Capture

by Rachel Van Dyken

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Lincoln

  The sound of my alarm was more irritating than the fact that somehow I'd managed to sleep wrong, and my neck was currently twisted so hard to the right it hurt to breathe. Damn couch.

  I hissed out a curse as I wobbled to a sitting position and rubbed the back of my neck, memories of the previous night hitting me upside the head like a two by four.

  Dani had been so upset — maybe I should have been honest about the whole thing. Seeing her face, seeing that tattoo that I could have sworn I'd seen before — it made me pause.

  And that pause was long enough to allow my brain to start working. Sleeping with her after knowing her, what? A little over a week? Not a good idea. Hell, it was one of the worst ideas I'd ever had. Who cared if I'd kissed her? Who cared if I was attracted to her? She wasn't one of those girls, the type you slept with, then left in the early daylight by jumping out the window.

  And I was treating her that way.

  I was ashamed of myself.

  And I'd hurt her in the process. Damn, if she only knew it wasn't for lack of wanting her. It was because I wanted her that I hadn't slept with her.

  But explaining that to an overly emotional woman? It wouldn't sink into her consciousness; all she could focus on was what I didn't do, what I didn't say, when she should be focusing on the simple fact that I'd stopped something that should never have started, at least not yet. I hadn't even taken her out on a date, for shit's sake! And what? I was going to have sex with her?

  I punched the couch cushion.

  It didn't make me feel better.

  Nor did the fact that my phone wouldn't stop going off with text alerts. Finally, I swiped the screen to find out what was so important.

  Curses exploded from my mouth so loud that I must have woken Dani. She ran down the hall, her shirt barely covering her tight ass. "What happened?"

  As if remembering she was still pissed at me, the concern was quickly replaced with cool anger as she crossed her arms and arched her eyebrows.

  "Well…" I licked my lips. No easy way to break it to her, so I tossed her my phone. "… we made the news."

  It was on every gossip website.

  And trending on Twitter.

  Lincoln Greene hooks up with new underage assistant.

  Reading it wasn't as bad as seeing the picture of me and Dani kissing or the fact that somehow a camera caught us walking into our "love nest."

  Dani set the phone on the kitchen counter then slumped into one of the barstools, covering her face. "That's… bad."

  "I was thinking bleak, you know, like black-plague bleak, at least as far as my life's concerned. If you see my shorts wash up along the beach, know it was the seals that did it."

  Her laugh wasn't one of amusement, but joy at the thought of something happening to me…

  "Does my death amuse you?"

  "Right now?" She hopped off the barstool. "A bit. Yeah."

  "Still mad?" I asked in a hopeful voice.

  Dani paused, her hand on the doorway to the bathroom. She didn't turn around. "Not mad. A bit angry, slightly disappointed, and feeling a bit ashamed. I'll get over it. I've been through much worse."

  The words may as well have been a physical knife manifesting itself right in front of my chest before getting plunged directly between my ribs — she even twisted. Swear, she twisted.

  "Dani, I'm sorry. I'm trying to do the right thing."

  "And I'm the wrong thing?" She turned, her cheeks flushed. "That's what you're saying, right?"

  "Kind of." I threw my hands up in frustration. "Yes. No. Hell, we barely know each other. Why are you pissed that I'm being the good guy?"

  "I didn't ask you to," she whispered.

  "What was that?" I leaned in, already emotionally drained.

  "You didn't ask me what I wanted. You decided for me. People do that a lot. I don't know if it's because of my age or because of what happened to me. But for once — once in my life — I want someone to care enough about me to ask before they make a decision that affects me."

  The knife twisted harder. Figuratively, since, if it was real, I would be bleeding my heart all over the carpet.

  And damn it, she would be right.

  "I'm sorry," I croaked.

  "I'll get ready, and we can leave. It's almost seven, and you're needed on set. I have a job to do. And so do you."

  Maturity points officially went to her, while I backed away from the shut bathroom door and stumbled into the kitchen, wondering how my doing the right thing had turned into the worst thing I could have possibly done.