Chapter Fifteen #2
It’s not that there aren’t any decent-looking guys in attendance. No, I’ve talked to a few who actually have potential—CEOs, pilots, construction directors — all great conversationalists, above average height, and physically fit- ish . Thankfully, no AI Lincs or undercover casting directors.
That I know of.
Honestly, Idris Elba, Aaron Pierre, and Morris Chestnut could be begging me for a date and dessert, and I wouldn’t even blink right now. Unloading on Julian left me feeling lighter, bolder. But all I want to do is leave, find Linc, and let go.
“Ebony?”
I turn to see Nelly—or rather, Cornelius, Julian and Donovan’s youngest brother—standing behind me.
Compared to Julian’s razor-sharp confidence, Nelly’s got this laidback energy with an easy grin and relaxed posture, like he’s always a few steps ahead of the crowd without trying.
His towering height and playboy aesthetic don’t hurt either. Still, my stomach drops.
Panic shoots through me, and I wonder if he’s seen today’s Divorcétante Chronicles , or if he’s just living under a gold-plated rock.
“Hi,” I say sheepishly, my focus darting past him to a man in the distance, phone aimed in our direction… Is that the PI again? Who is he following?
I quickly scan the crowd, hoping to spot a familiar face from Whisk & Whistle, but really, it could be anyone.
Nelly clears his throat. “Listen, Ebony, I just want you to know I don’t agree with how my brother treated you.”
Wait, what?
His words hit me like a gust of wind, stealing my breath.
“You don’t?” My voice trembles in surprise, and I must look at him like he’s sprouted a second forehead, because he barks out a deep, guttural laugh that’s strangely comforting.
“No, I don’t. I still think of you like a sister, E-boogie.
” He nudges me with his elbow, taking in my appearance, from the strappy silver heels to the bold red lips, lingering on my short hair.
“I like the new look. It suits you.” His smile softens, then fades into something more wistful.
“I’ve been listening to your videos, and, uh, knowing Jules didn’t value you like he should have…
” He shakes his head. “If he wasn’t my brother, I would’ve kicked his ass. ”
We both laugh, and I love him even more for saying that.
The fact that I can be angry with his brother and still care so deeply for him is a reminder that, even while I’m reinventing myself, I don’t want to lose my core values. I never want to hide behind a hard shell, distancing myself from the people who make me feel like the best version of me.
“Thank you for saying that, Nelly Belly.”
He pulls me into a smothering big-little-brother hug, assuring me he’ll always be there for me.
“Nelly?”
We both glance just off his shoulder toward a stunning Black woman with rich, radiant dark skin in a flowing gown. Her seductive eyes, framed by thick lashes, are locked on him, and we both know I should probably leave because I’m—
“Yeah, you’re cock-blocking, E,” Nelly whispers out the side of his mouth.
Exactly.
“Oh, well, it was so good seeing you. Take care.” I wave awkwardly at the woman, then hurry out of the private area toward the restroom.
Except, when I step back out, makeup refreshed and ready to jump into the mix before the event wraps up, I can’t make myself move past the bar.
My feet root to the ground as I spot Lincoln Bridges sitting on a center stool, legs stretched out, work boots planted on the floor, and sleeves rolled up, showing off his tattooed forearms.
Dear, sweet Jesus.
A beguiling smile curves his full lips as he watches me.
Immediately, I can’t tell if I should be glad or mad at myself for choosing this dress, because I’m going into withdrawals.
Even thinking of his mouth on me feels like a gateway drug, and I’m heading down a dangerous, addictive path.
Every time I see him, all I can think of is how I want more—harder, faster—hits of him.
“Any luck?” he asks, casually, across the bar.
“What?” At first, I have no idea what he’s talking about until he tips his head toward the private room. “Oh, no.” I chuckle, finally regaining feeling in my feet long enough to walk slowly over to him and settle on the stool by his side. “Were you in there, too?”
Linc softly shakes his head, letting his gaze drift, agonizingly slow, over my exposed thigh peeking through the slit.
“You look stunning,” he says, his words landing like a match striking low and tight in my belly.
“Thank you.” I avert my gaze, focusing on the fresh glass of honey-amber liquid in front of him. “Early nightcap before your road trip tomorrow?”
“Ah, no. Just buying myself some time before I head over for dinner with my mom and dad.”
I smile. “Oh, wow. You all still do weekly dinners?”
“Mm-hmm,” he replies, grinning.
But then our eyes meet, and I’m not sure if he’s testing my memory, recalling all the times he cut our tutoring sessions short to make it to family dinner night.
We both say, almost at the same time, “The best flowers come from the roots you nurture.”
In a glimmer of a moment, I forget all about the understated luxury of my dress and my Chanel clutch.
We laugh, obnoxiously loud and unhinged.
It feels so damn good.
How many times did he repeat Grandma Bridges’s motto to me? How many times did we say those words, mimicking the warm, gravelly croak of her voice? We always recognized the wisdom behind her words, but Lord , when we were younger, she said it every. Single. Time.
We’d roll our eyes, like, we get it.
But now, I guess we finally do get it. The importance of investing in the people and values you care about in order to flourish. We do need to tend to our foundational relationships. More than ever, I see that now.
Linc smiles at me, and in the mix of nostalgia and the loose threads between us, I sense that he gets it too.
“I’m glad I ran into you,” I say.
“Yeah?” He lifts his chin, the cords of his neck growing taut as he deepens his stare. Then the edge of his lip curls, and something hits me.
“Wait, did you know I was going to be here tonight?” I narrow my eyes, studying his expression. Nope, I never said where I was going on my live. “You checked my calendar, didn’t you?”
He laughs, a guilty laugh. “What?”
“And here I was thinking, wow, he’s so sweet. It must be the stars aligning that he’s here tonight, looking like a snack. And lo and behold—”
Linc tugs me between his legs, still laughing. “Wait, so you think I look like a snack?”
He’s all mesmerizing gray eyes and lopsided smile, the scruff of his dark beard lightly dusted with gray.
I squirm, trying to pull away, but in the middle of messing around with this man, I somehow forgot this dress is backless, requiring certain undergarment, um…
choices . His massive hands are flat against the small of my back, his long fingers inching lower.
But the way his grip is firm, possessive, just the way I like…
“Correct me if I’m wrong.” Linc tilts his head, amusement dancing in his sparkly gaze. “Didn’t you say you wanted a man who’ll show up? I think the exact words were ‘meet me halfway.’” He pauses. “‘Keep the romance alive.’”
I don’t know whether to be flattered that he watches The Divorcétante Chronicles or semi-annoyed that he’s using my own words against me.
“And this was how you translated that, huh?” I nod a good dozen times, utterly tickled—and completely turned on.
He shrugs, adorably. “What’s more romantic than walking a woman to her car to make sure she gets home safely?”
I’m parked in valet, but I don’t have it in me to steal his thunder.
Then I glance at the fresh drink, the half-melted ice bobbing at the surface, the glass sweating with condensation.
He hasn’t touched it.
Lincoln Bridges may wear rough work boots and roll his sleeves up the second there’s work to do, but he’s not the kind of man who drinks and drives. A chasm opens in my chest. He’s been sitting here, patiently waiting for my event to end, just to make sure I’m safe.
And that is… incredibly sexy.
“Yes,” I say softly, needing to see him when I say the rest. I need to read the invitation in his whisper-gray eyes, that silent plea telling me to choose him, to forget about the other dates and whomever I met at the mixer.
“Remember when you asked if I’d been fantasizing about you?
My answer is yes, and I want you, Lincoln Bridges. ”
And just like that, he stands and searches my eyes, looking sheepish. “Are you ready?”
It feels like a loaded question. Ready for him to walk me to the valet?
To kiss me silly? To swipe away every drink on this bar and take me right here?
I don’t know. Do I want none of that or all of the above?
My answer is still a resounding yes to anything he has in mind, because I’ve decided.
Right now, with him breathless and still searching for adequate words, I’m ready to try again with Lincoln Bridges.
I have to squeeze my thighs together just to get the word out.
“Yes.”