She starts to move, but I’m faster, grabbing her waist. Her blue eyes flash with surprise and hints of lust and anger that burns brighter as my fingers dig into the flesh beneath her black shirt. “You’ve never been one of them. I never compared you to anyone.”
“Don’t tell me you grew a conscience overnight. Call me a cynic, but I’m not buying it.”
“Because it’s me or because of your dad’s mess?”
Anger gains ground with that question. She raises her chin, her eyes narrowing. “Because you were making out with someone else the night before we…” her words fade as she looks away.
“Jealous?”
Clearly, that was the wrong question because she attempts to push away from me, her dark blue nails a flash on my gray team sweatshirt. “Get over yourself.” She rights herself, composure slipping over her like a uniform, changing her disposition and expression. “You’re trying to work me out of your system,” she says it like a revelation—an understanding.
I want so badly to tell her she’s wrong, but the chance that this is true keeps me from replying.
I expect anger due to my silence. Revulsion. A slap across my cheek to stain my skin until morning. Instead, she calmly rakes her eyes over my face, searching for something I’m too afraid to clarify because she’s silently considering something.
“Can you get off work?”
“Now?” she asks.
I glance around at the empty coffee shop. “Yeah.”
“I’m supposed to work until ten. I need to finish setting this up.”
“What do you have left?”
“Why?”
“Because,” I tell her, “I’m tired of this, and I want to take you somewhere.”
The skin between her eyes creases, like she’s trying to make sense of my intentions. “Where?”
“Somewhere we don’t have to talk about things or worry about anyone or anything. Just go have fun.”
“I don’t know…”
I spin before she can continue with a line about obligation, heading toward the two girls at the front counter who try and pretend like they haven’t been watching us. I lean forward, smiling at the blonde who watches me with parted lips, intentions bright in her gaze. “Hi. I’m Lincoln.” I extend my hand to her and then the girl with dark brown hair. “I’m Raegan’s friend, and I really need her help with a situation. Do you think it would be all right if she took off early?”
“Yeah,” the blonde says instantly without looking to her co-worker for input. “I mean, sure.” She takes a fleeting look at her friend as though to confirm.
“Great.” I pat the counter before they can reconsider and turn back to Rae, who’s watching me, amusement shining in her eyes, though she doesn’t smile. “You need help moving this stuff?”
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Offering to help you.”
Raegan shakes her head. “I mean, why are you really here?”
I study her blue eyes and the gentle lift of her lips. “Because we’re friends,” I tell her. The term seems nearly as honest as it does a lie. It’s difficult for me to recall ever thinking of her as a friend, though this year, she’s one of the few people who I can be real with. I grab the pile of cardboard she broke down. “Where do these go?”
She stares at me another moment, the skin between her eyes still bunched, but she grabs the rest of the things she was using and nods in the direction of their backroom. “Over this way.”
I follow her through the door she holds open, through the mid-sized break room and out a backdoor that she props open with a brick. The alley is dark, the double light fixture over the door exposing only one of the two bulbs working. A used needle is on the ground beside the butt of a cigarette. I’m about to ask again why she works and find the least invasive way of asking her not to come out here again by herself while it’s dark when she steps farther outside.
“What’s going on with Paxton?” she asks, raising the lid of a large recycling bin.
I shove the cardboard inside, pushing the lid down to pack it before turning my attention back to Raegan. “He won’t focus,” I tell her. “We’ve got two games left, and we need him.”
“I saw it Saturday,” she admits. “There’s so much going on. It feels like trying to pin down a giant tarp in a windstorm, and I don’t know which corner to try and secure first. Is it because our mom left? Because our dad had an affair? Because he hit Paxton? Because he’s doubting everything?” She sighs. “I appreciate you coming to me and letting me know. I’ll try talking to him. Maybe I can get at least one corner nailed down.”
She removes the brick holding the door, looking at me with surprise as I move to keep it open so she can go first. “Thanks,” she says quietly, slipping past me. She stops in the middle of the breakroom, turning to face me. “We don’t have to hang out. I don’t have any expectations of you, Lincoln.”
I step closer, her eyes bouncing between mine as I digest her words. Her lack of expectations is one of the most freeing things about being around her, but it’s also something that concerns me far more than I would have ever assumed because, without expectations, it means she doesn’t believe in me—believe in us.
“Grab your coat. We’re going.”
Something sparks in her gaze, then she bites her bottom lip, and for a second, I nearly forget that I’m here to convince her I want more than to be in her pants. I lean back on my heels. “You can ride with me. I’ll bring you back by to pick up your car.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere others can’t fucking interfere.”
24
Raegan
I zip my coat up to my neck as we step outside, my co-worker’s gazes heavy on us through the large windows.
Lincoln doesn’t seem to notice, leading me to his black truck, where he opens the passenger side door for me, offering his hand.
It feels strange to accept it, but stranger not to, so I allow him to help me up and inside the cab of his truck where warmth is slowly fading into the November evening. “Do you have a plan, or are we winging this?”
“Are you nervous?”
A dry laugh hits my lips. “How did you manage to answer my question with a question?”
“Does it bother you?”
“Is this a contest?”
“You know I’d win if it were, right?”
I shake my head, not working to fight my grin. “Yes, because you’re the stubbornest person I’ve ever met.” I pause before adding. “You know that, right?”
His face lights with a smile. “Have you ever played Whirlyball?”
“I’ve never even heard of Whirlyball.”
“How do you feel about bumper cars?”
A nervous laugh tinkers through my lips. “I don’t know the last time I rode a bumper car,” I admit.
“Well, that’s about to change.”
“What’s the Whirlyball part?”
He puts his truck in gear, backing out of his parking space. “You’ll see.”