Chapter 8
No Choice at 1,014 Miles
Staring at the television on the dresser willing it to turn on for the last thirty minutes hasn’t resulted in anything. There was an old television in the room when I rented it and the same black cables coming from the wall, but no workee this time. I even checked and double-checked the power cord, and still nothing. Tonight I’m choosing to will the bastard to work with my mind. Last resort kind of deal.
I’m realizing only working four nights a week at Boone’s is not enough, because I’m absolutely going stir-crazy. I could walk to the grocery store, but one can only own so much cereal.
I’ve kept Lincoln off my mind all day while working, but now he’s on the forefront of it. His smell, smile, and kind words are all filling my head and making me want to scream. I should’ve stayed last night and not run. I do believe that wholeheartedly but just can’t make the conscious effort to take the leap. I do, I do want Lincoln in my life, but I fucked up.
Tears begin to roll down my cheeks, blurring my eyes and dulling the pain I just realized I brought all on myself. Finally, sleep takes over.
“Oakley,” someone shouts.
There’s pounding on the door and another, “Oakley.”
Then more knocks. Sitting up, with the foggy haze clearing slowly, I glance over at my alarm clock and realize I was out for over two hours.
“Oakley, you home?”
Finally, I realize where the noise is coming from. My door, not my dreams. Stumbling up, I go for the door. My body reacts so fast I don’t have to time get spooked or wonder who in the hell is there.
Opening the door, I stare at Lincoln standing there in his typical ball cap, tank top, and gym shorts, holding a coffee and a bag of pastries.
“You said it was coffee and doughnut night, right?” he asks, almost shyly.
“What? How… How did you know where I live?” I ask, slurring my speech from the sleep still lingering in my brain.
“I’ve watched you walk to this motel room every night. I couldn’t step away until I saw you enter your room safely.”
“Okay, so what are you doing here, then?”
“Doughnuts and coffee,” he suggests again.
“Oh yeah, sorry, just woke up. Actually, I was dead asleep.”
“I’m sorry. I can leave,” he says, turning to walk away.
“No,” I yelp and grab his shoulder.
“I’m sorry for leaving you. I’ve never done this. I think about you and want to get to know you, but I can’t talk about my past. Ever.” I silently urge him to accept this boundary, that what I can offer will somehow be enough.
“Doughnuts and coffee. That’s all we have to do tonight. Small steps. I won’t ask any more about you. You share when you feel like it, okay?”
I feel my tension decrease slightly. “I’d like that a lot.”
“Just a couple things I have to know, though.”
“Lincoln, I can’t.” So much for my decreasing tension.
“Just hear me out.”
I sigh. “Fine.”
I point to the broken-down picnic table outside of my room. It might actually be more comfortable in the room, temperature-wise, than outside, but I’m not ready for that.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
“This,” I gesture with my hands.
“Why? It’s perfect.”
“Far from it.”
“It’s perfect because you’re here.” He smiles, and my heart stutters.
Not waiting for my reaction, Lincoln leans in and kisses me on the lips. It’s quick, sweet, and simple, but a feeling worth remembering for the rest of my days. The kiss is over before I can blink. My lips buzz with all sorts of sensations.
“I have a feeling you’re pretty damn bullheaded, so instead of giving you the chance to argue with me, I just proved a point.”
“That was my first,” I whisper.
My hands cover my lips, trying to seal him to them forever. I look up at Lincoln’s face and see desire and pride covering it. I’m assuming the pride is from knowing he was my first kiss.
“Well, then, by all means,” he says.
Before the last word leaves his mouth, his lips are covering mine, and this time it’s not as sweet as the first, but just as tasty. Lincoln grabs the back of my head, pulling me closer to him. I realize after several seconds that I’m simply sitting here enjoying the kiss of the century and not kissing him back. The thing is, I have no clue what to do, so I memorize every movement his lips make and mimic them back to him. Instinctively, my tongue runs the length of his lips, and this must be the right move, because it causes him to growl.
Lincoln’s hands move from the back of my head, lower down my back, and I find myself melting into every single piece of him. My body wants him something fierce. A loud siren startles me and shatters the sweet moment. The sound causes me to jump up just enough to break the kiss and tag Lincoln in the nose with my teeth.
Covering my mouth, I immediately apologize. “I’m so sorry.”
He grabs his nose and shrugs it off. “Coffee and doughnuts?”
“Coffee and doughnuts,” I finally agree.
“Damn, I’ve never had to do so much convincing to get a girl to eat a doughnut with me.”
I shake my head.
“So, these are not from the bakery or coffee shop you work at because it was closed. Hope they’ll do.”
“You could’ve come without them, and I’d have been fine with that,” I say, blushing hard with every single word.
There it was. I laid it out there. No choice when it came to Lincoln. I leapt.
“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.