"That thing where you look like you want to fight someone." He smirks.
"I don't want to fight anyone," I tell him.
"Could've fooled me."
I take another swing, and this one lands closer to the center, not perfect, but better.
Lincoln studies me for a second, then shrugs. "It’s not got to do with that girl you took home?”
I give him a look.
“Are you upset about her? Did she not suck your dick or something?”
“Fuck you,” I warn him.
This makes him laugh. “You're on holiday, forget about her and live a little."
I roll my eyes again. "I live."
Lincoln glares at me. "You taking home that girl last night was the most fun I've seen you have in a long time."
I flip him off. "Where are we going again?" I ask. Changing the subject.
"Monaco. I've got a mate with a yacht. Figured we'd spend a few days there. Hit up some clubs. Enjoy the sun. Meet some beautiful women."
"Sounds good." I try to muster some enthusiasm.
"You sure you're up for it? Because if you're going to be moody the whole time ...." He raises a brow at me.
"I'm not moody," I argue. I am moody.
He laughs. "Right. And I'm not the best-looking footballer in the Premier League."
"You're definitely not."
"Fuck off."
I almost smile. Almost.
Lincoln lines up another shot. "So. The girl from last night?"
I ignore him.
“You’re not going to talk about her?”
“No.” This earns me some grumbles. "What about you? Did you meet anyone last night?"
He chuckles. "Did I meet anyone? Didn't you see me flirting with Polly? She was friends with the girl you hooked up with."
This has my attention. "Did you get her number?" I ask him.
"Who?"
"Penny? Polly? Whatever her name was."
"No."
Fuck. "No?"
