Every instinct in Jackson’s body itched to make up an excuse—to say that something had come up, or Mollie had backed out. But Mollie hadn’t said anything about their late-night kiss changing her mind about going on a date with Lincoln, and Jackson was trying to be okay with it. Trying being the operative word.
Lincoln lifted an eyebrow at the expression on Jackson’s face. “You know it’s supposed to be the actual people going on the date that get cold feet, right? Not the one doing the matchmaking?”
“Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?” Jackson asked.
Lincoln smirked, but let the conversation drop. “You know, I’ve gotta say, I think this is the first time I’ve picked up a date from another man’s house. You going to be there? See us off, maybe remind us of her curfew and then list all the ways you’ll dismember me if I don’t get her home in time?”
Jackson laughed as they stepped off the elevator. “Screw you.”
As always, there was a line at Starbucks, but Jackson was surprised to find that the line went faster than usual when there was someone to talk to. Jackson looked on in bemusement as Lincoln chatted up the women in line in front of them and the women behind them, managing to get three different phone numbers without any of the women getting snippy with the others.
“So what’s your story, Mathis?” Jackson asked once they’d gotten their drinks—doppio espresso for Jackson, caramel macchiato with extra caramel for Lincoln.
“My story?”
“You know,” Jackson said, gesturing with his cup to the duo of women Lincoln had just winked at. “The lady-killer routine.”
“You looking for tips, Burke?”
“Hardly,” Jackson said with a snort. “Count me in the women-are-more-trouble-than-they’re-worth category.”
“Ah, the gruff, cynical bachelor cliché. Let me guess—you drink beer and watch sports too? Maybe cook a mean steak?”
Jackson took a sip of his coffee. “Well, let’s see, I’m a former football player from Texas, so…yeah, pretty much.”
“None of which explains the hating-on-women thing.”
Jackson snorted. “I’ve been married. You’ll understand when some minx tricks you into walking down the aisle.”
Lincoln’s hand froze for a split second as he was bringing his sugary, frou-frou coffee to his lips, and Jackson felt a stab of panic that he’d just said the worst possible thing to the man who was the closest he had to a friend in this city. Lincoln looked like he’d been punched in the gut.
Fuck. Had Lincoln been married? If he had, something had gone seriously wrong, because the man looked destroyed.
“Shit, Mathis, I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s cool,” Lincoln interrupted.
It wasn’t cool. Any idiot could see that. But Jackson also understood that sometimes the last thing a man needed was to talk it out.
They rode the elevator back to the office in silence, and by the time they stepped into the Oxford lobby, the tension was gone from Lincoln’s shoulders.
Jackson looked at the other man out of the corner of his eye, curiosity mingling with respect. Whatever demons Lincoln had were buried deep, and he was damn skilled at hiding them.
They rounded the corner toward their respective offices only to skid to a halt when they saw their boss hovering outside their doors.
Cassidy’s hands were on his hips, his face unreadable as they approached.
“What’d you do?” Lincoln asked out of the corner of his mouth.
“Me? You’re the one who tried to implement Thursday morning dance party yesterday.”
“Burke,” Cassidy said when they got closer.
“Shit,” Jackson muttered.
Lincoln smirked.
“Got a minute?” Alex Cassidy said as Jackson and Lincoln stopped in front of him.
“Jackson is in trouble, Jackson is in trouble,” Lincoln chanted in a singsong voice.
Cassidy pointed toward Lincoln’s office. “Mathis, get your ass and your dessert coffee in there and don’t come out until I have revisions on that beach babe article.”
Jackson shook his head. “Your job is so much better than mine. I’m currently writing about perfect bench press form.”
“I wrote about how to have sex on the bench once,” Lincoln said. “If it makes you feel better.”
“Nope. It does not,” Jackson said before following Cassidy down the hall to his office.
“Shut the door,” his boss said.
Jackson did as asked and lifted his eyebrows. “I’ve gotta tell you, boss, this feels a little bit like the principal’s office. Is this because I was late to homeroom?”
Cassidy sat and motioned for Jackson to do the same. “Wonderful, another sarcastic team member. I should have known that when I told you to make friends with your colleagues, they’d start to rub off on you.”
Jackson shrugged.
Cassidy laced his fingers and set them on the desk. “Before I say what I’m about to say, know that I hate that I’m about to do this.”
“Usually when someone starts off that way, they offer a man a drink first.”
Cassidy ignored this. “First off, you should know that you joining the team has been great for Oxford. There’s a whole group of readers who thought we were all tie clips and loafers until you came on board.”
Jackson said nothing.