Fool Me Twice

by Aarons, Carrie

  I have to cross my fingers that no one in their family recognizes my last name, but I doubt they will. My little family is pretty low-key when it comes to social events around our town or the next one over.

  “And then he came downstairs wearing his father’s tux, it was so long I thought he’d fall headfirst down the stairs.” Lincoln’s mom, Justine, cracks up, her laugh infecting me.

  “Stop it, that is too funny.” I hold my chest, gasping as I laugh.

  She was telling the story about the first time Lincoln had a crush on a celebrity, Mariah Carey, and he dressed up in his father’s tuxedo thinking he could go track her down and profess his undying love.

  “Hey, ‘Always Be My Baby’ was a great song.” Lincoln shrugs, not embarrassed at all.

  “Still is,” I agree, popping a piece of falafel in my mouth.

  “Ew, why did you eat that?” Brant, the little boy Lincoln had told me about, screws up his face.

  “It’s really good. If you try some, I’ll play tic-tac-toe with you again,” I challenge him.

  He eyes me, skeptical. Then pops a piece in his mouth. Chews. Assesses. And smiles.

  “It’s good. And you’re on!” He frantically draws another game board on his kid’s menu.

  We’ve been playing tic-tac-toe for the duration of the meal, as opposed to Tyla, who has just shown me every doll in her backpack for an hour. They’re both so cute, I’m not sure how these people ever get through a day without turning into heart-eye emojis.

  “Henley, Lincoln tells me you’re a photographer?” His dad, Vincent, asks.

  I nod. “Yes, hoping to learn all I can at Warchester and then start my own business when I graduate.”

  “He’s sent me a couple of your photographs from Instagram, they’re wonderful,” Justine praises me.

  I look to Lincoln, who is smiling at me in that shy way that makes my heart flip over and then sprint a marathon. He showed her my photographs.

  “Thank you. I work hard on them.” I never shy away from compliments when it comes to my work.

  I know how good I am. Anyone who ever tries to brush off their talents or passion is just selling themselves short, and I won’t do that.

  “Maybe you can take our picture! Like a movie star!” Tyla gushes, scooting closer to my side.

  “I’d love to.” I smile at her.

  “You might break her lens, you’re too beautiful.” Lincoln tickles his cousin.

  Watching Lincoln with not only his family, but his two little cousins? Jesus, my heart can’t take it. It’s like the guy is composing a résumé for catch of the year. If I didn’t already think the guy had no flaws, this would be the icing on the perfect cake.

  He’s kind with their childish minds, never mocking them or brushing them off but indulging in every one of their silly games and weird conversation topics. At the same time, he’s respectful of his parents and keeps the whole meal flowing, engaging me in the talk their having while highlighting my interests to his family. Lincoln Kolb was blessed with the whole package, and I’d hate him for it if I wasn’t falling in love with him.

  Falling in love with him? Fuck. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

  “So, Linc, anymore buzz from the agents?” Vincent asks.

  Lincoln shushes his father. “Dad, you know I’m not supposed to be talking to those guys.”

  His mom rolls her eyes. “We know that. The whole world knows that. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. We just want to know what’s going to happen with your career.”

  Lincoln sighs, relenting. “Yes, I’ve had some interest. But it’s too early. I have two more years.”

  “And in two more years, you’ll be the first pick of the draft, mark my words.” His dad claps him on the back.

  Surprise flutters through me. I mean, I know Lincoln is great at football. I don’t even know much about the sport and I can see, by watching him play, that he’s head and shoulders above the other guys on the field. Both on his team and the opposing teams. But I guess we have never talked about his future. I’m so focused on not slipping up, on seeming mysterious and hooking my claws into him that I’ve …

  Missed one of the biggest things about the guy who is sleeping in my bed every night.

  “You’re going to go pro?” I ask him.

  His mom and dad look surprised, but Lincoln just laughs. “She knows nothing about football. It’s one of the things I like most about her. And yes, I’m going to go pro. I’ll probably declare my junior year, which means I won’t finish college. It’s not what I want to do anyway. I’ll get drafted and play for a team. Hopefully, win a few rings. Super Bowl rings, that is.”

  I could just see it now. Lincoln Kolb, star athlete, all over the sports channels and the regular morning shows. He’d be their shining light, the charismatic hotshot with a zillion screaming female fans. There will be nowhere I can’t escape his face.

  Which, when I break his heart, will be pretty unfortunate for me. But he’ll move onto a bigger, brighter life. He’ll meet a hundred girls in a hundred different cities who will come at the crook of his finger.

  And that sends a pang of sadness through me. Suddenly, I don’t feel much like eating.

  The rest of the meal goes great, but something inside me is off. I hadn’t thought much about what happens after this. How I’ll have to see him, how I’ll wonder what he’s doing and with who.

  I never thought about how we’ll mend separately after I tear us apart.

  25

  Henley

  “I win. Drink.”

  Lincoln looks at me, his eyes glazing over from the three beers he’s already had, and winks.

  God, this boy is much too handsome for his own good.

  “I know I am.” He grins.

  “What?” I ask, the music messing with my ears.

  “You just said I’m much too handsome for my own good. I said I know I am.” He rounds the table where we’re playing quarters and scoops me off my feet.

  Shit, did I say that out loud? I must be drunker than I think I am.

  We’re at yet another party at the football house, but this is the first one I’ve been to where Lincoln and I are actually together. He’s had his hands all over me for most of the night, and if he’s not careful, I may just drag him up to the bathroom we first made out in.

  As it is, I’m practically straddling his waist before he pins me to a wall.

  “Jesus, how drunk did you two get while we were gone?” Rhiannon snorts, Alden at her back.

  They have been tearing up the dance floor most of the night. I’m actually surprised at his moves, and how much he keeps up with her.

  “Catch up,” I dare her, cackling.

  Lincoln puts me down. “I have to take a leak.”

  “Ew, I hate when guys say that.” I scrunch up my nose.

  His only answer is to grab my chin, pull it toward him and hit me with such a searing kiss that I stagger sideways the minute he releases me.

  “Woah. Someone is getting lucky tonight. Should I put a scrunchie on the door?” Rhi jokes.

  “Yeah, go to Alden’s.” I don’t even look at her, all of my energy focused on Lincoln, who is walking backward down the hall in an attempt to seduce me.

  Five minutes go by, in which I take another shot with Rhiannon and play a round of quarters with her and Alden. We’re all laughing when I zero in on something happening in the living room.

  Lincoln, leaning against a wall, while a brunette in six-inch heels presses her tits into him.

  Jealousy surges through me, a fiery hot branding iron that someone has shoved down my throat and won’t let up on. Here I am, having sex with him almost every night, and he’s still out chasing tail. Is that the most cliché man stereotype ever, or what?

  Looking closer, I see her hand on his chest. The way she leans in to try to nuzzle his ear. Lincoln steps back, distancing himself, but she keeps coming. Ah, I see what’s happening here. She’s trying to claim him, whether she’s heard about
me or not doesn’t matter. And he’s … being a good guy. Trying to easily brush her off, not embarrass her. He’s respecting what he has with me, when I could have very well caught him with his hand down her skirt.

  But isn’t this how it will always be? If I abandoned Catherine’s list, if I allowed myself to be with Lincoln for real, wouldn’t he always be hit on like this? Of course he will. It’s just who he is, it’s how bright his star shines. Do I want to be with someone I constantly have to worry about either cheating, or being the object of gossip and rumors?

  Maybe it’s the alcohol, and maybe I’m just tired of living my double life, but an idea sneaks in.

  Break up with him tonight.

  It takes me by surprised at first, and my heart protests it from the start. But once I sink into it more, like a spiky arm chair or that throne from that HBO show Catherine used to love, I realize just how great of an idea it is.

  One, I’m drunk, so it won’t hurt me as much. Two, it has to happen sooner or later. Three, I’m pretty sure it will gut Lincoln, so the item can be crossed off the bucket list.

  It’s better this way, ending it right here and right now. If we move any further, any deeper, the fallout will be catastrophic. I’ll just put a stop to things, blame it on him talking to this girl. It’s a convenient excuse, one I can fall back on later. Sure, Lincoln will probably be fucking pissed, may even try to fight me on it, but in the end, things will fizzle with the awkwardness and unsure nature of a first semester of freshman year relationship.

  Lincoln is the type of guy who tells his mom about me. He buys my favorite coffee to pick me up from class with. When I need a drink of water after coming home from a party, he’s the one who runs to the bathroom to get it. Lincoln is everything I’d ever dreamed a boyfriend (though he’s not my boyfriend) could be, and it’s getting harder and harder to separate that from the guy Catherine said he was.

  If I don’t get out soon, I’m going to be the one with a broken heart.

  Marching right up to him, I set my game face on.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I push him, and the scene has started.

  The girl who had her paws on him scampers off, clearly not wanting to be in the middle of this, and Lincoln looks gobsmacked.

  “Jimmy, it wasn’t what it looked like. She came onto me, I was trying to get back to you—”

  I cut him off. “That’s what they all say! You were just waiting for me to turn my back so you could mack on some other chick. You’re pathetic, Lincoln!”

  I push him, adding to the drama. Maybe if I piss him off enough, he won’t even want to fight for us. Maybe he’ll just cut his losses and walk, make this easy on me.

  Instead, Lincoln does just the opposite. He reaches for me. “Hey, don’t do that. It isn’t like that and you know it. I’m with you. I only have eyes for you.”

  “Yeah, until a stripper in heels comes along!” I motion to said stripper, and the poor girl cowers. “Stay away from me, Lincoln. We’re done.”

  I emphasize my statement with a stomp and then turn on my heel. And for as drunk as I thought I was, I’m painfully sober now. The crack of my heart is audible to my own ears, and I feel like I might throw up. Not from the drinking, but from the bone deep sadness piercing my body.

  The only thing I want to do now is crawl into my bed and bawl my eyes out.

  I knew it would be hard to disentangle myself from Lincoln Kolb.

  I had no idea it would devastate me on every level of my soul.

  26

  Lincoln

  “Hey! Hey, would you stop? Henley!”

  I’m chasing her down the sidewalk, other college students littering various lawns from the parties that have spilled out onto them. They glance at us, the guy yelling at the girl who is retreating, but they do nothing. It’s probably a common scene out here on a Saturday night.

  She’s speed walking away from me, even in those heeled boots that look like her ankle is going to break every time she takes a step. How girls walk in those things is beyond me.

  “Jimmy!” I shout her nickname, and my footsteps pick up until I reach her completely.

  My hand shoots out, grasping her elbow, and she spins. “Don’t touch me!”

  My God, she’s dramatic. And completely fucking beautiful when she’s this angry. I basically want to mount her in the street.

  “Will you just stop? You’re being ridiculous.” I roll my eyes, the alcohol I’ve already consumed loosening my tongue.

  By the fire I just lit in Henley’s eyes, I know it’s the exact wrong thing to say at this moment. Never tell a pissed off drunk girl you’re trying to win back that she’s ridiculous.

  “Fuck you, Lincoln. Don’t tell me I’m being dramatic when you were the one all over some slut back there!” She points her finger violently toward the house.

  I try to take a calming breath. “Stop it, I wasn’t. That’s not what happened at all.”

  “You seemed awfully friendly back there.” Henley’s voice is scary levels of high pitched.

  “She is in one of my education classes. I was answering a question!” I throw my hands up.

  Because I was. And because I was trying to get her grabby hands off me and return to my girl, to put my grabby hands all over her. It’s not my fault some girl mauled me, and Henley knows it. But she’s putting on this show right now, and I can’t quite figure out why.

  “With your dick? Because I’m pretty sure that’s the answer she wanted!” Henley shouts again, and the people around us are staring and giggling.

  I hug her to me, though she tries to struggle, and walk us down to a more secluded part of the sidewalk. All I want to do is close my mouth over hers, get her to shut up. Because once we’re kissing, she’ll forget all of this nonsense.

  “I thought we were over this stage. This unsureness. I’m with you, Henley.” I try to look her in the eyes, but she won’t meet mine.

  “Whatever, Lincoln, we’re done. Whatever this is, I’m not doing it anymore! I don’t want to be some side piece while jersey chasers flock around you at all moments! I’m a fucking catch!” She throws her arms out, as if she needs to be on top of some soapbox saying this.

  “We’re not done. Not even close to it,” I growl, pissed off that she’s even throwing the thought out into the universe.

  “Yes, we are!” She stomps her foot like a child.

  My shoulders rise a couple inches. “No, we’re not.”

  “Yes.” She juts her chin out.

  “No.” I’m inches from her lips.

  And then it all clicks. She’s not jealous, she’s scared.

  Of what this could really turn into. Of how serious we could get, since we were on the way there. Henley fought me tooth and nail from the beginning, I’ve fought for every yard of territory I’ve gained with her. And I wanted to, fight that is. She’s worth it.

  We’re worth it.

  I didn’t think I’d need to get romantic with a girl like Henley, but apparently, that’s exactly what she needs to close the deal. So, I clear my throat, put on my best romance hat, and let the flowery language flow.

  “I didn’t do this before because I didn’t think it was needed. It’s been pretty clear to me from the start that you’re the girl I want to spend all my time with. And to be honest, I hate having those awkward ‘what are we’ conversations. No guy likes to have them. But I’ll do it, because you mean that much to me.”

  Henley sucks in a breath, but doesn’t interrupt me.

  “From the minute I saw you, I knew what unfolded between you and me would be much more than anything I’ve ever felt for another girl. You’re special, Henley, and that sounds cliché, but it’s true. You’re tough and independent, while hiding your softer side from anyone who doesn’t deserve to know it. But when you show that side to me, Christ, it melts my fucking heart. You’re sexy without trying, you have that natural kind of beauty that shines from every inch of your skin. I could lay in bed and look at you all day long, and
still never be tired of it. When you work, you’re a phenom. Watching you photograph your subjects is like watching art being created; you’re so focused and intense, and you do a hell of a job. And the way you are with me, taking all of my shit and handing it right back on a silver platter? I’ve never had that before. You call my bluff, you make me laugh, you are the one I want to wrap my arms around at the end of the day. When we’re drunk at a party, the only girl I want to grab my junk is you. The only girl I want asking me to take their boots off in my dorm room because she’s too drunk is you. Don’t you get it, Henley? I want you to be my girlfriend. I didn’t ask before because I thought you’d be spooked by the label, but now I see it for what it is. You’re scared that without it, we don’t have a definite thing going on. I’m here to tell you that what we have is a relationship, a concrete one. You’re my girlfriend. I’m your boyfriend. And if you don’t like it, tough. That’s what is happening.”

  And I mean every word of it.

  When I’m done, she’s standing in front of me with tears glistening in her eyes. I pray to God they’re ones of happiness, and not the kind that mean she’s about to crush my heart under the heel of her sexy boot.

  “I’m scared,” she whispers, so much emotion in her voice.

  Sliding a piece of hair behind her ear, I palm her cheek. “I know you are.”

  “What if I hurt you?” Henley’s lip quivers.

  “Then you do. And we work through it. I’m not saying there won’t be days where I piss you off. Of course, there will be. But I want them all the same. I want you.”

  After what feels like an eternity of her staring into my eyes, unsure, she finally speaks.

  “Okay.”

  I blink once, then twice. “What?”

  “I said, okay. I’ll be your girlfriend.” She nods.

  I don’t give her a second to take it back. Instead, I haul her up, sitting her on my hips, and fuse my mouth to hers.