Chapter 18 #2
He flags down a server and orders some food along with another round of drinks. When our meal arrives, he turns his attention to me, his eyes bouncing around my face in the tavern’s muted light.
“Is everything okay?” he asks me.
“Not really.”
He frowns, surprising me when he reaches out to brush a lock of hair from my eyes. “What’s wrong, Troublemaker?” The concern in his touch seems genuine.
Trying to ignore the way my body’s still buzzing from our dance, I decide to be honest with him.
“Our last ‘date’ went pretty badly. I guess I’m just a bit disoriented with how well things are going tonight. You confuse me, Lincoln Raines,” I say, nibbling on a crispy chicken tender. “I can’t decide whether to put my guard down with you or not.”
If Lincoln were in the mood to fight, we’d fight. No problem. That would feel familiar to me. But this nicer version of him? I’m not too sure how to handle this version.
He drags a hand down his face. “That’s understandable. Again, I’m really sorry about the way I behaved. And the last thing I want to do is confuse you. I know I don’t come across as the friendliest person sometimes. To be honest, I’m not. But I am a good guy, Jules. It’s just…” He falls silent.
My body leans closer, wordlessly begging him to keep talking to me. I want to understand this enigma of a man. “What…?”
He inhales roughly. “The questions you were asking me that night, they forced me to look at my failed marriage in a way I’d never looked at it before.
It was always easy to just blame my divorce on my ex-wife’s moodiness, or to convince myself that we just weren’t happy together.
But you forced me to ask myself questions my pride never allowed me to ask. And I wasn’t liking the answers.”
“Oh…” I say.
He stares into his ginger ale, giving his head a shake. “Your questions made me fucking uncomfortable, Jules. But I guess it was a good thing in the end. Because it helped me to realize some things.”
“Some things like what?” I ask before I can stop myself. Then I hold up a hand. “You don’t need to answer if—”
“I realized that maybe the demise of my marriage was my fault to a large extent.” When he confesses that, I fall quiet.
“Maybe I put my career first too often. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough to understand Cynthia when she needed me.
Maybe she was a good wife…but I wasn’t the best husband I could be. ”
I suck in a breath, my body still leaning forward, unconsciously trying to get even closer to him. “Wow. That’s…deep.”
Lincoln chuckles. “You could say that. All in all, I freaked out when you asked about Cynthia, and I shouldn’t have.”
“We’re all growing into better versions of ourselves,” I say quietly, overwhelmed by the compassion I feel for him. “At least, we’re supposed to be. Getting better and wiser as we go.” I reach for a French fry just to keep my hands busy. So I don’t reach out and lace my fingers with his.
“True.” His head solemnly bobs once.
I purse my lips to keep quiet. But I just can’t. “Thank you for sharing that with me, Lincoln. And if you ever need to talk, I…I…”
The faintest smirk dances on his lips as he leans back and grabs a few French fries off my plate. “If I ever need to talk, what?”
“Well, uh, we…we’re friends now.” Right?
I think.
I hope.
Sort of.
Lincoln snorts, his vulnerability dissipating like smoke. “Friends? Thought we were just putting on a show? Acting? You said so yourself.”
I plop back against the booth and glare at him. “You know what? I retract my friendship offer. Jerk. Order me another drink.”
Lincoln laughs, waving down the server. The intimacy over our table slips away and somehow, it feels easier to deal with this more playful vibe.
When the server returns moments later with our drinks, my eyes catch on the pair entering the tavern.
“Is that your brother?” I nudge Lincoln with my elbow.
He glances over at the door. “Oh, yeah. Oliver. I didn’t realize he was back in town.”
The Raines boys have been in and out of Fairy Bush since last summer. I like that about the family. Even though their lives are set up in different parts of the country, they make it a priority to get together frequently.
Because they genuinely love each other. Not just because of a matriarch they want to appease or because of an inheritance they’re trying to cash in. They love each other, and they mean it.
“Who’s the girl?” I ask, referring to the leggy brunette who’s strolling alongside Oliver.
She shrugs out of her puffer jacket to reveal a red graphic tee and ripped faded jeans.
“Beats me,” Lincoln says. He takes my hand. “Let’s go find out.”
I snatch up my drink and let him pull me along.
As we’re approaching the bar, I witness a cold, awkward exchange take place between Oliver and Chloe.
He gives her a stiff ‘hello’. She responds with a smile that holds a thousand unspoken questions.
Before she can vocalize her interrogations, the brunette sticks a hand across the counter and shakes Chloe’s hand.
“I’m Marley,” the woman is saying as Lincoln and I get closer. “So this is the Whiskey Barrel? Oliver’s told me so much about this place.” She looks around at the reclaimed wooden beams and the vintage photos decorating the brick walls of the little bar.
“I really haven’t…” Oliver mutters, sounding annoyed, eyes locked on Chloe.
Chloe holds onto a tight smile. “Funny. He hasn’t said anything about you.” Her words don’t sound mean per se. More confused. Her challenging stare holds Oliver’s, not looking away.
Marley turns and playfully slaps Oliver’s chest. “This man is so secretive. He’s a damn fortress.” She spins around in a slow circle, scanning the room. “Anyway, I’m really excited to be here and see this place in person.”
Chloe gives her a weak smile. “So fun.”
Right then, Lincoln clears his throat.
“Oh great…” Oliver mumbles when he notices his big brother approaching.
Lincoln elbows his way past Oliver, and stretches a hand out to Marley. “Hi, I’m Lincoln.”
“The oldest brother, right?” she asks, her eyes squinting as if she’s doing some sort of mental calculation. “You’re a sports agent and you have a son and a law degree you’ve never used.”
Right then, a middle-aged African-American man emerges from the back of the bar with a clipboard in hand. Chloe frantically waves him down.
“Dad, do you mind covering for me? I need to take my break.” She doesn’t even wait for Mr. Chapman’s response. She just rips off her apron and dashes off.
Ouch. She looks hurt. Bad.
Oliver’s longing stare trails after Chloe as she goes.
“My little brother’s told you about me?” Lincoln asks Marley, sounding surprised and amused.
“Okay, fine. He didn't.” She waves off the suggestion. “I had to research your family on the internet. Oliver wouldn’t tell me a damn thing. Thank goodness you have a pro hockey player for a brother. Once I found Easton, learning about the rest of the family was pretty easy.”
Lincoln looks taken aback by Marley’s admission.
Oliver looks downright pissed.
Marley cluelessly continues blabbing, divulging all the dirt she dug up while researching the Raines family. She seems mighty proud of her detective skills.
Oliver is not impressed. He turns to her and barks. “You. Outside. Now.” He stomps toward the exit.
“What’d I do?” she asks cluelessly as she skitters after him. “I thought I was doing good.”
Even after they’re gone, Chloe’s betrayed expression replays in my head. She and Oliver are friends. That’s their official story.
But clearly, she has feelings for him. I’m willing to bet that, all these years, she’s been secretly wishing for something more between them. Now, Oliver’s here with another woman, and Chloe’s just crushed.
I can’t make that same mistake.
Lincoln and I are walking a fine line. We have to make our relationship seem convincing.
But at the end of the day, we have a contract with terms we shouldn’t veer away from.
I slip my hand into my purse and let my fingers brush the folded paper of our marriage agreement.
I remind myself of clause number two in particular.
Said marriage will not be a real marriage in the traditional sense. No romantic feelings shall be involved.
I can’t let these soft emotions blooming between my ribs take roots. I have to be careful. Because at the end of the day, if I let my heart get broken, Lincoln will have zero obligation to stick around and pick up the pieces.
“Hey. What are you thinking?” he asks me, examining my face.
I set my empty glass on the bartop and force a smile. “Think I’m ready to call it a night.”
He bites his lower lip as his eyes settle on my mouth. “I’ll take you home.”
In the car, we’re quiet. The ride seems to drag out for an eternity as if the miles between the bar and my home have stretched somehow. I just need to get away from him. I need the quiet of my bedroom where I can process my thoughts and re-erect the fortress walls around my heart.
When he finally cuts his engine on my street, Lincoln walks me to my door.
We face each other on my shadowy front porch.
My gaze falls to our feet as my body and my mind go to war.
In truth, I don’t want this night to be over just yet.
I want it to end with his limbs tangled with mine, with the weight of him on top of me, with his voice in my ear as he makes me see stars.
I want to wake up in his arms again. But that would be a horrible decision.
After unlocking the front door, I dare to turn around and peek up at his face. I see the same conflict waging in his beautiful blue eyes.
“What are you thinking?” I say to him, all while knowing that it’s a dangerous question to ask.
He licks his lips. “I’m thinking you and I need to figure out how to handle our bride and groom kiss, or else we’re really going to make fools out of ourselves at the wedding.”
I suck in a breath, letting my eyes trace his mouth.
Don’t do it, a voice in my head whispers. Don’t do it, Jules. Say ‘no’.
I ignore it.
“Maybe we should practice,” I say hoarsely.
Because practicing is completely reasonable. If you want to be good at anything (kissing included) you need practice. That’s a perfectly logical approach.
“Agreed.” Lincoln takes a step closer, his face already lowering to mine. “No time like the present.”
“Agreed.”
Jules. No, my guardian angel says again in that same stern tone.
But my mind’s made up. Divine intervention can’t stop me now.
I’m already gripping Lincoln’s shirt and rising up on my tiptoes.
He grabs my jaw right as the force of his chest slams me against the door. In a heartbeat, his greedy mouth is on mine.
And that’s when I realize that I’m starving.
I hook my arm around his neck and roughly pull him closer, my lips parting on a groan. His tongue licks hungrily against mine.
My pelvis bucks against him, and he bares down, letting his rock hard erection make its presence known.
“Goddamn,” he whispers into my mouth as his hands find my sides, pulling up the fabric of my dress and letting his fingers slip against my bare skin.
My leg hooks around the back of his, giving him better access. He doesn’t hesitate to take it. He grinds down against me, his hard-on applying pressure to my clit.
Lincoln is touching me all over. One hand is massaging my breast, the other squeezing the back of my thigh. Meanwhile, my fingers are in his hair, tugging on the silky, dark brown, always-perfect strands.
The spark between us has combusted into an inferno. And I’m lost. Lost to the maddening chemistry between us.
And then a not-so-heavenly voice crackles from somewhere in the shadows. “Seriously, guys? On the freaking porch?”
This time, my guardian angel sounds pissed. And a bit too real.
Lincoln jumps back, looking around the porch. He’s panting desperately, his eyes are wild and his hair is a mess as he scans our surroundings.
Dizzy and cross-eyed, I glance over my shoulder. When the voice speaks again, I realize that it’s my roommate.
“Thanks so much for the free live-action porno,” Laney says from where her head is sticking out of her bedroom window.
“But I’m not sure the neighbors across the street are enjoying it as much as I am.
You know that ever since Mr. Brunson’s grandson became sheriff, the old man calls law enforcement for the slightest disturbance. ”
“Shit. She’s right,” I mutter, stumbling on my weak knees as I tug my dress back into place.
Lincoln is still staring at me, in a lust-powered daze. His eyes tell me he’s waiting on an invitation to take this party to my bed.
But I can’t. I shouldn’t.
Lincoln may be able to compartmentalize his feelings. But I’m starting to realize that I can’t. For me, sleeping with him would only end in disaster.
Twisting my doorknob, I take a step backward, inside the house. “Good night, Lincoln.”
He stares at me for a long moment before his head gives one resigned nod. “Good night, Jules.”
He turns, and my body begs me to make him stay. But I can’t let my primal needs call the shots tonight.
Still, I call out to him. “And Lincoln?”
He spins around, his eyes eager and optimistic. Like he’s hoping I’ve changed my mind.
I’m so close to giving in. But I shut my eyes and suck in a breath for strength. “Thanks for the dance.”
He smiles softly. “It was my pleasure.”
I gently close the door.