by H. J. Bellus
Lincoln’s chest swells with pride while the others’ jaws drop in amazement.
Turning to face my man, I ask, “Want me to continue, honey?”
“Nah, you’re good. Gentlemen, you just met my badass mother-trucking girlfriend, Oakley, and yes, she’s the one who has me magnetized to her. Any more shit you want to fling at me?” he asks while flipping his hat backward and crossing his arms.
“Nope, we give up,” Mike says and holds out a seat.
Lincoln steps forward to take the offered seat, but Mike bumps him aside. “Back off, bitch. This seat is for the queen.”
The whole wolf pack erupts in laughter and cheers. My guts turn at their praise, and my flesh doesn’t even try to flush. It’s the strangest sensation, and I can only compare it to a baby taking her first steps and feeling her wobbly legs halfway work underneath her. Sure but not steady, but absolutely willing to try for more.
“Thanks, Mike, but my king better sit first.”
Not letting go of my hand, Lincoln sits in the flimsy white plastic lawn chair and drags me into his lap.
“The perfect throne for a queen,” Lincoln announces.
That’s when all the hoots and hollers really come, and even some smartass remarks that only make Lincoln puff his chest out even further.
“Talk about pussy whipped,” comes from one direction.
And then, “Man, she owns your balls.”
We all laugh at the remarks and slowly blend into the crowd like the rest. I listen to the chatter and realize it’s like Lincoln talking to me in my apartment. It’s all about football, plays, and the love of the game. His brother’s name comes up a couple of times, and he just shrugs it off. Nobody in the group quite knows how painful the four-letter word is to Lincoln. It’s everything he’s not and never will be, because he refuses to mold to the expectations of his father. He refuses to be perfect just for family’s sake. Not one of his teammates picks up on that, and it hurts my heart.
In many parts of the conversation I could jump in and add a line or two, but that’s only because of everything Lincoln has shared over the past few weeks. I’m desperately dying to inform the wide receiver named Jerron Olsen he’d make a better cornerback dropping balls than a wide receiver, but internally know that would be an immediate party foul and direct marching orders from the pack.
Lincoln’s love of the game has obviously influenced me. There are still several scenarios I can only describe as ‘this player got the ball and ran for a shit-load of yards, and then the ref threw the yellow flag, which is obviously wrong, and he’s an idiot.’ Yes, I’m still a rookie, but wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than the lap of the best collegiate defensive player in the nation.
“So, Oakley, where are you from?”
The question comes from left field. I was off my game and absorbing the life and surroundings. It hits hard, and it nails me straight in the gut.
“I’m from. I’m from…”
“Her freaking momma,” Lincoln jokes.
Of course, the wolf pack eats it up. I kiss Lincoln on the cheek and will a mental thank you to him. He knows I don’t discuss my past and is willing to accept it, and his comment is just one of the many gestures showing the lengths to which he’s willing to go.
He keeps the scars on my palm hidden from question, but the one across my neck shines like a diamond just taunting the onlookers to ask questions about it. Mentally zoning from the football talk, I prepare a bullshit answer for the loaded gun awaiting me.
The music stops, and everyone parts ways to get refills and some food. I watch as each person disperses and try to read their stories. Everyone has a story, though some hide it well and act as a chameleon like I do. Never really willing to openly be themselves because their true self is ugly, cruel, and worthless.
“Hungry, my girl?” Lincoln whispers into my ear.
Turning to face him, I answer, “No.”
This is when I see him. The full Lincoln Wilks in all his shining glory. Sported out in his handsome as fuck clothes, his scent infusing the air, tilted back ball cap, and all his team pride with me on his lap. This is the first time I really see Lincoln Wilks, and suddenly wonder if I fit into his life, or if this is just another pit stop.
“You’re happy,” I say.
“You have no idea, Oakley, how incredibly happy you make me. With the promise of my junior year ahead of me and you in my life, you have absolutely no fucking idea how happy I am.”
“I could guess,” I sigh into his lips.
“Try me.”
“Are you sure? I’ve had a very good teacher who has taught me well. I do believe I’m a current black belt with my lips.”
“Give it to me, ninja.”
Using my best ninja kissing skills, I give it all I have in front of everyone. My heart will never know if this is destined to be a pit stop with Lincoln, or if it will be more, so right now in this moment I’m choosing before anyone or anything does it for me. It’s going to be more. I’m all in.
All of a sudden the sun is gone, and we are in a shadow. We pull apart and look up to see the largest man I’ve met to date.
“Damn, Tiny, where ya been?” Lincoln asks.
“My fucking girl had drama at home and put us late,” he rumbles.
And by rumble I mean, his voice is so deep and baritone it makes the tiny hairs on my big toe stand up. It is the deepest voice I’ve heard and very fitting for the goliath structure. Lincoln lifts me up, and we both stand before Tiny.
“This has to be the Oakley,” Tiny says, holding out his hand.
Placing my hand in his, I understand why his name is Tiny. He makes my hand look beyond minuscule.
“Yes, I’m Oakley,” I say craning my neck to look up at him.
Tiny’s also sporting a beard, and I remember Lincoln saying it was some kind of tradition with the defensive line. I also remember him saying when he catches his first interception he lets his beard grow out. I don’t remember all the specifics, but there were some. I do remember feeling all giddy about it, because Lincoln with scruff is hot as hell, so I can’t even begin to imagine a full beard.
“Well, I’m Tiny. I’m a hell of a lot better looking than Lincoln, and I have way more talent flowing from this bod. As an added bonus, I have a keg, not a pussy six pack,” he says, grabbing his belly and laughing.
This is when I notice a petite blonde standing behind him. She has her hand nestled in his pocket and looks sad. I recognize that look and instantly empathize with her.
Lincoln grabs the blonde’s arm and pulls her into our midst. She flashes him a small smile and drops her head again.
“This is the better half of Tiny. Oakley, I’d like you to meet Jewels.”
“Hey,” I squeak out, and wave.
She coils into Tiny and gives me a half smile. The two men stand and talk about football for several minutes.
“Shit, let’s get some food,” Tiny finally declares, “We can talk shop while we sit on our asses and eat.”
Jewels and I both follow our men to the food. I’ve been wracking my brain for something to say to her. Everything that comes to mind makes me recoil, because I know I wouldn’t want anyone to say it to me.
“Hungry yet?” Lincoln asks.
“No, not really.”
“You okay?”
“Great, actually.”
“Mmmm, good. You can eat off my plate.”
“I’ll just wait here while you grab your food. It’s really chaotic up there.”
Lincoln kisses the top of my head, and then pushes his way to the front of the food line with Tiny and Jewels. I’m very thankful I’m not working the buffet line, pouring drinks, or serving any food today. This feast is out of control. A huge buffet lines one side, while a grill lines the other, and in the middle there are seas of coolers filled with drinks and a table where girls are serving desserts.
I notice one of the blondes who served us drinks earlier staring at me. She looks like she’s about
to suffer from heat stroke and is beyond pissed off. I try not to make eye contact with her, but I also refuse to wither away from her nasty glares.
“That’s Lincoln’s ex. He was supposed to marry her, or at least that’s what his parents wanted.”
Looking up, I see Jewels standing before me with a plate of food. It’s overflowing with beans, pasta salad, and tons of meat.
“That would explain all the nasty looks, then.”
“She’s a rotten, no-good bitch. Just saying.” Jewels shrugs.
“You’d think I drowned her kitty,” I say.
“Whose cat are we killing?” Tiny asks.
Both men stand staring at us with quizzical looks covering their faces.
“Monica’s,” Jewels replies around a mouthful of pasta.
“She’s not worth your time,” Tiny offers.
Jewels and Tiny take the lead, and we follow. I notice Lincoln’s plate is just as heaping full as Jewels’. These people really like their food.
“What did Monica do to you?” Lincoln asks from behind me.
“Don’t worry about it. Jewels told me why she was glaring at me.”
I’m stopped dead in my tracks by Lincoln’s grip on my shoulder. “What did she say to you?” he demands through gritted teeth.
“Monica said nothing, but Jewels told me she’s your ex, and rotten, and something about marriage.”
“Fuck.”
“Lincoln, it’s fine. It’s your past. Hell, I won’t even share my past with you, so why would I try to judge you for yours? Don’t worry about it.”
“She’s pure evil, Oakley. My parents love her and…”
“Stop, I don’t care,” I say.
“At all?”
“Nope. Let’s promise to keep our pasts in the past and just be with each other. This is something I don’t want to mess up. It’s something I’ve promised myself. I want you, Lincoln.”
I stretch up on my toes and lay a light kiss on his lips.
“Hey, you two horn dogs,” a deep voice bellows.
Looking to our left, I see Tiny waving and gesturing to the other half of the empty picnic table. Not waiting on Lincoln’s move, I grab his elbow and lead him over to his best friend.
“You’re not hungry?” Tiny asks.
“Not really,” I answer, shrugging.
“Okay, girl, I hear you’re catching on with the rules of the game and how fucking talented that arm candy you have is, but rule number one is always fill your damn plate. I didn’t get this big on fresh air,” Tiny says through a mouthful of food.
Jewels picks up a piece of barbecued pork and passes the remainder of her plate to Tiny.
“Fucking A, now that’s a good woman, right there,” he says, chuckling and shoveling food in his mouth.
“Noted, Tiny,” I reply.
Lincoln pipes up around a mouthful of his food, “You better remember you’re sharing food with not just one anymore, jackass.”
The table falls silent, and that familiar sad look is back on Jewels’ face. Tears build up in her eyes, and Tiny snatches her hands.
“That’s right, baby. You need to be eating for two,” he whispers to her.
His voice is so deep and gruff that his whisper is very easy to hear. Lincoln reaches under the table and squeezes my hand as we watch the uncomfortable scene before us play out.
Lincoln finally speaks up. “We love you, Jewels, and will always be here by your side.”
“I know,” she says, “I’m just scared to tell my dad and professors. I’ll never…”
“Enough,” Tiny barks.
Being the queen of swift subject change, I throw out a roadblock, “I secretly love to smell ice cream.”
All three heads abruptly swivel my way with “what the fuck” expressions across their faces.
“You know the little high you get when you smell it, and it’s so cold it sends little chills up your nose. Maple nut is the best.”
They’re still silent.
Then Tiny joins in. “I’m not gonna admit to the things I sniff, but I fucking love ice cream.”
We all laugh at his confession and comfortably settle into eating our meals. I nab a couple ribs off Lincoln’s plate, along with a bite or two of pasta salad. At one point, I felt guilty for eating off his plate after Tiny’s lessons, but Lincoln had no qualms about reaching over to Jewels’ plate to eat her food.
My heart is growing fond of the relationship the three of them have. It’s easygoing and seems very natural. It reminds me of what Jazzy and I once had.
Shake it Out by Florence and The Machines comes blaring across the speakers, and Jewels is immediately up on her feet, pulling on Tiny to dance.
“Let’s go,” Lincoln says.
And before I know it, he has me on my feet, dragging me out to the center of the dance area. Not the side or hidden in the back, nope, right in the middle.
“Lincoln,” I whisper.
“What?”
“Everyone is looking.”
“I know,” he says proudly, “You love this song. I know you have it on repeat all the time on my iPod. I wake up to it every morning, remembering the smile on your face as you listen to it.”
I feel his hands wrap around my waist, and I stand here dumbfounded. He knows this is my favorite song on his playlist. He finally grabs my arms and drapes them around his neck, and then places his hands back on my waist and starts moving me. Just like he does when he kisses me, he leads. Moving us to the song, and like a well-oiled machine, my body follows his without question.
Out of the corner of my vision, I catch Monica and her death glare set on high. Her hatred only fuels my fire to make Lincoln mine. I finally have something worth living for, his name is Lincoln Wilks, and he’s here dancing with me in front of hundreds of people. This makes me smile.
“There’s that smile.”
“What?” I ask.
“You always have the most genuine smile on your face when you listen to this song.”
Flipping around in his arms, with my back up against his chest, I wrap my arms around his neck once again and sway with his body.
“It’s not the song, it’s you,” I say, craning my neck to look into his face.
“Pizza,” he murmurs back.
My lips reach his, and we continue our steady movement to the beat. I let Lincoln lead the dance, but I take charge of the kiss again. He keeps one hand on my waist and raises the other to the long scar on my neck that’s proudly on display for the world to see. In this moment, I don’t remember the edge of the sharp coffee table or the hand that shoved me into it. No, I feel inner peace radiating out of every single one of my pores. The scar Lincoln is covering just morphed into my favorite attribute, and it’s all because of his touch.
After a few more dances, Lincoln whispers into my ear, “You ready to go?”
“Whenever you are,” I reply.
“I want to hang out a bit before I have to check in at the dorms.”
“Code for you want to make out for a few.”
“Code detected,” he says with a devilish smirk.
I stand back and watch Lincoln do all his brotherly hugs and waves to his teammates. A couple of them catch a glimpse of me, and I shoot them a little wave. When we reach Tiny and Jewels, I find myself in a full-fledged hug with her.
“I’m great at listening if you ever need anyone,” I say softly.
“Thank you.”
Tiny’s voice fills the parking lot. “Aw shit, man, looks like the loves of our lives hit it off. That may be better than the big W.”
“Big W?” I ask.
“Win. A win.”
We all start to laugh when I finally understand the meaning of his words.
Settling into Lincoln’s truck, I admit, “I really like them.”
“Yeah, Tiny is a great guy, and I love Jewels like a little sister,” Lincoln says.
“How long have you known them?”
“Actually, we all grew up together. Hi
s real name is Heath, and he’s more like a brother to me than Levi ever will be.”
“I’m glad you have him,” I say, grabbing his hand and placing it in my lap.
“I used to think I loved this truck, but when you’re in it with me, I don’t think there is any other place I would rather be, the field included.”
“What about me at one of your games?”
Lincoln doesn’t speak a word, but looks nervous and unconvinced of the idea.
“Never mind, I don’t need to go.”
Lincoln brings the truck to a screeching halt. Dust billows by outside the windows.
“Oakley, no. I want you there more than anything. I just didn’t want to push you too far, and I won’t be able to sit with you. I worry about you doing it alone.”
Placing a hand on Lincoln’s tanned and stubbled jaw line, I say, “I had fun today. Lots of fun, and I like Jewels a lot. I want to try, and I think I’d be okay if I sit with Jewels at your game. I want to see you with your teammates playing the game you love. I promise I’ll plant my feet on the ground for the whole four quarters.”
“I want that,” he replies.
“Me, too. Now let’s get back to my room. We have some business to take care of.”
Chapter 11
Falling at 1,014 Miles
“Lincoln, the coach will be calling you any minute. Wake up,” I urge, trying to shake the beast of a man asleep in my bed.
We grabbed ice cream and Red Box after the barbecue and hung out on my bed tangled in each other’s limbs and lips for a couple hours before we both fell asleep. He passed out watching his shoot ‘em, kill everything movie, and I followed moments later listening to his iPod. We knew we only had about four hours together before he had to get to the dorms to check in. His first game is only seven days away.
Desperation sets in, so I speak louder. “Lincoln, wake your ass up.”
“Mmmm,” he groans.
“C’mon, Lincoln,” I beg, giving him another shake.
“I want to stay here with you. I’m not waking up,” he mumbles, and then he grabs me by the waist, dragging me down on top of him.