Fool Me Twice

by Aarons, Carrie

  An awareness passes over, and leave it to her to do that. What a little shit, though I love her. No one aside from Jamie and Alden drink, and I peek up at Lincoln.

  His eyes are already looking down at me when I sneak a glance, and we both smile a shy grin. So, he’s never been in love. Neither have I, but I’m wondering if he might be on his way there when it comes to me. I hope so. The sooner I can stop this charade, the better.

  We’re dangerously close to both being decimated. Damn you, Catherine.

  “And with that, I’m exhausted,” Jamie says, rising. “Time to call it a night?”

  “The sooner we can get out of this fucking campsite, the better,” Rhi agrees, pulling Alden up by the hand and leading them to their tent.

  Lincoln and I stay back, cleaning up as the moonlight filters through the trees around us. Every so often, I catch him looking at me, our gazes locking across the clearing.

  When I started this, pursuing him and putting this plan in action, I never expected to crash and burn quite as hard as I am for Lincoln Kolb. I knew it would be messy, what with what Catherine told me about his charm. But this is … something more. There is a prickle of awareness that he’s never felt this way about anyone, and I haven’t either. Not the way we feel about each other.

  After all the trash is picked up and the fire is smoldering into embers, he wraps his arms around me and walks us toward our tent. There isn’t even a question of sleeping separately, we both know it would be a pointless discussion.

  We undress together, pulling on warmer clothes, and then Lincoln arranges our sleeping bags so that they’re both unzipped, one on the floor and the other thrown over us like a comforter.

  “It’s too cold,” I whine, burrowing my nose into the crook of Lincoln’s neck as we settle in.

  Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to have him here. He’s like a furnace next to me, and I won’t have to fend off wild cats all by myself if they come knocking on the tent door.

  The sounds of the night surround us, the hoot of owls and what I hope are not the growls of bears.

  “Why the hell did you agree to camp if you hate it?” Lincoln chuckles, snuggling in closer to me.

  I’m too distracted by his warm, naked muscles that my tongue slips. “I made a promise to a friend.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “To go camping? And why is said friend not here with us?”

  I freeze, trying to seem nonchalant, all the while my internal panic system is blaring an alarm. “Uh, well … it’s a long story.”

  He nods, chewing on his lip. “How come every time I try to learn some small piece of information about you, you clam up?”

  Hmm, I hadn’t realized he’d realized that. I guess I’m not doing as great of a job throwing him off my scent as I thought I was.

  “I don’t know, it just seems dumb to talk about a promise I made. Thought we were moving forward, not back?” I challenge him.

  “But to move forward, I want to know more about you. Where did you grow up, what’s your favorite Christmas present you ever got? Why are you sleeping in a bag on the ground if you hate it?” Lincoln palms my ass, not above copping a feel even during a serious conversation.

  It feels so good, the sensual massage, that my tongue loosens in the process.

  I sigh. “I grew up not far from here, in a town called Little Port.”

  Lincoln jerks up, resting on an elbow. “Wait what? No way! I grew up in Winona Falls.”

  “Really?” I try to feign surprise.

  It’s a risk, telling him where I grew up. Especially with my proximity to Catherine. But nothing registers in his face. There is no flicker of ever having seen me in town or randomly out at the mall the two municipalities shared.

  “How weird is that. All this time, and you were just a town over.” Lincoln lies back down, stumped, and puts our foreheads together. “So, what else?”

  I kiss the tip of his nose. “My favorite Christmas present was this trip my parent’s got me to New York City when I was fourteen. They took me to the Met, and a bunch of photography exhibits around the city. It was perfect.”

  Just thinking about that trip makes me itch to go back to the Big Apple. The sights, the sounds; the city was a living, breathing art project.

  “And I’m sleeping on the ground in a bag because I made a promise to a friend that I won’t see for a while.” I shrug it off like this will explain it and then launch into a question. “How about you, what was your favorite Christmas present ever?”

  Lincoln snorts. “Easy. The football they put in my hands at age five.”

  I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see them in the dark. “Of course.”

  We fall asleep in the wee hours of the morning, questions still on our tongues and so much of our personalities talked out.

  22

  Lincoln

  I’m eating lunch with Henley when my phone rings, Mom’s face lighting up the screen.

  “Do you mind?” I ask, trying to be polite.

  Henley shakes her head, forking a piece of strawberry in her goat cheese salad. “Go ahead.”

  The sounds of the campus cafe, the one you have to use bonus points or real money to eat in, carry on around us. It’s a Tuesday, which means our schedules line up to eat together, and she has a weakness for that salad. I get it for her every time, using the unlimited meal points I get as a student athlete.

  “Mom, hey,” I say, picking up.

  “She was drunk.” Her voice almost cracks, but I can tell she’s trying to keep it together.

  “What?” My tone is too harsh, but I can’t help it.

  “The kids showed up for their second scheduled visitation, and she was drunk. Brant said Cheryl smelled funny, and that she couldn’t talk right. Tyla said she was falling asleep. The supervisor cut the visit short, but not before the kids were thoroughly freaked out. I could spit nails, Lincoln …”

  Mom is clearly in distress, as she typically liked to keep me out of the loop and focused on football and school. If she was calling me to vent, she was at the end of her rope. The entire custody matter was stressing us all out, and I knew she was just having a real tough time. Mom was with Tyla and Brant more than anyone, so she wanted to see them in a loving, caring environment.

  “Motherfucker,” I curse, and then look up to see Henley staring at me. I wince, mouthing an apology. “That should make a better case against her though, right?”

  Mom sighs. “That’s what we’re hoping. It’s horrible it had to happen this way, but it’s better for the kids in the long run. I can’t believe she showed up like that. Those kids worship the ground she walks on, and for her to do that … I just don’t know how you abandon your children like that.”

  “Addiction is a disease, but I hate that. I hate that she gets to use it as an excuse,” I grunt out, trying to keep my voice down.

  Though I know Henley is fully eavesdropping on the conversation.

  “I love you, sweetheart, I hope you’re having a good day,” Mom says, trying to lighten her tone.

  “Thanks, Mom. I’m actually having lunch with um, Henley,” I say, sheepishly looking across the table.

  I’m not sure if she’s told her folks about me yet, but I’ve told my parents about Henley. She’s the first girl I’ve been serious about, and my family doesn’t keep secrets from each other.

  “Oh, good!” Mom practically squeals. “Tell her I say hi, and that we’d love to take her out after this weekend’s game if she’d like to come to dinner with us.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell her.” I nod, and Henley’s face is full of curious amusement. “Love you, Mom.”

  “Love you, buddy. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else from the courts. Bye.”

  I hang up and immediately realize I’m going to have to explain some things about that call.

  “Told your mom about me, huh?” She smirks into her salad.

  “Yeah, I told her how hot you are in bed. How when I do that thing with my tongue—”
/>
  “Oh my God, stop!” Her face is as red as a lobster, and the outburst has other tables looking at us.

  Mission accomplished.

  I pick up her hand where it lays on the table and lace my fingers through hers. “Yes, I told my mom about you. We don’t keep secrets. She wants you to come to dinner with us after the game this week.”

  Henley looks squirmy. “Hmm, okay.”

  That isn’t an answer, but I’ll push her later. Everything with this girl is greasing wheels, but I kind of like that about her. I wouldn’t want someone who so easily complied with whatever I wanted.

  “So, do you want to know what I was talking about?” I ask, treading into unfamiliar waters.

  Henley looks straight into my eyes. “Only if you want to tell me.”

  Telling her this … it lets her into the most vulnerable part of my world. Of me. This is something I haven’t even shared with my closest friends, so telling the girl I’m involved with? That gives our relationship a whole other layer.

  Our relationship? Is this a relationship? I guess I’m now thinking of it in terms of yes, it is. We spend every night together, plan our weekends around each other, she comes to my games; I buy her coffee before I walk her to class. It’s a damn relationship.

  But is Henley ready for this? The next layer, to go deeper? I know she’s been struggling with her feelings for me, it’s plain as day. Where I’m a bit shocked that I fell this hard for a girl this early, I’m going with the flow. I’ve always been the kind of guy to adapt, to see where the play takes me, but clearly, my girl is not. She is resisting with every step of the way. From the initial hookup and then ghosting me, to not letting me keep a pair of gym shorts in her dorm room, to getting pissed about the Kiss Cam, to not inviting me on the camping trip.

  She’s scared as hell, and I’m trying to soothe her fears with every spook she gets. Because I care about her, a ton. Because we’re good together, and she knows it too. So I’m not going to let her chicken out because she thinks I’m a jock or because this is first semester of freshman year, and these relationships are notorious for blowing up in people’s faces. Nine times out of ten, first semester flings are just that; an exciting, “I just got out of my parent’s house” blazing display of adultness that isn’t actually adult at all.

  That’s not what we are though. I feel it down to my bones. We’re the real deal.

  “I have two cousins on my Mom’s side, they’re my aunt Cheryl’s kids. Tyla and Brant, she’s four and he’s eight. And they’re amazing, just the coolest little kids you’ve ever met. Anyways, my parents are trying to adopt them, have been trying for almost two years.”

  I had been looking down at my hands, trying to get the story out without letting my anger or emotion cloud it. But when I look up at Henley, she’s focused right on me, a sadness in her coffee-colored eyes. I hold on to her hand tighter.

  “My aunt is an addict, has been running around in the wrong circles with the wrong guys with the wrong substances for years. She’s never given those kids a damn ounce of the attention, love, and support they deserve, but she’s been fighting to keep custody of them. God knows why; she’s completely unfit. She’s never cared about anyone but herself.” I can feel my blood pressure start to rise at a rapid rate.

  “People always want what they can’t have,” Henley says quietly.

  I nod. “And she’s been fighting hard. Even though Mom and Dad can give her children a life that they’d never get with her. Anyway, she had a supervised visit with them today. Showed up drunk. And even though that’s good for our case—”

  “It still causes a ton of unneeded stress and upset for your little cousins,” Henley finishes my sentence.

  I know in that instant that it was a good idea to tell her. She understands the gravity of the situation without even having to know more details. This girl is simply … perfect. For me.

  “Exactly. So, hopefully, this will turn things in my parents’ favor and finally bring this process to an end. The kids are just … they’re amazing. They don’t deserve this.”

  A beat passes, and then Henley gets up from her chair. She walks around our table, bends down, and plants a kiss on my lips.

  “You’re a good man, Stallion.”

  I’m not sure anyone has ever called me that. But coming from Henley’s mouth, I believe it more than anything I’ve ever believed about myself.

  23

  Lincoln

  A couple hours later, I’m waiting for Henley to come out of the communications building.

  She’s been in the photo lab for hours, having reserved the darkroom for developing, and I don’t like it when she walks home alone so late in the evening. She tells me I’m crazy, but I’ve heard crazier stories about girls who walk home alone on campus at eleven thirty at night. So, if she’s working until midnight, I usually come down here and escort her home.

  Secretly, I know she thinks it’s chivalrous, which is half the reason I do it. Any excuse to make that girl think more highly of me, I’ll take it.

  As I’m scrolling through my Twitter feed, looking at commentary of this week’s news in both professional and college football, my phone rings. Henley’s name appears on the screen, and I pick it up.

  “Hey, you coming up?”

  “Actually, can you come down? I need some help carrying things.” She sounds preoccupied.

  “Sure, be right there.”

  I take the stairs down to the bottom level of the building and guess my way around. I’m never really here aside from when I walk Henley to and from class, since my major has no lectures on this area of campus. So I’m basically banking on the fact that I don’t get lost, and when I see an arrow pointing in the direction of the photo lab, I follow it.

  Wandering into a large, lofted room with lots of lit up tables, I don’t see Henley.

  “Jimmy?” I call out, feeling eerie.

  I didn’t see anyone on my way here, though I don’t doubt there are other students working in these classrooms late into the night. That’s just college for you. But I won’t pretend to be a strapping man and say I’m not spooked that we’re here in the dark, alone.

  A door opens to a pitch black room, and Henley’s blond curls catch my eyes. “In here, hurry, I have photos developing.”

  The door is practically shut by the time I reach it, moving quickly inside. My eyes are met with a red light, an obnoxious smell, and a lot of photos hung up on strings above my head.

  “Jesus, it smells terrible in here.” I clap a hand over my nose.

  Henley chuckles. “I’m so used to it by now that it doesn’t even bother me. If you want, there are masks over there.”

  She points to a pile of surgical masks, but I’ve always hated wearing those things. Plus, if she can stand it, so can I.

  “What’re you working on? You need help?” I move to her, not able to resist the need to touch her.

  My hand goes to the small of her back, and I lean into her, smelling the lavender scent of her shampoo which drowns out the solution she’s working in the tub over her photos.

  Henley looks up at me, her eyes sheepish. “I didn’t really need help moving anything. I just heard a noise and got spooked.”

  “And needed a strong, brave man to come down and protect you?” I make a muscle with my free arm, all but kissing the bicep.

  She rolls her eyes, ignoring me. “Plus, I wanted to show you this.”

  The tongs she’s using to swoosh the photo paper around in the solution begin to reveal the image she wants me to see. Slowly but surely, as she takes it out of the chemicals and pins it up onto the string, I see the outline of my uniform.

  It begins to come more clearly into focus. Me, in the middle of my teammates, directing them on the upcoming play. Even though my helmet is on, you can still see my eyes, and they’re intense but engaged. You can tell, from this photograph, how much I love the game of football. Henley captured me in my rawest form, and somehow told the story of my life in one
snapshot.

  I turn her, holding her hips until they’re flush against mine, and then bring my mouth down to hers. Henley’s tongue is lazy as it meets mine, our lips nibbling and testing as we gyrate slowly against each other. There is no music, but here we are, dancing to a sexual rhythm only our ears can hear.

  The kiss picks up, heating until it’s at boiling level. I want to push aside the tubs on the table, take her right here, but have no idea what chemicals I’d be splashing onto the floor.

  I break off, resting my forehead against hers. “As much as it would be sexy as hell to fuck you, right here in this room, I don’t want us getting third-degree burns from anything on these tables.”

  Henley chuckles. “I’ve had fantasies about doing it in here, but I agree, we might not want to get busy with this stuff nearby.”

  “Plus, it stinks.” I kiss her nose. “You done? Can we go hurry back to my dorm now?”

  Because if I couldn’t do it in here, I wanted to fuck the shit out of her in my bed.

  “Take me home, Stallion.”

  She doesn’t have to tell me twice.

  24

  Henley

  Lincoln starts his first game just days after telling me about Tyla and Brant and takes the Warchester team to victory.

  Like it or not, I now know all I need to about football and more. I know the ways that players get penalties, what a first down means, and how many points a field goal is worth. I attend pretty much every home game and even traveled with Rhiannon to the last two away games that were over an hour in the car listening to Drake and Lil Wayne the whole way.

  So when I sit down at the table, at Warchester’s nicest Greek restaurant, I feel like I already kind of know Lincoln’s family.

  Scratch that, I feel like I know them because the Kolbs are one of the it families in Winona Falls, and Catherine along with everyone else talked about them constantly growing up. They attend the right church, his mom hosts the raffle nights at the high school each year, Lincoln and his brother practically ran the sports scene in their first eighteen years on earth.