21. Lincoln
21
Lincoln
I don’t fucking dance.
I never have, and up until five minutes ago, I thought I never would.
But one glance at Seraphina’s plump lower lip captured between her teeth, and all I knew after this shit show of a week was that she was a balm.
It was a tough shift tonight, one that had not only me but also Diana floundering until the kitchen closed just forty minutes ago. I don’t know if there was something in the air at Garganello’s or if there’s a full moon tonight, but the brigade was inundated with change requests, allergen notifications, and short on supplies for constant pivots. My mood was black when I came through the kitchen doors earlier tonight, something that has never happened before, thanks to a call from my mother on the drive in.
I have a good relationship with my mom, great even. But as soon as she learned about my latest breakup with Gemma, there was no holding back the opinions that flowed through her like water. Everything was a contradiction. I was too old to keep dating around, but Gemma wasn’t the right one for me. I needed to date, but not too much because women don’t like players. When she told me that I should go to the doctor for a full panel STD test, I hung up on her with the promise of brunch during the week as long as she never asked me to get an STD test again.
She was annoyed by my response but accepted the invitation and my stipulation, nevertheless.
My mood went from tense to annoyed to a gaping black hole of anger, so much so that Franki forced me to step into the walk-in fridge to calm down so that I didn’t slice a hand off.
When the kitchen finally closed, and the knives were laid to rest, the only thing I wanted was to grab a beer from the bar, make the short drive home, and crash in my bed with no movement until tomorrow afternoon.
But that changed when I saw the long reddish-brown hair gleaming under the fluorescent lights and the tiny dark red dress that left my jaw hanging open. It reminded me of the dress from last weekend, though the color was lighter, and the bodice seemed to make her already small waist impossibly tinier. I didn’t miss the way J.R. was eyeing her, like she was his next conquest, or the way the other guys at the bar were staring at her ass as she stood there, waiting for a drink.
Like the opposite end of a magnet, I was pulled toward her and didn’t think about my recently discarded relationship, the contradictory words of my mother, or the brutal night in the kitchen. All I saw, all I wanted to see, was her. That she didn’t know I was behind her, watching her for five minutes while she surveyed J.R.’s movements, was sweeter because I saw every inch of Seraphina unguarded and vulnerable.
Even when we first met, her guard was never truly down; she hid her emotions as best she could. It pissed me off, but I accepted it. I didn’t want to accept it anymore.
She’s been on my mind constantly; the way she tried her fucking hardest to prevent me from talking in Grey’s kitchen, even though she had no idea what I was going to say has played like a bad comedy reel in my mind for days. I was annoyed when she left that kitchen, but more than ready to track her down.
Her showing up here tonight is like divine intervention from fate.
Or maybe it’s just her sister meddling in her life. Either way, I’m not complaining that she’s here.
Maybe it’s too soon, too suspicious to think of Seraphina as anything more than the reappearance of someone from my past, especially after I just ended things with a woman with whom I shared a fucked up semblance of a life. But if I was intrigued by Seraphina four years ago, I’m fucking captivated by her now, and I can’t seem to stop myself from reaching for her.
The surprise on her face was comical, especially since she was at the restaurant where I work. I’m not sure why she came here tonight, whether it was a planned or spontaneous outing, but I can’t complain, not when her hand is in mine, and we’re walking together toward the dance floor.
We weave through people, their bodies moving to a remix of The Proclaimer’s “I’m Gonna Be” before settling for a small square near the edge of the dance floor, farthest from the bar.
Turning around, I pull Seraphina into me, bringing our joined hands up to my neck. I don’t hold back my sigh when her hand presses against my tattooed skin; it feels indecent to have her body against mine, her touch on my skin. She shifts, her stomach inadvertently rubbing against my pelvis, and my sigh turns into a groan, my dick hardening at the innocent movement.
“Fuck.” Removing my fingers from her hand, I let it drop just before I grasp her hips and spin her around, placing her back to my front.
I’d rather stare at her face, but I know that if I spend too much time lost in her eyes, I will lose what little resolve I have.
Bending down, I release her left hip and let my hand trail up her arm to gather the thick hair blocking her face. Grabbing the strands, I bunch them and pull them over her shoulder, letting her hair rub against my chest and stomach.
Her tan, unmarred neck is exposed, and I don’t resist the urge to lightly circle it with my free hand. I feel her swallow, her pulse turning from fast to erratic. Leaning over, I speak into her ear, letting my tongue flick the skin where her jaw and earlobe connect. “Dance for me, cierń.”
Like a windup toy whose string has just been pulled, her hips start to move against my thighs, tentative at first, before the music changes to a pop-centric Chappell Roan remix. Her movements become more fluid, the beat taking over.
I move with her, pulling her closer as her body grinds against mine, and her head falls back on my chest. Whatever resistance she had minutes ago fades as she settles against me, trusting me to hold her while our bodies sway in the maddening beat. I’m supporting her full weight, and I know she can feel me pressing against her back as she arches and wiggles and grinds against me like a seasoned dancer.
With my gaze pinned to her profile, I watch her eyes flutter closed as the hand at her throat squeezes slightly, not enough to restrict air flow, but enough to remind her who she’s dancing with.
Dancing for.
Her mouth opens, and the DJ’s heavy bass mix swallows her gasp, but I don’t miss it. There’s a flush to her cheeks, one that can’t be concealed by makeup. Even under the darkened overhead lights, I can see how her skin is painted in rose, a light pink that seems to swallow her olive complexion. My darker skin contrasts her reddened flesh, making my breath stutter at how we seem to complement each other: our bodies, our minds, our racing hearts.
Unable to stop myself, I lean down, my lips grazing her ear, and taunt, “Are you feeling good, cierń?”
She doesn’t answer but continues to dance as if I didn’t just ask a very important question. I chuckle darkly, loving the game she’s playing but annoyed by her nonresponse.
Bending my knees, the hand settled on her hip moves down, brushing against her bare upper thigh. Seraphina tenses under my touch, her body stilling at the movement.
“Relax, cierń.”
“Lincoln, what are you doing?” She tilts her head, whispering into my ear.
I let my hand drift over her skin, gathering her goosebumps as my fingers graze her inner thigh. “Dancing.”
She lets out a surprised laugh as my hand spreads, my pinky skimming just below the juncture of her thighs.
With her body against mine, her pulse fluttering under my touch, I decide to bring up last week.
“Seeing you last week fucked me up, cierń.” My words are spoken into her ear, a barely audible confession. “Four fucking years, and then you show up, looking like a little angel in red, sent to ruin my goddamn life.”
Her pulse is frantic under my fingers at her throat, and I feel her swallow thickly.
“And then you ran from me, not once, but twice. The first time, I could forgive. But in Ava and Grey’s kitchen, you wouldn’t let me get in a word. You wouldn’t hear a damn thing other than the hysteria boiling up inside you. You’re going to listen now though, aren’t you cierń?”
She nods immediately, her head hitting my chest with her nonverbal response.
“Do you trust me, Seraphina?”
She hesitates this time. If she tells me no, I’ll remove my hands and lead her to the sanctuary of the bar or to the protection of her sister and the other girls she came with.
But her refusal never comes.
Instead, her hand, the one that hung loosely at her side, trails up her body, a slow snake that doesn’t stop until it covers my hand at her throat. Grabbing my fingers, I’m surprised by her tight squeeze right before she rips my hand from her body and spins on me, glaring up with fire and anger in her eyes.
“Don’t do this, Lincoln,” she yells, her voice straining over the music. “We cannot do this. You have a girlfriend and a partner, and I refuse to be the other woman. I refuse to be the reason a happy relationship ends.”
My hands shoot out, cradling her jaw and forcing her eyes on me. I told Grey and Dante about the breakup last Sunday, thinking it would somehow travel and telephone its way back to Seraphina. Hell, I even tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t let me. Instead, it stayed a secret.
“There is no one else, cierń. Gemma and I broke up last week.”
Her eyes widen, though not with pleasure. No, the emotion coming through is horror, as though I told her I had just killed someone. “No. No, you didn’t. That’s—Lincoln. Why did you break up?” She starts to shake her head, moving it so rapidly that my hands fall from her face. Stepping closer, I latch onto her shoulders.
“Seraphina, we’ve been growing apart for the last six months. Am I going to say that seeing you didn’t make me realize that I wanted you back in my life permanently? No. But am I going to lie and say that this breakup was because I saw you? Also no. Gemma hated my career, hated my friends, and wanted me to fall in line with what she wanted when she wanted it. And, in turn, I probably made her miserable. I’m no prince, Seraphina, and I did what I should have done six months ago.”
I watch as Seraphina processes my words, her throat working to swallow whatever questions that arise. “That doesn’t change anything between us, Lincoln. We’re going to see each other a lot with the wedding, and Ava and Greyson, and I don’t—can’t—have it be awkward between us.” She takes another step back, eyes downcast and posture rigid. “I’m going to go. Just—” she cuts herself off, inhaling deeply before continuing, “Bye, Lincoln.”
Turning on her heel, she starts to run.