Chapter Five
Lincoln
"Fuck me running," I breathe, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the bookstore when Lilah materializes from behind the counter, looking absolutely fuckable.
She's changed clothes since I was here this afternoon. Then, she was in jeans and a T-shirt that said something about spreading pages. I don't know. I was more focused on how hard her nipples were behind the words than on the words themselves.
She isn't wearing a T-shirt now. Instead, she's in a slinky red dress that hugs her curves, showing off more skin than should be legal.
Every inch of her golden skin glows in a way that has my dick wedged against my zipper.
Her hair is all soft and curly around her face.
And I don't know what she did with her makeup, but she looks like both a siren and an angel at the same damn time, with pouty red lips, smoky eyes, and pink cheeks.
"You're early," she says, giving me a nervous smile.
"Couldn't wait," I growl, stomping across the space separating us. I want to haul her into my arms and kiss her lipstick off, but I promised to be on my best behavior. I suppose I should actually try to follow through, right? Goddammit. I wrote my own death sentence here.
A soft laugh whispers from her lips, tightening my balls. "That hungry, huh?"
"Starving." And I don't want food.
I reach for her hand, drawing her out from behind the counter. Christ Almighty. If those heels aren't leaving imprints in my back tonight, I may actually commit crimes against humanity.
Her gaze drifts down my body, her expression full of humor. "I would say you clean up nice, but I'm not actually sure you own anything other than fancy suits," she teases. "Do you?"
"Probably not," I admit, spinning her in a circle. "You look ravishing."
"Surprised?"
"Full of regret."
She shoots me a questioning look.
"I'm taking you out in public, and other men are going to look at you. I'm regretting my choice already, Lilah. I'd rather keep you all to myself."
"Too bad." She smirks at me, her expression soft. "You promised to feed me."
"And don't keep her out too long!" someone shouts from the back. "I know where you work!"
"Worry about yourself, Jazz!" Lilah shouts back, shaking her head before she meets my gaze.
"I'm not the one having dinner with the devil!" Jazz yells, making me chuckle. "I told you to sleep with him, not date him!"
Lilah just shrugs and grins when I look at her, as if she isn't the least bit sorry that her friend thinks I'm the devil. The little minx probably isn't sorry. She doesn't trust me. Clearly, her friend doesn't either. I have my work cut out for me here if I'm going to change their minds.
"Are you ready?" I ask.
"Yeah." Lilah leans over the counter, giving me a great view of her ass, and then straightens with a clutch in her hands. "I'm ready."
I place my hand on the small of her back, leading her out to the SUV. She shivers when I help her inside, but doesn't say anything. She doesn't speak at all until we're on the road, heading away from downtown.
"Where are we going?"
"I made reservations at the Goodson Co. restaurant."
"No way!" she cries immediately, staring at me in horror.
"Uh…"
"If we go there, my sister will find out. And if she finds out, she'll be planning my wedding by the time the night even ends." She looks mildly panicked at the thought. "I'm not wearing Spanx and a push-up bra, Lincoln. Absolutely not."
I chuckle in response, my heart thudding against my ribcage at the way she isn't panicked at the thought of marrying me, but of wearing Spanx and a push-up bra.
Maybe I'm reading into it, but she can't hate me that much if the worst thing she can think of is the Spanx and the bra, not being tied to me, right? Right.
Maybe I stand a chance, after all.
"Fine. We'll skip our reservations to spare you from the Spanx, which you absolutely don't need, by the way. You're fucking gorgeous."
She actually blushes, her gaze darting from mine. "Thanks," she whispers.
"I mean it, Lilah. You're stunning."
Her gaze drifts back to mine, her eyes wide. "You aren't bad yourself."
I grin, pretty sure a begrudging compliment from her is tantamount to a ringing endorsement from anyone else. "Where do you want to go instead?"
She thinks about it for a moment and then grins at me. "Have you ever been to Moe's?"
"No, I can't say that I have."
"Good. We'll go there. Take a left up ahead."
I follow her instructions, navigating through Santa Maria until we pull into the parking lot of an old diner that looks like it was plucked out of the 1950s and plopped right in the middle of town. I can practically smell the grease from here.
"It's the best diner in the state. You're going to hate it," she says cheerfully, as if the thought pleases her.
I could tell her that I grew up dirt poor, surviving on boxed dinners and cereal, and that this isn't the first time I've eaten at a place like this, but I don't. I let her revel in the thought of tormenting me a little as I hop out, circling around to help her out.
"Welcome to Moe's!" three different waitresses shout as soon as we step over the threshold.
The smell of grease is even stronger here, like it's cooked into every surface.
Half the diners in the restaurant turn to look at us as if they're wondering what the fuck we're doing dressed up in a place like this, but they just shrug and go back to their food and conversation like they don't care.
Lilah practically drags me across the checkered floor to a booth in the corner.
The red leather benches are new, the backs high enough to shut out the rest of the diners.
The tabletop is covered in old newspaper clippings, protected by a thick sheet of plastic fused to the wood beneath.
The old jukebox in the corner still works, judging by the 1980s music belting from the built-in speakers.
"You come here often?" I ask, sliding into the booth across from Lilah, genuinely curious.
I want to know everything about her. Most women with parents as rich as hers wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this.
They don't run around in T-shirts and ripped jeans.
If they own a business, they'd never dream of sitting on the floor to stock shelves themselves.
They're spoiled, pampered little princesses who live in designer brands and expect the whole world to revolve around them.
I think Lilah would prefer if the world didn't even know she existed.
"Yep," she says, grinning at me. "Jazz and I are here every Sunday for lunch. Their burgers are the best cure for a hangover."
I arch a brow. "You're hungover every Sunday?"
"Most of them." She laughs softly. "Stocking and inventory are a lot more fun when copious amounts of wine are involved. We usually finish a bottle or three while we work, wake up regretting it, swear we're going to change our ways, and then do it all over again the next week."
"You two are close?"
Her expression softens as she nods. "We've been friends since we were in third grade." She flashes me an impish grin. "We got sent to the principal's office together for beating up a boy who tried to put a frog down my shirt."
For some reason, the fact that she was always a little savage who doesn't take any shit doesn't surprise me at all. I think she was probably born kicking ass and taking names.
"She moved halfway across the country to chase this dream with me," she continues. "We're as close as I am to Lucy."
"Lucy is your sister, right?"
"Yeah." She cocks her head to the side. "She knows you. Well, she knows your company, anyway. She said that you guys buy a lot of their wine for the holidays."
"Annual Christmas party." I grin at her, leaning back in the booth. "You talked to your sister about me."
"What? No." Her face falls into a scowl.
"You did."
"Whatever. It was only because you're a demon after my building, not because you kissed me."
"Uh-huh." I chuckle, my eyes locked on her face as her cheeks turn pink, giving away the lie. She absolutely talked to her sister about that kiss, which means she didn't hate it.
"Stop talking," she grumbles, making me laugh.
I reach across the table, snagging her hand.
"For the record, best goddamn kiss of my life.
" And then, because I don't want her getting the wrong idea and thinking I'm just kissing women all wily-nily, I add, "Just so we're clear, it's also the first one in a long time.
You're the only thing I've wanted in longer than I can remember. "
She rolls her eyes at me, but she can't hide the way her expression softens. "I guess it is true what they say."
"What's that?"
"The devil rarely roars. He smiles instead."
"You really think I'm the devil, huh?"
She shrugs one shoulder, opening her mouth like she's going to say something, only to stop when a waitress pops up at the table, smiling.
Lilah looks startled by her appearance and then worried. She immediately slouches in her seat, pulling her hand from mine like we just got busted fucking on top of the table.
"Hey, Lilah, honey." The waitress—a pretty woman not much older than me, with dark red hair and green eyes—places two menus down in front of us, her gaze flickering across me.
"Hey, Aunt Audrey. What are you doing here?"
Aunt Audrey?
"One of the girls called out sick, so I popped in to help cover for her for a few hours. I didn't expect to see you here before Sunday."
"Change of plans," Lilah murmurs.
"I see that." Her aunt grins at her and then holds a hand out to me. "I'm Audrey Goodson."
Well, shit. No wonder Lilah looks like she wants the floor to swallow her. Audrey is married to Eli Goodson, Oliver's father's twin brother. I'm guessing Lucy will know within hours that we were here. Lilah is probably having waking nightmares about Spanx and push-up bras right now.
"Lincoln Hanover. It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Goodson," I say smoothly, shaking her hand.