That Girl

by H. J. Bellus

  Before getting completely out the door, I grab my keychain and ready myself for the short walk home. The night air is warm, quiet, and very peaceful. Nights like these at home, I’d sneak outside with a towel if we had any and lie on it under the stars and wish like hell. Looking up into the sky, I spot several stars and wish like hell just like I did when I was a child.

  “What are you wishing?”

  A familiar dark shadow walks out of the darkness and into the streetlight. It’s Lincoln.

  “What are you doing?” I squeal, my heart pounding. I mentally pat myself on the back for not breaking my other wrist or tossing my food into the air.

  “What did you wish for?” he asks again.

  “To be found. I’m tired of being lost,” I say softly.

  “How’s the wrist?” he asks, avoiding my wish.

  “Sore.”

  “Good day?”

  “Busy,” I reply.

  Then the awkward silence settles between us, and this is when I realize it’s my turn to make the small talk. It’s how it works. I’m use to loudmouth Jazzy running the show or my mother screaming. The last year I’ve been on my own, only talking when a job demanded it.

  Diving head first, I go for it. “Have you eaten?”

  “Nah, long day.”

  Going out on a limb and feeling every single fiber freezing, I ask, “Want to?” I gesture with my box toward a picnic table on the side of Boone’s. The stars and moon light up the table. The streetlights don’t hit it.

  “Actually, I do,” he says, a slight smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.

  “Want me to order another one?”

  “I think I’d like to share with you,” he replies.

  It’s a square picnic table with four sides. Lincoln takes the bag of ice from me with a frown and a shake of his head. I settle down on one side of the table, expecting him to sit across from me, but instead he scoots in right next to me.

  “What are we eating?” he asks, adjusting the ice bag on my wrist.

  “Bacon cheeseburger.”

  “My absolute favorite.”

  Before chickening out, I take the plunge of all plunges and try to make small talk with him. Jazzy was my only friend, and everything came naturally to us growing up. This is a first for me.

  “How was your day?” I ask, and immediately cringe at the boring question.

  There is only one thing worse than the “how was your day” question, and that’s any question that deals with weather. Those two types of questions are sure signs of digging for conversation.

  “It was okay. Training camp started, and I’m exhausted from it.”

  “For soccer?” I ask.

  Lincoln turns his head in dismay and lets me have it. “You think I’m a soccer player? Are you fucking shitting me? Do you think any soccer player could light up someone like I did for you last night?”

  Unable to hold my giggle any longer, I let it out, and I can physically see the worry and hint of anger leave his face. He wasn’t impressed, but now realizes it’s a joke and smiles. “So, she can joke around.”

  “I’ve got jokes,” I say.

  “Good to know.”

  “Who do you play for, and what position and all that jazz,” I ask, opening my to-go box and sliding it toward him.

  “CSU,” he says around a bite of burger.

  I watch as he passes it to me to take a bite. I guess I didn’t think this plan through very well. When I talk about splitting a meal, there’s a knife involved, and cutting.

  Lincoln continues talking, like this is no big deal. “I play defense. My dad played in the pros for Texas, and my only brother plays there now. I have big shoes to fill, you know.”

  “That’s impressive,” I reply, taking another bite and passing the burger.

  “Tell me a little about you.”

  At this innocent request, I lose my appetite and all the happiness from this simple meal. The darkness in the night sky takes over, dimming out the moonlight and stars, and my feet steady themselves in their favorite position to run.

  “I, uh. I don’t have anything to say about myself. I’m really nothing.”

  Lincoln tries to pass me the burger, and I decline.

  “Not hungry anymore?” he asks.

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Did I just ruin the whole night by asking about you?” He looks puzzled and a little sad.

  I give my head a shake. “It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not a good person. You shouldn’t even be here with me.”

  “I’m not here to judge you. I want to spend more time with you and find more about you.”

  “But I’m not a good person.”

  “Neither am I. Hell, I was raised here. My childhood home is twenty minutes away, and my parents basically live in Texas during football season to be with their golden child. I was an ass in high school, rebelling and partying it up. Challenging my parents in every way. I was a spoiled-ass fucking brat.”

  “What changed? You seem like a pretty nice guy now,” I point out.

  “My coaches. It’s taken two football seasons and a lot of hard life lessons.”

  “I’ve had those. Not coaches, but a lot of life lessons. Here’s my story. I don’t have a past I care to remember or memories worth reminiscing about. I left home, and not one single person noticed. I’ve lived in various places the last year, and not one person has missed me when I’m gone. I don’t leave an impact on anyone.”

  “Until now,” he says, grabbing my hand and rubbing my scars again.

  “Yeah, right. You’re just hungry,” I say, shrugging off the true impact of his statement.

  “I am that, but I’m always hungry. I came back for you, and I will every night because I want to know your story, and more importantly, be a part of your story.”

  “I don’t work here tomorrow night. I only work here four nights a week, and tonight was the fourth. I work at the coffee shop and bakery the rest of the week.”

  “Guess we’ll be sharing doughnuts and coffee tomorrow, then?”

  “I can’t do this,” I whisper.

  “Oakley or Jodie, whatever the hell you want to be called, you don’t have a choice in this situation. The moment I saw your brown eyes, I’ve been hypnotized. I think about you during the day and at night before I go to bed. I just want a chance to get to know you.”

  “There’s nothing to know,” I insist with a note of panic.

  Lincoln is taken aback by my voice, and my feet finally find their place to run.

  “I can’t do this. Please leave me alone.”

  Standing up, I grab my keys and ice and make my way to the lit-up lot. I tried, I really tried to be normal and act like a girl on a date. I asked the boring questions and enjoyed every single one of his touches. Ate off the same plate, and never did I think sharing a hamburger could be so intimate, but it most certainly was. I enjoyed watching him eat more than taking my own satisfaction from the meal, but once again I ran. These few memories are the only things I can hold dear and replay over and over again in my mind. The way his hand naturally runs over the scars in my palm soothes my soul and almost makes me want to take the leap off the cliff.

  I’ve never felt so lost in my emotions. One minute, there’s nothing but him in the moment and wanting more with him. Then it only takes his asking about my past to bring that high to an abrupt halt. Am I being too sensitive? Can he get over never knowing about my past? Can I truly stand by his side? Do I even deserve the chance?

  I’m really lost, and currently drowning in desire and burning in shame.

  Chapter 8

  No Choice at 1,014 Miles

  Staring at the television on the dresser willing it to turn on for the last thirty minutes hasn’t resulted in anything. There was an old television in the room when I rented it and the same black cables coming from the wall, but no workee this time. I even checked and double-checked the power cord, and still nothing. Tonight I’m choosing to will the bastard to wor
k with my mind. Last resort kind of deal.

  I’m realizing only working four nights a week at Boone’s is not enough, because I’m absolutely going stir-crazy. I could walk to the grocery store, but one can only own so much cereal.

  I’ve kept Lincoln off my mind all day while working, but now he’s on the forefront of it. His smell, smile, and kind words are all filling my head and making me want to scream. I should’ve stayed last night and not run. I do believe that wholeheartedly but just can’t make the conscious effort to take the leap. I do, I do want Lincoln in my life, but I fucked up.

  Tears begin to roll down my cheeks, blurring my eyes and dulling the pain I just realized I brought all on myself. Finally, sleep takes over.

  “Oakley,” someone shouts.

  There’s pounding on the door and another, “Oakley.”

  Then more knocks. Sitting up, with the foggy haze clearing slowly, I glance over at my alarm clock and realize I was out for over two hours.

  “Oakley, you home?”

  Finally, I realize where the noise is coming from. My door, not my dreams. Stumbling up, I go for the door. My body reacts so fast I don’t have to time get spooked or wonder who in the hell is there.

  Opening the door, I stare at Lincoln standing there in his typical ball cap, tank top, and gym shorts, holding a coffee and a bag of pastries.

  “You said it was coffee and doughnut night, right?” he asks, almost shyly.

  “What? How… How did you know where I live?” I ask, slurring my speech from the sleep still lingering in my brain.

  “I’ve watched you walk to this motel room every night. I couldn’t step away until I saw you enter your room safely.”

  “Okay, so what are you doing here, then?”

  “Doughnuts and coffee,” he suggests again.

  “Oh yeah, sorry, just woke up. Actually, I was dead asleep.”

  “I’m sorry. I can leave,” he says, turning to walk away.

  “No,” I yelp and grab his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry for leaving you. I’ve never done this. I think about you and want to get to know you, but I can’t talk about my past. Ever.” I silently urge him to accept this boundary, that what I can offer will somehow be enough.

  “Doughnuts and coffee. That’s all we have to do tonight. Small steps. I won’t ask any more about you. You share when you feel like it, okay?”

  I feel my tension decrease slightly. “I’d like that a lot.”

  “Just a couple things I have to know, though.”

  “Lincoln, I can’t.” So much for my decreasing tension.

  “Just hear me out.”

  I sigh. “Fine.”

  I point to the broken-down picnic table outside of my room. It might actually be more comfortable in the room, temperature-wise, than outside, but I’m not ready for that.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “For what?”

  “This,” I gesture with my hands.

  “Why? It’s perfect.”

  “Far from it.”

  “It’s perfect because you’re here.” He smiles, and my heart stutters.

  Not waiting for my reaction, Lincoln leans in and kisses me on the lips. It’s quick, sweet, and simple, but a feeling worth remembering for the rest of my days. The kiss is over before I can blink. My lips buzz with all sorts of sensations.

  “I have a feeling you’re pretty damn bullheaded, so instead of giving you the chance to argue with me, I just proved a point.”

  “That was my first,” I whisper.

  My hands cover my lips, trying to seal him to them forever. I look up at Lincoln’s face and see desire and pride covering it. I’m assuming the pride is from knowing he was my first kiss.

  “Well, then, by all means,” he says.

  Before the last word leaves his mouth, his lips are covering mine, and this time it’s not as sweet as the first, but just as tasty. Lincoln grabs the back of my head, pulling me closer to him. I realize after several seconds that I’m simply sitting here enjoying the kiss of the century and not kissing him back. The thing is, I have no clue what to do, so I memorize every movement his lips make and mimic them back to him. Instinctively, my tongue runs the length of his lips, and this must be the right move, because it causes him to growl.

  Lincoln’s hands move from the back of my head, lower down my back, and I find myself melting into every single piece of him. My body wants him something fierce. A loud siren startles me and shatters the sweet moment. The sound causes me to jump up just enough to break the kiss and tag Lincoln in the nose with my teeth.

  Covering my mouth, I immediately apologize. “I’m so sorry.”

  He grabs his nose and shrugs it off. “Coffee and doughnuts?”

  “Coffee and doughnuts,” I finally agree.

  “Damn, I’ve never had to do so much convincing to get a girl to eat a doughnut with me.”

  I shake my head.

  “So, these are not from the bakery or coffee shop you work at because it was closed. Hope they’ll do.”

  “You could’ve come without them, and I’d have been fine with that,” I say, blushing hard with every single word.

  There it was. I laid it out there. No choice when it came to Lincoln. I leapt.

  “Good to know,” he answers. “So, these questions I have to ask. They are the deal breaker type.”

  Groaning, I lay my head down on the table and steady my feet.

  “Question number one, bacon or sausage?”

  Lifting my head, I ask, “Are you serious?”

  “Yep, have to know.”

  “I may survive this,” I laugh. “Sausage. Only links, though.”

  “Interesting. Now question number two. What’s your favorite professional football team?”

  With a deer in the headlights look, I frantically wrack my brain to come up with a team name. I don’t even come close to finding one as the seconds tick by.

  Turning the tables, I say, “You tell me.”

  “Denver.”

  “Duh, it’s always been Denver. Diehard fan here.”

  Lincoln chuckles and feeds me a bite of a doughnut, and holy shit, it’s heaven in dough. A raspberry cream cheese filled doughnut with a light chocolate icing.

  “Good girl. Okay, last question. Have you ever shit yourself in a public place?”

  “What?” I squeal.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Well, have you?”

  “No, well, possibly in kindergarten, but that’s it,” I answer.

  “I think we’ll work out just fine then.”

  “Those were your questions?”

  “Yep, it’s all I need to know about you.”

  “Really?”

  “For reals. Now eat a doughnut and relax.”

  “Tell me about football,” I say.

  “What do you want to know?” Lincoln asks around a mouthful of doughnut.

  “Everything.”

  Lincoln straddles the bench, drags me closer, and begins to ramble on about football. I catch the words defense, ball, interceptions, and safety. I listen, trying to soak up the meaning and purpose of the words and their correlation to football. For sure, I’ll be Googling some of the terms tomorrow at the coffee shop. There’s happiness in Lincoln’s voice when he talks about football.

  Finally, when he takes a breath, I say, “You really love football.”

  “Yeah, it’s my life. I’ll never be as good as my dad or brother, but I love the game. Live for it. It’s all I have.”

  “Why do you feel that way about your dad and brother?”

  “You see, they are quarterbacks. They lead their teams. My dad holds several records in that position, and my brother is right on the heels of breaking them. Dad’s pride for Levi is off the charts. He fucking loves Levi. Neither of my parents miss a game of his, only sport his team colors. Hell, they are already down in Dallas to watch over him at training camp.”

  “Have you talked to your dad about it?” I lean in closer and let Lincoln wr
ap me up into him.

  “I’ve tried, and his only response is that newscasters don’t even know he has another son.”

  “And your mom?”

  “She follows my dad’s leads. She’s only worried about looks and labels. If I’m being honest, that’s why I only wear gym clothes everywhere, to piss her off.”

  “I can see why you rebelled in high school, that’s for sure.” I finish my coffee and study his face.

  “Yeah, that’s just the surface of the shit too.”

  “So, I do know there’s offense and defense, but explain to me exactly what that is.”

  “You crack me up, girl,” he says, placing a kiss on the top of my head, “Well, Levi is a quarterback, he throws the ball and is on offense. Offense scores the points. I’m on defense. We try and stop the other team’s offense from scoring points.”

  “Score, I was right. That’s exactly what I thought it was.”

  He chuckles. “You’re full of shit too.”

  “What?” I feign innocence and sit up. “Test me, then.”

  “Okay, what part of the field do I play?”

  “Defense.”

  “More specific.”

  “You’re the right safety and love catching interceptions. You said the offense scores, but I’d like to correct you. The defense can score, too, when they have a kickass safety named Lincoln.”

  “And?” He makes a gesture with his hand, encouraging me to continue.

  “And what?”

  “And what other position can catch interceptions?”

  “That’s all I gathered. Hell, I was proud of what I did put together from you explaining it.”

  “I’m not gonna lie, Oakley. I’m impressed you’re a Denver fan, love sausage links, and have never shit your pants other than kindergarten. I may have just fallen in love with you.”