That Girl Page 8

  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 curf
ew 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.

  I’ll never forget his words that night. “These chairs we’re sitting in are my parents’. They’re season ticket holders, but never come to a game. I’m going to write your name on this one, and then when you come to my game in August, you’ll know which seat is yours.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him there was no way I’d make it to a game for various reasons. Transportation being number one, and panic attacks number two, and the list could go on for days. He sensed my feet steadying themselves, and whispered, “It’s just pizza.” It’s become our code meaning everything will work out.

  Sitting in that stadium with Lincoln is the closest I’ve ever felt to being a normal person. There weren’t any fears, scars, or memories haunting my every thought or action as I let Lincoln kiss me that night. I never doubted him when he told me I was even more beautiful in the stadium lighting. I soaked up every word he spoke to me, and even learned a shit-ton about the game. I think I fell as much in love with the stadium as Lincoln is, and a piece of my heart fell for him under the bright lights.

  “I love you, Lincoln Wilks,” I breathe into my pillow, wondering if I’ll ever be brave enough to speak those words to his face.

  Then I send a silent prayer hoping to find the courage one day.

  ***

  Only three more hours here, then a thirty-minute wait for Lincoln to pick me up. I’ll admit I’m not thrilled about where we’re going, but damn fucking jacked to be with him. The day can’t possibly move any slower, and I’ve been realizing this fact as August draws nearer. The days, afternoons, and evenings drag ass, but when the night hits, time flies by.

  “Hey, girl, hey,” Jenni sings.

  She’s been visiting me more and more in the coffee shop. Her chatter is helpful in easing the pain of time. She quickly picked up on my attitude and the very hot customer who’d drop by every once in a while. Yes, it just so happened every time she was there, and I do mean every time, Lincoln showed up.

  It took about three visits before I figured out he hated coffee, which made it very obvious why he was stopping by.

  “Hi, Jenni.”

  She caught me doodling in my notebook since business was dead and all my cleaning was finished.

  She angles her head, trying to see what I’m doing. “What are you drawing?”

  “Just doodles.” Holding up the notepad I show her the sketch I’ve been working on.

  “That looks like the stadium.”

  “Ha. It is. Just messing around.”

  “It’s very good.”

  “Thanks. What are you up to?”

  “Just chillaxing before the big party tonight. I got invited by some old friends.”

  Do I tell her I’m going to the same party and hopefully avoid her inevitable freak out when she sees me there? Trying to sound casual, I go for it. “Lincoln is taking me there too.”

  “Are you shitting me? Holy shit! You have to be shitting me right now. You’re going to the ‘Back to School Bash’ with a football player. Hold the phone, bitches, not just any football player, but the Lincoln Wilks.”

  “Yeah, he’s been begging, and I finally gave in.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she screeches. “I mean my God, you don’t pass up opportunities like this. I don’t care if you were a blind mute, you’d still jump on shit like this.”

  “Is shit the word of the day, and I missed the public service announcement?”

  “I’m still in shock. Here I’m freaking out over not having shit to wear, and you’re going with Lincoln. I suck shit. End of story.”

  And this is what I’ve grown to love about Jenni. You can point something out straight to her face, and she’ll still go on doing what she wants. Clearly, today it’s the overuse of the word shit.

  “What am I going to wear?” I wonder out loud.

  She gives me an assessing once-over. “Well, what do you want to portray? You have several options. The slut who won Lincoln, the nice girl who won Lincoln, or just the girl with Lincoln.”

  “Definitely the last choice. Nothing too obvious. I want to blend in and just hang on his arm and get the fuck out of there.”

  “Well, I agree with most of that. I’d want to get out of there, too, and have that man candy in my bed, but I’d be shining with glitter, and you could bet your sweet ass on that.”

  “What do most girls wear to this thing?”

  “Well, I didn’t go last year, but I did my freshman year when I was still at CSU, and most girls were just in short shorts and tiny tanks.”

  “Okay, I got this.”

  “I need to go tan, wax, and get my groove on. Hope to see you tonight.” She bounced toward the door.

  “Bye, Jenni.”

  She has way too much time on her hands. I’m still blown away by all the different things she does to her body. I really thought those things were just made up in the movies. I had no idea grown women actually paid other grown women to rip out their pubic hairs. I’m still not sure I believe it.

  A knocking sound pulls me from my gory thoughts. It’s Jenni at the drive-thru window.

  “You’ll need a swimming suit. Don’t forget that.”

  “Okay,” I reply.

  Mentally noting to forget a swimming suit because I won’t be wearing one, I check the clock again to see how many hours are left before I can go home and figure out what to wear.

  ***

  My tiny closet is emptied, and my dresser is bare. Everything I own is on the floor, and I’m no closer to being ready than I was ten minutes ago. I came straight home from work, showered, styled my hair, and threw on an over-sized shirt while digging for an outfit.

  The last trip to the grocery store, I bought some mascara and eyeliner. It’s as much makeup as I’ve ever worn. I must say eyeliner is magic; it really makes my brown eyes pop. I’ve always been blessed with long, thick lashes, so it’s fun applying mascara. But I’m sure if you took a before and after photo you wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference.

  I hear Lincoln’s truck pull into his parkin
g spot and then a knock, and I’m bounding over the two small piles of clothes to get to the door. When I do open it, I melt a little. Lincoln is dressed up. I’ve never seen him in anything more than his gym shorts and tank. Tonight he’s wearing a button up short sleeve shirt with tan cargo shorts. He’s fucking hot, and I’m about to show him exactly how hot I think he is.

  I leap up into his arms and kiss him first this time. He’s always the one leading it and bending down to get a kiss. My lips hit his, and I feel him smile. I begin the kiss the same way he always does, slow and steady, then I pick up my pace.

  His phone goes off in his pocket, and I pull away.

  “Damn, I taught you well, grasshopper.” He doesn’t reach for the phone.

  “I’ve had some good practice.”

  “Are you wearing this?” he asks, looking down between us.

  Both his arms are under my ass holding me up to his chest. I didn’t even realize I literally jumped up into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist. The stress of tonight is overwhelming, and when I saw his face, I found my comfort zone. My home sweet home. Remembering his question and looking down, I’m in a white tank top, with no bra, and my boy short panties.

  “Do you think it’s acceptable?”

  “I’d fucking sign you up to be in a parade in this outfit.”

  Sliding down Lincoln’s body, I grab his hand and lead him into the apartment. He hasn’t officially been in here, which is ridiculous because he’s stood at the doorway numerous times. I’ve always felt ashamed of the tiny room I rent. As the weeks have gone by, I’ve been able to add some decorations here and there, and I’m finally at a point where I’m really proud of it. I always keep it tidy just in case the courage strikes to invite him all the way in.

  Tonight when I saw his face, I knew it was time.

  Walking away from him and back to my pile of clothes, he slaps me on the ass. “Just wear anything. You know what I’ll say.”

  “Lincoln, this is really stressing me out. Jenni came by work today and made this huge deal about me being with you at this particular party. She gave me options like I could look slutty, classy, or just normal. You know me, I went for normal in the moment, but the more I think about it, the more fucking crazy I’m going. I’m sure the other years you’ve gone you’ve had a knock-out on your arm, and tonight, well…I just don’t deserve…”