by Mariah Dietz
“What?”
“This girl’s only boyfriend requires batteries.”
“How would you know?”
He points at the wall, like I might have missed the decoupage of dudes.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
He drops his chin.
“It doesn’t. Maybe she just…”
“Is single?” he says.
If I were Maggie, I’d be able to articulate a well-versed explanation as to why his words are offensive and grossly inaccurate.
“Guys don’t want to see that their girlfriend is fantasizing about other men, especially so blatantly. It makes us question shit. We’re fragile creatures.” He winks.
“Or, maybe she’s really confident in her sexuality and just likes to look at hot guys.” I stride the few feet to the closet and slide one half open. Inside is chaos. Torn boxes reach my waist and clothes are wadded and shoved on the top shelf, nothing hanging but a couple of naked wire hangers.
“She’s a female Arlo.” Lincoln peers across the mess and then turns as soon as his gaze moves to me.
“The dresser might be easier,” I suggest.
“That’s like saying Nero might have shown pity to the kind Christians.”
My traitorous heart thumps obnoxiously in my chest. Hearing him make a historical reference is hotter than watching him peel his shirt off and reveal his impressive abs which defy human anatomy because I’ve seen the segments and counted each defined muscle, and Lincoln Beckett has an eight pack rather than the average six. He would because there’s absolutely nothing average about him.
“I don’t think we can compare someone’s messy room to a Roman Emperor who lacked a conscious.”
He shrugs, a playful smile teasing my heart and distracting me from paying attention to what he’s doing.
“Bingo,” he sings.
“Oh, good.” I walk forward, relief quickening my pace to step next to where he’s standing beside the bed. I stop when I realize what he’s looking at.
“Lincoln!” I hiss. “Close the drawer.”
“I told you her boyfriends required batteries.”
“That means nothing.”
His smile turns knowing. “You have a collection?”
I’m grateful the room is darkened so he can’t see how quickly my embarrassment spreads from my cheeks to my entire face. Maybe he thinks it’s hot or funny that he asks such a forward question, but it’s neither, and when he laughs, I have the urge to slam his fingers in the drawer.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I stare at him, waiting for him to realize I don’t find his comments to be flirty or even appropriate.
“Um, excuse me…”
Before I can consider all the reasons my stomach feels like it’s tied into knots, I turn and forget every single one of my concerns as a girl with long, dark hair stands in the doorway, a small duffle hanging from one shoulder.
“It’s bad enough my roommates had a party without me, but a whole other level of shitty to discover people are using my bed to boink. I’m Kate. You should probably know that before you complete the deed…”
“Oh, we weren’t,” I assure her.
She stares at me, disbelief sitting heavily on her lowered brow. “Sure you weren’t. Then why is my bed a mess.”
“That was the last couple,” I tell her.
“So, my room has been used as a goddamn brothel. Awesome.”
“The blankets are rumpled. Headboard in place. Pillows still at the top. They probably had boring missionary sex that he lasted all of two seconds for.”
Kate turns her attention to Lincoln, trying on a coy smile that looks well-rehearsed. “Let me guess, you think your stamina would have broken the bed?” There’s a challenge in her stare.
“Actually, we didn’t even make it to the bed,” I quickly say. “In fact, he ended up getting a little too excited, if you know what I mean. We were actually looking to see if you had a spare set of shorts or pants that he could borrow.”
Lincoln’s attention cuts to me like a knife, sharp, fast, and demanding of attention. “That’s not exactly—”
Kate sighs heavily, cutting him off, her lips falling south. “So much for dreams of a broken headboard. Guys are all talk.” She drops her bag and moves to the dresser where she opens the bottom drawer. It’s old and painted white, covered with different stickers that are impossible for me to make out.
Lincoln’s stare becomes heavier.
“What size do you need to cover your oatmeal blister there, champ?” Kate asks.
Laughter bubbles in my stomach, making my lips twitch.
“My oatmeal blister?” he repeats, offense taking the humor out of his tone.
“Do you prefer wood booger?” she asks.
I have to press my lips together and look away so I don’t laugh out loud. Lincoln is still staring at me, shaking his head in fractional inches. He takes a deep breath. “If you have a large, that’d be great.”
“Well, you’re in luck. My ex never came and picked up his shit, and I’ve been too lazy to pack it up for donation.” She tosses a pair of mesh shorts at us.
Lincoln catches the black material. “My lucky day.”
“Thanks,” I say. “We really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, well, considering your position and mine, you might still be having a worse night, so it’s the least I can do.”
Lincoln’s fingers graze my waist, his touch so gentle I have to glance down to ensure I’m not imagining it. He tilts his head forward, suggesting we leave.
“Thanks again,” I say as we clear the doorway.
Lincoln pulls the door shut behind him. “You owe me. You owe me so big you don’t even know it yet.” Lincoln’s voice is a deep rasp that sends chills down my arms and across my neck.
“Paxton owes you. I got the shorts.”
“We should have taken a damn sheet.”
I shrug. “Maybe next time you won’t act like a caveman.”
“Hey! There you are.” Poppy appears, her eyes bright as she clutches a plastic cup in her hands. “Arlo told me you guys were up here. What are you doing?” She looks between Lincoln and me, and then slowly draws her head back as a smile consumes her features. “Don’t tell me you guys…” Her jaw drops. “I knew—”
I vigorously shake my head. “Paxton lost his pants.”
Poppy stops, her eyebrows soaring high on her forehead. “Come again?”
I lift both shoulders. “I don’t know. I’m not going to ask. Well, I am, but I’m not… We came up here to find some pants for him so he doesn’t have to do the walk of shame of out of the house.”
“How does one lose their pants?” Poppy asks, following us to the end of the hallway, where Lincoln stops at the base of the stairs that lead up to the attic.
“We’ll wait here,” I say, linking arms with Poppy.
Lincoln glances between us, that same cocky expression from earlier returning. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
He climbs the wooden steps two at a time. The house reveals its age, creaking under his weight.
“So … you and Lincoln hanging out, huh?” Poppy’s eyes grow bright.
“Hardly.”
“What happened? Did you guys like … do … anything? Hold hands? Accidentally rub up against each other? Fake choking so he had to give you mouth-to-mouth?”
“Better,” I tell her. “He acted like a cocky jerk, and I acted like an uptight prude. It was awesome. Romance in the making.”
She gives a silent look that screams ‘yikes,’ then grins. “So, how exactly does one lose their pants?”
I shake my head. “You can ask Paxton that yourself. I’m not sure I want to be around to hear the answer, though, so be sure to censor his response for me.”
13
Poppy leans her head on my shoulder. I tried to convince her to go downstairs with me after Lincoln went to meet Pax with the shorts, but she insisted her feet hurt and that she needed
to sit down, so against my better judgment, I sat with her. We dissected my interaction with Derek, she told me about making out with a guy who she didn’t even ask for his name, while I bit my tongue and tried not to pass judgment because a small part of me understands that constant ache in her heart.
“He kept doing these really short kisses, where he like shoved his tongue in my mouth and then pulled back and breathed really heavy. Maybe I’m a bad kisser?”
“Was he a mouth breather?” I ask.
Poppy leans into me further, laughing. “I knew you were going to ask that.”
“Well, maybe he couldn’t breathe while he was sucking on your face.”
We’re both laughing when Lincoln comes into sight, closely followed by Pax.
“Rae needs to know if the story is PG before I ask for details,” Poppy says, sitting up.
“It’s boring,” Lincoln warns.
“I think we’ll be the judge of that,” Poppy argues. “I know I’ve never heard a boring story that ended with missing pants.” She looks at me. “Have you?”
“Technically, it’s ending with pants.” I motion to Pax, taking in the mesh shorts that are far too short and tight. “Really tight pants.” I cringe, looking back at Poppy. “I think I’m going to have nightmares.”
Poppy bursts into giggles.
“You guys found the smallest dude in the state of Washington to borrow clothes from.”
“Actually, those are now yours, courtesy of the ex who never claimed them. You’re welcome.” I stand up to avoid being eye level with things I don’t want to see from my brother. “On this note, I think I’m calling it a night.”
“What? It’s barely one.” Poppy juts out her lower lip.
“Yeah, but by now people are going to either be drunk or passed out. That’s always what happens at this time of night.”
“Some are both,” Lincoln adds.
“See?” I say, looking at Poppy.
“We could go back to our place?” Lincoln looks at me, like the invitation extends beyond him and Pax and the small caravan of girls that are sure to leave with them.
I stare at him for several seconds too long, attempting to read more from him, though I know it will only lead me farther down the tunnel of confusion and hope I’ve been falling down for years.
“I’ll buy you shakes and fries if you both promise to never talk about this moment again,” Pax adds.
My attention returns to my brother, the reminder of what brought him to wearing the ridiculous pair of shorts to the front and center.
“I know, I know,” Pax says.
“Do you?” I ask.
He nods. “It was stupid.”
“It’s okay to be stupid. Stupid we can recover from, but regret is a whole other beast.”
“I know. You’re right. Lincoln already laid into me.”
I glance at Lincoln, surprise hitting me like a cold blast of wind. He doesn’t acknowledge me, though.
“I know I was being a selfish bastard, and I’m sorry you had to be involved,” Pax continues his overly rehearsed apology, making me roll my eyes.
“I don’t care about that. I’m your sister. I’m always going to help you, regardless. But, I’m going to say this, and then I won’t say anything again: you’re better than how you acted tonight. You aren’t the kind of person who cheats, so don’t start now.”
Poppy nods. “Cheaters suck really big, hairy balls.”
“It won’t happen again. I promise.” Pax draws an ‘X’ across his chest.
Downstairs, the party is surprisingly active. I’m expecting Poppy to point this out and suggest we stay, but instead, she points out where Arlo is charming a girl.
“You want to leave him?” Lincoln asks.
“Last time we left him to his own devices, we didn’t see him for three days,” Pax says.
“Three days?” Poppy looks at me, eyes stretched with surprise and shock.
“He didn’t regret it,” Lincoln says.
Pax shakes his head. “I sure as shit did. Coach was livid.”
“Then go and get him, and let’s go. We’ll meet you outside.” Lincoln tips his head toward the front.
“I think we’re just going to head home,” I say.
“No. Come over. You guys can help me figure out what to do about this Candace situation,” Pax says. “Because, I don’t know what to fucking do anymore.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Gosh, I hope someday a guy refers to me as a situation.”
Pax glares at me. “Are you going to ride my ass all night?”
“Are you going to be sensitive all night?”
“I’m just saying…”
“That you’re going to get me onion rings and a chocolate milkshake. Thanks. We’ll meet you at your house.”
“Can you just wait five seconds?” Pax asks. “There’s all kinds of drunk dudes looking for someone to go home with.”
“And I’m really good at saying no.” I flash a smile that is neither sincere nor friendly.
“And they’re really bad at listening. So, just hang out for a few.” Pax turns to Lincoln, a silent request to have his back.
I want to tell him he’s being ridiculous and point out the fact I’ve been out plenty of times without him and was able to find my way home safely.
“Oh, there he is,” Poppy grips my hands. “See him? The one with the lip ring.”
I scan a group that is passing a large bong around, spotting the guys she’s describing. He looks too much like Mike, the same shade of hair, same skinny build, and permanent frown.
I glance up, feeling Lincoln’s stare. His face reveals so little, it’s impossible for me to know what he’s thinking, and before I can think of something to say, a girl starts to approach, her intent obvious.
“President! You’re here!”
He turns toward the blonde who’s dressed in a low top that doesn’t hit her naval and a pair of jeans. The moment he faces her she throws her arms around his neck and hugs him. “Your game was epic tonight! So good!”
Poppy’s hand engulfs mine, squeezing as a reminder she’s with me.
“Paxton!” The blonde screams, launching herself at my brother. “What bet did you lose?” She laughs, checking out his shorts.
“She’s a groupie,” Poppy whispers. “She’d take any of them.”
“What are you guys doing here?” The blonde asks Lincoln and Pax.
“We’re actually leaving,” Lincoln tells her.
“What? No. Stick around. Andrea and I just got here.” She stands on her toes, scanning over the crowds.
“Not tonight,” Pax says. “We both have practice in the morning.”
The blonde pouts, and I hate her a little more because even her pout is beautiful. “Forever the responsible one.”
Lincoln turns as the blonde hugs Pax again. He goes to where Poppy and my hands are joined, forcing a larger gap as he drops a hand around both of our necks.
He’s using us.
I eye him, defiance causing my shoulders to drop.
“Oatmeal blister,” he whispers in my ear.
The reminder has me stopping, a chuckle growing in my chest.
“I’ll call you, Pres,” the blonde says.
In response, Lincoln pulls Poppy and me closer to his chest.
“I’ve always wanted to be someone’s fake girlfriend,” Poppy says, feigning wistful.
“Trust me. You aren’t. You’re feigning someone’s hookup,” I say.
Poppy fans herself. “Oh. Be still, my heart.”
“You want the top or bottom?” Lincoln asks her.
“Always the top,” she says. “I like control.”
Lincoln turns his attention to me, his eyes shining with humor and something that makes the breath fall from my chest. “I guess that means you’re on the bottom.”
Poppy grins, pulling the front door open. “Oh shit. It’s freezing,” she says.
I welcome the cold, desperate for it to coat my hot skin and c
reate a stinging sensation of discomfort.
“Where’d you guys park?” Pax asks, reappearing with Arlo at his side.
I look at Poppy for help. I can barely remember my own middle name right now, let alone the location of my car. She stifles a smile. “Two blocks that way,” she says, pointing to the left.
“Are we going to discuss what just happened between you and Nikki?” Arlo asks, looking at Lincoln. “I’m pretty sure we need to drive you to a hospital. You must have hit your head tonight because when a fine lady like her asks you to stay, you stay.”
“You never heard that story?” Paxton answers.
“Obviously I didn’t, or if I did, I was drunk.” Arlo shrugs.
“She gave him an ultimatum. Wanted to be exclusive,” Pax explains.
We reach the edge of the sidewalk, and as we step down, I duck out of Lincoln’s touch, needing the embrace and anonymity of the night.
Arlo chuckles like what Paxton said was funny. “Okay, okay, so she does want you.”
“She doesn’t know what she wants,” Lincoln says harshly.
“Well, she. Is. Fine. I’d hang around and let her figure out what she wanted if I were you.”
“Be my guest.”
“You wouldn’t care?” There’s doubt in Arlo’s tone.
Lincoln shakes his head. “You don’t need my permission. Go.”
Arlo looks back at the house. “I’m too lazy and buzzed, but next time…”
Paxton chuckles.
“Wait, so you didn’t date?” Poppy asks.
Lincoln shakes his head. “Nope.”
“But she wanted to date?” Poppy continues.
“I already said she didn’t know what she wanted.”
“What does that mean?” Poppy remains in sync with him, making it impossible for me to see her face, but I can feel her looking past Lincoln to ensure I’m paying attention.
“It means I fit her agenda,” he says.
“Could you be any more cryptic?” Poppy asks.
He sighs. “She liked me because I was popular. Because I started appearing on the news and reporters were calling me.”
“Does that scare you guys?” Poppy asks. “That people aren’t going to be genuine?”
“All the fucking time,” Lincoln admits.
“Well, I hate to tell you this, but we only hang out with you guys because we’re hoping it makes us popular. And of course, to date hot guys—obviously.” Humor coats Poppy’s words.