TWELVE
Lincoln
Five Months Ago
I rubbed at my mouth, suppressing the smile on my face as Cassie’s mom tells me a story about how Cassie used to use her Polly Pockets to make worlds. The little dolls would have magic and swords and have to complete missions.
“That’s amazing.” I laughed, listening with intent as Cassie helped bus tables. I was helping too, even though I was there to study, but I leaned against the long and wide breakfast bar that separated the employees from the occupants, listening to her mom’s stories.
Heather laughed as she retold the story—oh yeah, she asked that I call her Heather instead of Mrs. Grayson—and leaned on her side of the large countertop. “She was so good at the storytelling. You’ve got to read her book.”
I lifted my brows in surprise. “She wrote an actual book?”
Her eyes widened. “Of course! Been working on that sucker for years! Cassie!” She waved Cassie over and nodded at me when she got close enough. “You’ve got to let Lincoln read your book.”
Cassie’s mouth gaped. “Mom! Don’t go telling everyone everything, please!”
“What? What’s wrong with that?” Heather looked genuinely confused and waited for Cassie to give an explanation.
Which she wasn’t going to get because Cassie walked away and back to our booth.
I bit my lip and gave Heather an apologetic look like her daughter’s behavior was my responsibility. “Guess I’d better get to work.”
Heather smiled at me like she knew what she was doing. I’m glad she thought so, because I felt absolutely clueless.
I made my way over to the table we’d deemed ours, or at least, I had, and I sat in my spot, grabbing my drink and taking a long pull as Cassie took a red pen and marked over a paper.
I leaned forward to see what she was going over, and I grimaced. It was my paper.
For a few moments, I let her work out her frustrations on it.
I gave it to her two days prior, and she was still working on it. She sighed, sitting back, and looking at me dead on. “I’m sorry, Lincoln.”
I shook my head and smiled sarcastically. “It’s all right. I’m not a writer.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“This whole fucking course doesn’t make sense,” I admitted, slumping in my seat. I hated seeming vulnerable with her, showing her that I wasn’t a smart guy, that I couldn’t even get through a basic journalism course.
“I can talk to the professor about Mary—”
“No,” I cut her off, waving my hand in the air. “It was my own fault. I’ll take the punishment.”
“It’s not fair, Linc,” she said, surprising me. Cassie looked at me like she had real empathy for my situation. So far, when talking to me, she’d been tough on me, not allowing excuses when it came to the reason I was in this situation in the first place.
I’d come to realize she was right to be mad and to put the blame on me.
“Life’s not fair, Sunshine,” I said, raking my fingers through my hair. “Hit me with it, what can I do?”
Then, for the next hour, I got grilled by Cassie Grayson on how to write properly.
It was exhausting.
Cassie
“I’m starting to not believe your reason for coming up here after study sessions,” I joked, seeing Lincoln settle into the couch and make himself at home. He was good at that. Making himself comfortable wherever he went.
“What? It’s not my fault that my sister is never here.” He sighed, resting an arm over the back of the couch, angling to face me. I caught myself staring at the flex of his arm and the way his T-shirt caught on the ridge of his muscle.
“She’s with her boyfriend, isn’t she?”
I blink, tearing my gaze away from where I was staring and glance back at his face. He’s smirking. Dammit.
“Huh? What? Boyfriend?” I scrambled as my face burned with embarrassment that he caught me staring at him.
Then, his question hit me.
“Yeah,” he continued, still casually lounging on the couch. “She admitted she’s got a boyfriend at Christmas, but no one has met him yet.”
Frick. Micayla! I wish she would have warned me that she spilled she was dating someone. She and Tanner both knew that I was tutoring him and knew I’d be with him enough for him to ask such a question. “Um, she’s keeping it kind of quiet.”
Lincoln looked at me with confusion. “You don’t even know who he is?”
I bit my lip and backed away toward my room. “Eh, uh, you know how you react to boyfriends, she’s not ready to share.”
“So you do know who it is,” he accused, looking at me with a look I wasn’t sure how to decipher.
“It’s not my business,” I finally said, going into my room and slamming the door a little too hard.
Gah, I’m not a good liar. I can’t lie. I’m terrible at it, and while that may seem like a good quality to have, it’s really more of a pain in the ass than anything.
I stripped off my day clothes and found the ones I liked for lounging. It was too damn hot in here for leggings, so I threw on some shorts, a tank, and a cardigan sweater that was basically a blanket.
Grabbing my book, I made my way back out to the living room to see Lincoln still there, contemplating something. I hoped he didn’t bring up Mick again. I didn’t want to betray either of their trust, and I felt stuck in this situation.
Lincoln looked at me when I came out and watched me as I made my way to the couch. I was self-conscious being in shorts that showed off legs I rarely wanted to show off, but I wanted to be comfortable in my own place.
Plus, I had nothing to prove to Lincoln Ellis.
“That’s fucking cool.” He nodded to my left thigh, where a dagger was tattooed there. Intricate lines were carved into the blade of the dagger, and there were flowers blooming around it. It was from one of my favorite books.
“Thanks,” I said, slipping into my spot on the couch and picking up in my book where I left off.
For a few moments, he was silent, and I peeked up over my book and saw him studying my legs. It’s my fault for decorating them.
“I had no idea you had so many tattoos,” he said, his finger brushing over the top of my foot. I held my breath at the contact and willed myself not to move. His eyes were still on my legs as I sat there, letting him get his fill, letting him look at every piece of art that meant something to me.
He didn’t know it, but what he was seeing was the equivalent of reading my diary.
Few people knew I had so many, but when one of your best friends was a tattoo artist and you tended to follow your impulsive desires, it was too easy to get her to give me one whenever I wanted it.
“So, which one is from your book?” he asked, placing his hand on top of my foot and letting it rest there casually.
You would think his hand was elsewhere with the way my body was reacting to his touch.
“I don’t have one from my book,” I admitted, placing my bookmark on my page. “They’re from other books.”
“What meanings do they have? Just favorite parts in them or what?” He didn’t ask with any hint of meanness behind his words. He was genuinely interested in the answer.
Is this what it was like to not be Lincoln Ellis’s enemy?
I shrugged my shoulders, feeling exposed, but answered, “Favorite quotes or phrases, images that show certain parts of books that I fell in love with.”
“Do you have all the tattoos you want?”
I bit my lip and angled my head. “No. I want more. It’s like…therapy.”
Lincoln looked down at his bare arms. “I’ve always wanted tattoos but never really knew what to get.”
“Well, you just have to get something that means something to you. And don’t let anyone tell you it’s dumb.” I’d heard that about mine before. “You get tattoos for yourself, not for anyone else.”
He hummed in his throat. “Do you have a favorite book?”
I blinked and bit my lip. “That’s a loaded question.” He smiled at me so kindly and genuinely that something in my chest gave a little tug.
“Too many to choose from?”
I leaned against the back of the couch. “It’s not that. I love books for more than one reason. So some books are my favorites because of the plot, some because I relate to the characters the most, some because of the feelings it gives me. I’ve loved a book solely based on the vibes it gives off.”
“Huh,” he said, tilting his head as if in deep thought. I worried that my explanation was too long, too complicated, and, mostly, very nerdy.
This was why I was choosy about who I shared with.
“Sounds cool. I never really got into reading, but you make it sound good,” he replied, shocking me.
“Really?”
Lincoln looked at me. “Yup. And I know where I want to start.”
“Where?”
“With your book.”
My heart jackhammered in my chest, anxiety gripping me at the thought of having to share my world with him. I mean, it wasn’t really my world, it was my imagination’s world. It was a world I’d love to share with others one day.
But Lincoln?
“I don’t think so, Muscles.”
“Oh, come on.” He gripped my foot tighter; I’d almost forgotten that he was holding it. “Don’t make me beg.”
I lifted a brow, the image of him begging simultaneously made me smile and flush.
“Oh wow, I know that look.” He sat up off the couch and kneeled on the floor in front of the couch.
“No, don’t.” I laughed, my blush tracking down into my chest now.
“Cassandra Cassie-Poo Grayson, please, pretty please, with cherries and chocolate on top, let me read your book.” His body was pressed against the couch, his height making him nearly eye-level with me, and he wrapped his larger hands around my knee where I had it bent up on the couch.
I smiled and didn’t know how to stop. I smiled and begged myself to hate this man in front of me.
He’d fucked up before, he’d hurt my feelings before, he’s been my enemy for over two years because of what he did…
So why was I caving?
You know why you are.
“Please,” he said again, this time pouting his bottom lip, and before I knew what I was doing, I poked it with my finger, and he nipped at me.
“Stop!” I laughed and let my head fall back to the couch. “Fine. You can read it.”
“Yes!” He pumped his fist and stood, pulling me up to stand.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re going to give me that book.” Before I knew what he was doing, he leaned down, put his shoulder into my stomach, and hoisted me over his shoulder. I squealed and gently tossed my book on the couch, hoping it wouldn’t crash to the floor.
“Muscles! This is highly unnecessary.” He moved us toward my bedroom and wiggled his arm, carrying me around like I weighed nothing when we both knew this could break him.
“No, it’s necessary,” he retorted, not giving me a good reason, just…stating it.
“Lincoln.”
“Sunshine.”
I huffed, and feeling impulsive, I smacked him on the ass. He was wearing gym shorts, so the effect was good.
“Dammit, Sunshine, do you want me to drop you?” Then, retaliating, he popped his hand against mine.
“Ow!” I whined, and then I was flying and landing on my bed, my hair puffed up all around me, and I was staring at my starry ceiling with Lincoln leaning over me.
I wasn’t going to admit that I’d had this dream once or twice.
“Your room is fucking cool,” he commented, glancing around at the posters and stars and artwork. Every single piece of everything was fantasy inspired.
He walked over to my desk, looking at the dozens of notes taped to the wall around it, the notebooks stacked tall, and the pen cup that was overfull.
Grabbing something, he held it up, and I blinked when I saw what it was.
“You still have this?” He showed me what he held, and I shook my head. “Really? Because I’m holding it in my hand.”
I sat up and wiped my hair away from my face. I looked over at him and decided to just try honesty. “Yes. I do. It was a good night.”
He rubbed the keychain. On it was his jersey number. When he got his assigned number when he was put on the Vapors, the school made keychains for each player with their number on it, and only gave the players a select few.
One of the first nights I’d met Lincoln, he’d given me one.
“It was.” He sighed and gently set it back down, his sad eyes trailing over me. He looked like he wanted to say something, and I braced myself for what was coming.
Instead, he smiled and said, “So, where is this book?”
I cleared my throat. “Uh, well, do you want a hard copy or do you want to read it on your phone?” I stood and made my way to the desk, opening my computer. “I have one hard copy, but it might be easier for you on your phone.”
“Sure, yeah, that’s good. I can read while I’m away.”
Right, he was going away that weekend. It would be a good time for me to get it together. To take a breath away from him and remember why I dislike him so much.
“Perfect,” I told him and felt him standing closely behind my desk chair.
As quickly as possible, I emailed him the stuff he needed to get the book and then stood. “Well, it’s getting late.”
Except standing put me right in front of him until we were nearly chest to chest. His chin was tilted down as he looked at me, and I flushed red at our proximity.
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, licking his lips and staring at my own. I didn’t know what to say, so instead, I waited and said nothing.
Then, just when I was going to push out of our stance, his arms came around my back, and he pulled me in, resting his head against mine and squeezing me tight.
It was so unexpected that my arms hovered in the air for a few seconds before I realized I wasn’t hugging him back. My arms finally moved around his shoulders, and going against every instinct, I squeezed around his neck.
I let out a deep breath and relaxed into his hold. He flexed his arms around me, and I hated that I had never felt more safe in my life.