Authors: H.J. Bellus
“Good to know,” he answers. “So, these questions I have to ask. They are the deal breaker type.”
Groaning, I lay my head down on the table and steady my feet.
“Question number one, bacon or sausage?”
Lifting my head, I ask, “Are you serious?”
“Yep, have to know.”
“I may survive this,” I laugh. “Sausage. Only links, though.”
“Interesting. Now question number two. What’s your favorite professional football team?”
With a deer in the headlights look, I frantically wrack my brain to come up with a team name. I don’t even come close to finding one as the seconds tick by.
Turning the tables, I say, “You tell me.”
“Denver.”
“Duh, it’s always been Denver. Diehard fan here.”
Lincoln chuckles and feeds me a bite of a doughnut, and holy shit, it’s heaven in dough. A raspberry cream cheese filled doughnut with a light chocolate icing.
“Good girl. Okay, last question. Have you ever shit yourself in a public place?”
“What?” I squeal.
He raises an eyebrow. “Well, have you?”
“No, well, possibly in kindergarten, but that’s it,” I answer.
“I think we’ll work out just fine then.”
“Those were your questions?”
“Yep, it’s all I need to know about you.”
“Really?”
“For reals. Now eat a doughnut and relax.”
“Tell me about football,” I say.
“What do you want to know?” Lincoln asks around a mouthful of doughnut.
“Everything.”
Lincoln straddles the bench, drags me closer, and begins to ramble on about football. I catch the words defense, ball, interceptions, and safety. I listen, trying to soak up the meaning and purpose of the words and their correlation to football. For sure, I’ll be Googling some of the terms tomorrow at the coffee shop. There’s happiness in Lincoln’s voice when he talks about football.
Finally, when he takes a breath, I say, “You really love football.”
“Yeah, it’s my life. I’ll never be as good as my dad or brother, but I love the game. Live for it. It’s all I have.”
“Why do you feel that way about your dad and brother?”
“You see, they are quarterbacks. They lead their teams. My dad holds several records in that position, and my brother is right on the heels of breaking them. Dad’s pride for Levi is off the charts. He fucking loves Levi. Neither of my parents miss a game of his, only sport his team colors. Hell, they are already down in Dallas to watch over him at training camp.”
“Have you talked to your dad about it?” I lean in closer and let Lincoln wrap me up into him.
“I’ve tried, and his only response is that newscasters don’t even know he has another son.”
“And your mom?”
“She follows my dad’s leads. She’s only worried about looks and labels. If I’m being honest, that’s why I only wear gym clothes everywhere, to piss her off.”
“I can see why you rebelled in high school, that’s for sure.” I finish my coffee and study his face.
“Yeah, that’s just the surface of the shit too.”
“So, I do know there’s offense and defense, but explain to me exactly what that is.”
“You crack me up, girl,” he says, placing a kiss on the top of my head, “Well, Levi is a quarterback, he throws the ball and is on offense. Offense scores the points. I’m on defense. We try and stop the other team’s offense from scoring points.”
“Score, I was right. That’s exactly what I thought it was.”
He chuckles. “You’re full of shit too.”
“What?” I feign innocence and sit up. “Test me, then.”
“Okay, what part of the field do I play?”
“Defense.”
“More specific.”
“You’re the right safety and love catching interceptions. You said the offense scores, but I’d like to correct you. The defense can score, too, when they have a kickass safety named Lincoln.”
“And?” He makes a gesture with his hand, encouraging me to continue.
“And what?”
“And what other position can catch interceptions?”
“That’s all I gathered. Hell, I was proud of what I did put together from you explaining it.”
“I’m not gonna lie, Oakley. I’m impressed you’re a Denver fan, love sausage links, and have never shit your pants other than kindergarten. I may have just fallen in love with you.”
The word hits me like a Mack truck flying down the interstate. My feet scramble to the ground and are ready to run in a split second. Lincoln sees the fear and my feet poised to flee. He wraps me up in his arms. “No, Oakley, no. I’m sorry. I won’t push it. Please don’t run.”
I’m rigid with panic in his embrace. “I can’t be loved. You can’t love me. I’m trying here, but…”
“Pizza,” Lincoln interrupts. “I want pizza.”
“Pizza,” I repeat, momentarily confused.
“There’s a little joint down the road that stays open late. Let’s go,” he says, lightly stroking my back.
“Pizza,” I repeat, trying to calm myself down.
“We can take my truck,” he suggests.
I can do pizza. Pizza isn’t scary. “Okay, let me grab my wallet.”
“Absolutely not. I suggested it and will be treating you to it.”
“Okay, let me lock up my room.”
Walking into my room, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I was thinking about running into the bathroom, locking it, and not reappearing until his truck pulls away. Why did he have to mention love? The night was perfect until then. Granted, the way he put it was totally joking, but he still knocked all the air out of my gut.
Take a leap, girl. He seems like a great guy and totally just gave you your first kiss. You can handle pizza.
Lincoln is waiting in his truck when I walk out, and his face lights up when he sees me. I can tell he’s thinking the same exact thing I was.
“You thought I was going to run, didn’t you?” I ask, opening the passenger door.
“I did.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“You did not. Thank you, Oakley.”
Lincoln pulls out on the main road. This truck is nothing less than amazing. Leather seats, black interior trimmed with chrome, and beefy tires make it simply stunning, and in an odd way a perfect fit for Lincoln’s looks.
“I have to tell you something. I’m going to say it now because you can’t run from me when you’re in a moving vehicle.”
“Lincoln, don’t,” I warn.
“You’re beautiful, Oakley, and every time I see you I’m going to tell you that. You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”
He hit the nail right on the head; it’s a damn good thing I’m in a moving vehicle or I’d be running. I’ve never been complimented on my looks; if anything, I was always put down and criticized for how plain I am. My scars always made me stand out, but for all the wrong reasons.
“I like your truck,” I reply, avoiding the issue.
“Thanks,” he says, grinning, knowing he won this little battle, “It’s a hand-me-down, but the day Levi drove it home when he was in college, I fell in love with her. My mom had a hissy fit that I wanted to drive my brother’s old truck.”
“Why would she freak out?”
“Because in the Wilks family we have to keep up with everybody and do it a notch better. Driving a used truck is just a heinous act.”
We both laugh at his words, and in the back of my mind I mentally pray I never have to meet his family. If his mother thinks driving a used truck is a crime, she’d surely have me hung in the streets for the life I’ve lived.
“Lincoln Wilks,” I murmur.
“Wouldn’t sound half bad on the end of Oakley,” he says.
“Oh my God, are you trying to kill me off?” I spout.
“Sorry, I had to,” he says, laughing so hard tears fall down his cheeks.
“Very funny, Wilks. Watch your back, soccer boy.”
Playfully, I lean over and punch him in the abs; Lincoln grabs my hand and doesn’t let go. I don’t fight or try to pull back. Lincoln starts rubbing the scars like he always does. Every time he rubs my palm, it slowly erases the pain that has been so attached to it.
“It’s a burn. My momma’s boyfriend did it while she watched with a house full of adults. He used the burner on the stove.”
Lincoln doesn’t respond or let go of my hand; he continues to rub the scar. We finally pull into a small parking lot.
“Pizza?” he asks.
With a proud smile, I reply, “Pizza.”
Lincoln hops out of his truck, and I can’t quite force myself to move from the seat, knowing I’m about to eat with him. Jazzy never even knew the truth behind the story. I told her, along with everyone at school, I burned myself while cooking. I just told him the real story behind the burn.
My door opens, and I see Lincoln standing there with his ball cap on backward and his damn black shorts hanging low on his hips.
“It’s okay, Oakley.”
“No, it’s not,” I say, turning in my seat to face him, “I get upset when you compliment me, and then I tell you the fucked up story behind my scar. Every time you touch it, it erases just a little bit of the pain.”
“Then let me touch you all the time.”
“I can’t be as open as you, Lincoln. I can’t help the cringing internally or externally; it’s my reaction to compliments. I’m nineteen and just had my first kiss tonight. I’ve never had a boyfriend. Hell, I’ve had one friend in my life and lost her. I can’t handle it all.”
“It’s just pizza,” he replies, stepping into my open legs.
“I want pizza with you. I want lots of pizza,” I whisper back.
“Pizza, then?”
“Yes, pizza with you.”
“Do you want to pizza me?” he asks with a huge grin on his face.
“I pizza you,” I say softly, beginning to smile.
Chapter 9
Giving It a Go at 1,014 Miles
“Do I get to come in tonight?”
“You did last night, Lincoln.”
“Actually, I stood right here on the threshold and kissed the hell out of you.”
“Do remind me again?”
Lincoln Wilks takes me by the hand, pulling me into him, and proceeds to kiss the hell out of me. He says it’s his favorite thing to do, and it’s for sure my favorite thing. We’ve followed the same routine for a little over three weeks now. Late night visits, lots of food, conversation, and kissing. I always call it his kissing because he’s still the driving force and always leading the way. Me, I just go with it and try to play follow the leader with my lips and tongue the best I can. He tells me I’m the best he’s ever kissed, but he also tells me on a daily basis I’m beautiful, unforgettable, and have a nice ass. I’m sure he’d tell me whatever I wanted to hear.
“Thursday night,” he mumbles through his lips into mine.
“Fine,” I mumble back.
His cell phone goes off, and we both know it’s his coach. It’s his last reminder call to get his ass back to the dorms.
“Bye,” I whisper.
“Tomorrow is Thursday, and you’re mine. Don’t forget it.”
“Ugh, this might be more torture than working half of a shift with Jenni,” I reply, not entirely joking.
He gives me one last kiss and moves toward the door. “Get your ass in bed.”
“On it. Night, Lincoln Wilks.”
“Night.” The door closes behind him with a click.
Lincoln has been begging me for the last week or so to go out with his friends. I’m barely able to feel comfortable around him, so I’m not thrilled to be thrown in the middle of college life. From some of his wild stories, I find myself cringing and thanking God more than once that I’ve skipped that scene.
Lincoln hasn’t pushed for any more of my past. I’ve found myself enjoying each evening together more and more, because I know they are numbered with August just around the corner. Lincoln will have fulltime college classes, practices, and games. He’ll be scarce and not available to come entertain me every night. He’s hinted about my taking some classes or just following him around campus as his assistant. He comes across as joking, but deep down we both know the football season is going to be hard on us.
He’s already been in a little hot water with his coach for breaking curfew a couple times. He blamed it on my lips. Coach Uni let it slide since Lincoln is on top of his game, but warned him not to push the boundaries.
Tomorrow night there is the annual barbeque pool party to welcome everyone back on campus. It’s held to honor the team, but I guess that’s an unspoken sentiment. I’m not sure of all the details. Lincoln tried explaining the different niches and politics of college athletics. I did try to pay attention, but it was hard when all I could do was sniff him as I sat in his lap in the passenger seat of his truck.
It was our favorite spot. Lincoln would find an old dirt road or abandoned lot, and we would just sit and talk. The first few nights on our own sides of the truck, and then each night it morphed into a little more before I ended up in his lap. Our hands roam each other’s bodies as we talk and laugh about life. Nothing super-heated, but definitely sensual. I know the day will come when things go to the next level. I try to not let myself think about that day, because I’m not sure if I’ll see Lincoln then, or my past scars. Everything inside me prays that when the time comes I’ll only see Lincoln.
Lying in bed with Lincoln on my mind, it’s nights like these I really wish I had a phone. He nearly had a heart attack the night I told him I don’t have a driver’s license or cell phone. I saw the questions all over his face, but he never asked one of them. But on hot, restless nights like these, when he has to be back in his dorm room, I really wish I had a cell phone.
Unable to text or communicate, I resort to the next best thing – my memory. My favorite is the night we went for pizza, but a close second is the night he took me to the stadium where he plays. We sat up in the bleachers, and he talked for hours about the game, his dreams, and hopes of being seen by his father. The man really just wants the approval of his dad. When most of his classmates are looking toward the pros and being spotted by scouts, he only wants the approval of his own father. Lincoln packed us a picnic, and we ate dinner in the stands.