He chuckles and presses play. The video lights up with arcade sounds, but you don’t see anything but my feet. We both lean in closer, watching carefully, and just as the video starts to come to an end, clear as day, my foot passes over the line.
“Son of a—”
“Ah-ha!” Lincoln shouts. “I fucking told you.” He raises his hand over my head and points down at me, calling out to anyone who wants to listen. “Cheater, we have a cheat—” He stops and looks around. “Hey, where did our moms go?”
I turn and spot the table they had commandeered. It’s vacant. “Uh, they can’t possibly be playing games. My mom hates them.”
Lincoln looks around, his brow creasing in concern. He checks his pockets and says, “Well, my mom couldn’t have gone far, I have the keys to the car.”
“Let me text my mom,” I say, pulling my phone from my pocket.
Indie: Where are you?
I press send and almost immediately, my phone starts to ring.
“Hey Mom, where are you?”
Lincoln leans in, as if he’s trying to listen in on the conversation.
“Hey honey. Laura started to get a headache from the loud arcade games, so I took her home. We didn’t want to bother you two since you were having so much fun.”
“You left?” I ask, as Lincoln’s eyes grow wide.
“Well, yes, for Laura. Headaches can be a real cause of pain, Indie.”
“That’s great, Mom, but how do you expect me to get home?”
“Laura told me Lincoln is quite a responsible driver. I have the utmost confidence that he’ll be able to handle my girl. When you two are finished, have him drive you home. Okay, got to go. Love you.”
“You can’t be”—the phone goes dead—“serious,” I finish, lowering my phone and then looking at the ceiling in frustration.
Honestly, I’m not surprised. My mom has gone to great lengths before to get what she wants, but this? Leaving me at a restaurant? Now that’s a new level for her.
“So, your mom left?” Lincoln asks.
I pocket my phone and say, “Both our moms left.”
“Wait, my mom left too?”
I nod, lips pressed together, only to form a pop when I say, “Yup.” I point at him. “Your mom is the reason they left so early. Apparently, she’s been hit with a headache.”
Lincoln rolls his eyes and takes a seat on the football arcade game. He picks up one of the footballs I never got a chance to throw. “Yeah, I’m sure she’s really aching right now.” His head drops as he shakes it and laughs. “Monday can’t come soon enough.”
“Tell me about it. I wanted to stay in Chicago this summer, but my mom wouldn’t have it. She needed ‘one more summer with her girl’ as she put it. More like one more summer meddling in my life.”
“From the way tonight turned out, I’m going to assume you’ve had a similar summer to mine. Constantly being tricked into going out with someone?”
“Yup.” I lean against the arcade game as well, and our shoulders touch. “The worst date of them all was with the kid who works at the ice cream stand. Apparently, my mom thought he was my age. Turns out, he’s seventeen.”
“Oh shit.” Lincoln laughs, still tossing the football. My gaze travels to his forearm and hand. I watch as they flex and retract with every catch and throw. Wow, he really does have great hands. “So, what you’re telling me is that I’m not the worst date you’ve had this summer?”
“I wouldn’t qualify this as a date.”
“No?” He turns to face me. “What would we have to do to make this a date?”
His charming smile releases a wave of butterflies in my stomach, a feeling I don’t think I’ve ever felt when a guy has looked at me.
I’ve spent so much time training to be the best, to earn a full-ride scholarship from Brentwood, the premiere college in the country for sports, that I’ve never put any effort into dating, or men for that matter. They’ve just been a means to an end for me. When I’ve needed the adrenaline release, a moment to escape my busy schedule, I’ve hooked up. Some repeats, some one-night stands, but nothing of any substance, nothing that’s even remotely given me butterflies.
But that one look, that one lift of his lips, has my stomach twisting and turning, sending signals to my heart to stay away—stay so far away from this one. He’s trouble.
“So many things would have to happen for this to be a date,” I answer, standing from the arcade game. I toss the ball I’ve been holding at him and he catches it with ease. “Trust me, you don’t have it in you to make this a date, nor am I interested in it becoming one.”
He sets the balls down and stands. He must be at least six-two, if not taller. I’m not short by any means at five foot eight, but he towers over me, his broad, fit shoulders filling in all the space of his shirt, his bulging arms a product of the Brentwood weight room.
I get it.
I truly get why girls are always talking about Lincoln Castle. His picture is one thing, but his presence is a whole other weapon.
He’s confident in the way he carries his body. Flawless when it comes to his looks and style. Obviously, he’s outgoing and has no problem teasing and joking. Not to mention his body. It’s the work of God Himself, chiseled in all the right places. I can only imagine what he’d look like without a shirt.
But the thing that’s been eating away at me all night is his personality. Strong, bold, but then he whines when necessary, effectively playing the cute card. He’s . . . captivating and annoying at the same time.
“How do you know I can’t handle turning this into a date?”
I give him a smooth once-over, arms folded across my chest. “Have you ever taken a girl out?”
“I mean . . . yeah.”
“When you answer with a pause, then you haven’t. But it doesn’t matter, because I’m not interested in dating . . . anyone.”
“Why not?”
“Why don’t I want to date anyone?” I shift in my spot and hook my thumbs in my back pockets. For a split second, I catch his gaze dropping to my chest, but then it ricochets back to my eyes. Typical. “I don’t have time to date,” I answer. “Training and school are my number-one priorities. If I have time to relax, it usually consists of lying in bed, naked, watching disturbing jail documentaries on Netflix.”
“Naked?” he asks, his brow lifting. “You’re a naked sleeper?”
“Yup. I roll around way too much at night and my clothes get tangled. So, I sleep naked, sometimes in just underwear.”
He slowly nods, his eyes looking hazy.
Ugh, men.
Rolling my eyes, I turn away from him just as he calls out, “Where are you going?”
“Leaving.”
“How are you getting home?” he asks, catching up to me.
“You’re taking me home.”
“Who says I’m ready to leave?”
I look up at him and then grab his arm. “I do. Let’s go, Castle.”
Chapter Three
LINCOLN