Chloe gives her a weak smile. “So fun.”
Right then, Lincoln clears his throat.
“Oh great…” Oliver mumbles when he notices his big brother approaching.
Lincoln elbows his way past Oliver, and stretches a hand out to Marley. “Hi, I’m Lincoln.”
“The oldest brother, right?” she asks, her eyes squinting as if she’s doing some sort of mental calculation. “You’re a sports agent and you have a son and a law degree you’ve never used.”
Right then, a middle-aged African-American man emerges from the back of the bar with a clipboard in hand. Chloe frantically waves him down.
“Dad, do you mind covering for me? I need to take my break.” She doesn’t even wait for Mr. Chapman’s response. She just rips off her apron and dashes off.
Ouch. She looks hurt. Bad.
Oliver’s longing stare trails after Chloe as she goes.
“My little brother’s told you about me?” Lincoln asks Marley, sounding surprised and amused.
“Okay, fine. He didn't.” She waves off the suggestion. “I had to research your family on the internet. Oliver wouldn’t tell me a damn thing. Thank goodness you have a pro hockey player for a brother. Once I found Easton, learning about the rest of the family was pretty easy.”
Lincoln looks taken aback by Marley’s admission.
Oliver looks downright pissed.
Marley cluelessly continues blabbing, divulging all the dirt she dug up while researching the Raines family. She seems mighty proud of her detective skills.
Oliver is not impressed. He turns to her and barks. “You. Outside. Now.” He stomps toward the exit.
“What’d I do?” she asks cluelessly as she skitters after him. “I thought I was doing good.”
Even after they’re gone, Chloe’s betrayed expression replays in my head. She and Oliver are friends. That’s their official story.
But clearly, she has feelings for him. I’m willing to bet that, all these years, she’s been secretly wishing for something more between them. Now, Oliver’s here with another woman, and Chloe’s just crushed.
I can’t make that same mistake.
Lincoln and I are walking a fine line. We have to make our relationship seem convincing. But at the end of the day, we have a contract with terms we shouldn’t veer away from. I slip my hand into my purse and let my fingers brush the folded paper of our marriage agreement. I remind myself of clause number two in particular.
Said marriage will not be a real marriage in the traditional sense.No romantic feelings shall be involved.
I can’t let these soft emotions blooming between my ribs take roots. I have to be careful. Because at the end of the day, if I let my heart get broken, Lincoln will have zero obligation to stick around and pick up the pieces.
“Hey. What are you thinking?” he asks me, examining my face.
I set my empty glass on the bartop and force a smile. “Think I’m ready to call it a night.”
He bites his lower lip as his eyes settle on my mouth. “I’ll take you home.”
In the car, we’re quiet. The ride seems to drag out for an eternity as if the miles between the bar and my home have stretched somehow. I just need to get away from him. I need the quiet of my bedroom where I can process my thoughts and re-erect the fortress walls around my heart.
When he finally cuts his engine on my street, Lincoln walks me to my door.
We face each other on my shadowy front porch. My gaze falls to our feet as my body and my mind go to war. In truth, I don’t want this night to be over just yet. I want it to end with his limbs tangled with mine, with the weight of him on top of me, with his voice in my ear as he makes me see stars. I want to wake up in his arms again. But that would be a horrible decision.
After unlocking the front door, I dare to turn around and peek up at his face. I see the same conflict waging in his beautiful blue eyes.
“What are you thinking?” I say to him, all while knowing that it’s a dangerous question to ask.
