His lips twitched. “I can always buy a pair of ear plugs. They have them at the dollar store down the road. I’ll even buy you a pair, too.”
“Me a pair? Why? I won’t need them for myself.”
“Well, I don’t know if I snore, but it couldn’t hurt.” He shrugged. “I wanna make sure you’re comfortable when you’re sleeping in my bed.”
“You seem mighty confident,” I muttered. He was so damn sure of himself. It was unreasonably attractive. I’d never been pursued like this. The guys I’d dated in the past would’ve run for the hills at the mere mention of a flaw.
“I am,“ he said, pushing off the table. He closed the distance between us, taking my chin between thumb and forefinger. Brown eyes bore into me, scanning my face in a way that felt way too personal, considering we were two passersby. “I’m mighty sure there isn’t a damn thing you could say that’d put me off you.”
And then he kissed me.
It was soft. Gentle. Different from the desperation of earlier. Lincoln didn’t rush, letting us settle into the comfort of the intimate moment as though we’d done this a million times. As hepulled away, he rested his forehead on mine. Neither of us spoke, and I didn’t want to.
“So, about that offer to help…” Lincoln said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “That still on the table?”
“I think I can stick around a little longer,” I said, stepping aside. “Just point me in the right direction.”
This time, when we separated, it wasn’t taut with awkward tension. We settled into an easy silence, listening to the croon of the jukebox as we worked. It didn’t take us long to gather the trash and sweep the floors. Though it would’ve been considerably shorter had he not grabbed the broom from me and sang along to Brooks and Dunn. It was off-key and, frankly, terrible, but I was wiping tears from my eyes as he sang the last lyrics to Neon Moon.
The scent of lemon cleaning solution filled the space, following us into the crisp morning air. I waited patiently as Lincoln locked up, setting a large black garbage bag on the ground between us.
I didn’t know what would happen next. Would we exchange numbers like he’d suggested before he knew my name? Or would he want to keep whatever we shared limited to this moment right here?
Lincoln turned to face me, the grey light of dawn casting shadows from under his baseball cap. “So…” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Your place or mine?”
josie
. . .
“Where’re we going now?”I asked, sliding into the passenger seat of Lincoln’s old truck. A thin stream of coffee-flavored ice cream ran over my fingers, and I ran my tongue along my skin. “Shit, sorry. I’m making a mess.”
“Nowhere if you keep doing that,” Lincoln groaned, following suit. He ran his hands through his hair. “Seriously, woman. Why’re you apologizing? You’re killing me here.” He pointed to where his jeans were tightening.
An apology was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it down. “Sounds like a you problem. Not my fault it’s so easy to get you riled up,” I quipped, wiping away the sticky remnants. “Seriously, you might want to get that checked out. It’s slightly alarming.”
“Wasn’t an issue until I met you, darlin’. Problem solved. You should prescribe me something,” he said, waggling his eyebrows and turning the ignition.
I couldn’t stop my smile as he rolled down the windows and cranked up the music. He put on an old playlist and let the Commodores fill the silence. It’d been years since I’d driven downMain Street in Pinecrest, but it was just as picturesque as I remembered. Nearly every shop was locally owned, except the Dairy Queen on the edge of town.
Our family came to spend a few weeks during school breaks when I was little. Between Dad’s training schedule and the packed calendars of three teenage girls, our vacations were few and far between. It was a nice change of pace to come back and experience it with someone who knew the best spots in town.
From the moment Lincoln and I left Frank’s bar, we’d been glued at the hip. We counted the passing hours with languid kisses and mind-blowing orgasms. When we’d gotten back to his house, I sent a single text to my sister telling her not to worry about me—I was okay and would be home in a week or two—before turning my phone off.
And I’d never felt freer.
I’d checked on my cabin this morning while Lincoln ran inventory at the bar. Apparently, his boss had called and told him to get his ass back to work before he got fired. It was almost enough to make me feel bad about monopolizing his time. When I tried to apologize, he’d placed his hand over my mouth and forced me to ride his fingers until I saw stars.
Needless to say, I wasn’t really sorry after that.
My cabin still sat empty, untouched by the world. It’d been freshly cleaned, smelling of Windex and fabric softener. My sister, Cleo, had likely called ahead to the cleaning service when I tore out of Texas. My dad had friends in the area from his rodeo days, and they came every few months to ensure everything was in working order.
Sitting in the drive, I considered staying here like I was supposed to. This whole trip was supposed to be my opportunity to get my head right. It didn’t look like it was going to happen, though. Nothing was appealing about staying in that cold housealone when I could drive a few miles down the mountain and be back in Lincoln’s arms.
That's precisely how I ended up sitting shotgun in his truck, licking up melting ice cream while he laughed at the mess I was making.
Lincoln was so easygoing. Nothing seemed to ruffle his feathers or get under his skin. It was one of the things I found so attractive about him. Most of the guys I’d dated had a short fuse and an even shorter attention span. I was no stranger to being chastised, especially regarding my inability to make quick decisions.
Lincoln hadn’t batted an eye when I’d taken fifteen minutes to decide on an ice cream flavor. When anxiety had begun prickling my skin, I’d tried to cancel my order. I’d much rather walk out empty-handed than cause a scene. But he hadn’t let me. He stepped to my side and touched my back to steady my nerves without me saying a word.
