,” she said as she glared at me. “I’m pacing myself, Captain. You’ve limited my normal form of questioning, so forgive me if it takes me a minute to get on board with your weird freaking interview process.”