Chapter 9
Giving It a Go at 1,014 Miles
“Do I get to come in tonight?”
“You did last night, Lincoln.”
“Actually, I stood right here on the threshold and kissed the hell out of you.”
“Do remind me again?”
Lincoln Wilks takes me by the hand, pulling me into him, and proceeds to kiss the hell out of me. He says it’s his favorite thing to do, and it’s for sure my favorite thing. We’ve followed the same routine for a little over three weeks now. Late night visits, lots of food, conversation, and kissing. I always call it his kissing because he’s still the driving force and always leading the way. Me, I just go with it and try to play follow the leader with my lips and tongue the best I can. He tells me I’m the best he’s ever kissed, but he also tells me on a daily basis I’m beautiful, unforgettable, and have a nice ass. I’m sure he’d tell me whatever I wanted to hear.
“Thursday night,” he mumbles through his lips into mine.
“Fine,” I mumble back.
His cell phone goes off, and we both know it’s his coach. It’s his last reminder call to get his ass back to the dorms.
“Bye,” I whisper.
“Tomorrow is Thursday, and you’re mine. Don’t forget it.”
“Ugh, this might be more torture than working half of a shift with Jenni,” I reply, not entirely joking.
He gives me one last kiss and moves toward the door. “Get your ass in bed.”
“On it. Night, Lincoln Wilks.”
“Night.” The door closes behind him with a click.
Lincoln has been begging me for the last week or so to go out with his friends. I’m barely able to feel comfortable around him, so I’m not thrilled to be thrown in the middle of college life. From some of his wild stories, I find myself cringing and thanking God more than once that I’ve skipped that scene.
Lincoln hasn’t pushed for any more of my past. I’ve found myself enjoying each evening together more and more, because I know they are numbered with August just around the corner. Lincoln will have fulltime college classes, practices, and games. He’ll be scarce and not available to come entertain me every night. He’s hinted about my taking some classes or just following him around campus as his assistant. He comes across as joking, but deep down we both know the football season is going to be hard on us.
He’s already been in a little hot water with his coach for breaking curfew a couple times. He blamed it on my lips. Coach Uni let it slide since Lincoln is on top of his game, but warned him not to push the boundaries.
Tomorrow night there is the annual barbeque pool party to welcome everyone back on campus. It’s held to honor the team, but I guess that’s an unspoken sentiment. I’m not sure of all the details. Lincoln tried explaining the different niches and politics of college athletics. I did try to pay attention, but it was hard when all I could do was sniff him as I sat in his lap in the passenger seat of his truck.
It was our favorite spot. Lincoln would find an old dirt road or abandoned lot, and we would just sit and talk. The first few nights on our own sides of the truck, and then each night it morphed into a little more before I ended up in his lap. Our hands roam each other’s bodies as we talk and laugh about life. Nothing super-heated, but definitely sensual. I know the day will come when things go to the next level. I try to not let myself think about that day, because I’m not sure if I’ll see Lincoln then, or my past scars. Everything inside me prays that when the time comes I’ll only see Lincoln.
Lying in bed with Lincoln on my mind, it’s nights like these I really wish I had a phone. He nearly had a heart attack the night I told him I don’t have a driver’s license or cell phone. I saw the questions all over his face, but he never asked one of them. But on hot, restless nights like these, when he has to be back in his dorm room, I really wish I had a cell phone.
Unable to text or communicate, I resort to the next best thing – my memory. My favorite is the night we went for pizza, but a close second is the night he took me to the stadium where he plays. We sat up in the bleachers, and he talked for hours about the game, his dreams, and hopes of being seen by his father. The man really just wants the approval of his dad. When most of his classmates are looking toward the pros and being spotted by scouts, he only wants the approval of his own father. Lincoln packed us a picnic, and we ate dinner in the stands.
I’ll never forget his words that night. “These chairs we’re sitting in are my parents’. They’re season ticket holders, but never come to a game. I’m going to write your name on this one, and then when you come to my game in August, you’ll know which seat is yours.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him there was no way I’d make it to a game for various reasons. Transportation being number one, and panic attacks number two, and the list could go on for days. He sensed my feet steadying themselves, and whispered, “It’s just pizza.” It’s become our code meaning everything will work out.
Sitting in that stadium with Lincoln is the closest I’ve ever felt to being a normal person. There weren’t any fears, scars, or memories haunting my every thought or action as I let Lincoln kiss me that night. I never doubted him when he told me I was even more beautiful in the stadium lighting. I soaked up every word he spoke to me, and even learned a shit-ton about the game. I think I fell as much in love with the stadium as Lincoln is, and a piece of my heart fell for him under the bright lights.
“I love you, Lincoln Wilks,” I breathe into my pillow, wondering if I’ll ever be brave enough to speak those words to his face.
Then I send a silent prayer hoping to find the courage one day.
***
Only three more hours here, then a thirty-minute wait for Lincoln to pick me up. I’ll admit I’m not thrilled about where we’re going, but damn fucking jacked to be with him. The day can’t possibly move any slower, and I’ve been realizing this fact as August draws nearer. The days, afternoons, and evenings drag ass, but when the night hits, time flies by.
“Hey, girl, hey,” Jenni sings.
She’s been visiting me more and more in the coffee shop. Her chatter is helpful in easing the pain of time. She quickly picked up on my attitude and the very hot customer who’d drop by every once in a while. Yes, it just so happened every time she was there, and I do mean every time, Lincoln showed up.
It took about three visits before I figured out he hated coffee, which made it very obvious why he was stopping by.
“Hi, Jenni.”
She caught me doodling in my notebook since business was dead and all my cleaning was finished.
She angles her head, trying to see what I’m doing. “What are you drawing?”
“Just doodles.” Holding up the notepad I show her the sketch I’ve been working on.
“That looks like the stadium.”
“Ha. It is. Just messing around.”
“It’s very good.”
“Thanks. What are you up to?”
“Just chillaxing before the big party tonight. I got invited by some old friends.”
Do I tell her I’m going to the same party and hopefully avoid her inevitable freak out when she sees me there? Trying to sound casual, I go for it. “Lincoln is taking me there too.”
“Are you shitting me? Holy shit! You have to be shitting me right now. You’re going to the ‘Back to School Bash’ with a football player. Hold the phone, bitches, not just any football player, but the Lincoln Wilks.”
“Yeah, he’s been begging, and I finally gave in.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she screeches. “I mean my God, you don’t pass up opportunities like this. I don’t care if you were a blind mute, you’d still jump on shit like this.”
“Is shit the word of the day, and I missed the public service announcement?”
“I’m still in shock. Here I’m freaking out over not having shit to wear, and you’re going with Lincoln. I suck shit. End of story.”
And this is what I’ve grown to love about Jenni. You can point something out straight to her face, and she’ll still go on doing what she wants. Clearly, today it’s the overuse of the word shit.
“What am I going to wear?” I wonder out loud.
She gives me an assessing once-over. “Well, what do you want to portray? You have several options. The slut who won Lincoln, the nice girl who won Lincoln, or just the girl with Lincoln.”
“Definitely the last choice. Nothing too obvious. I want to blend in and just hang on his arm and get the fuck out of there.”
“Well, I agree with most of that. I’d want to get out of there, too, and have that man candy in my bed, but I’d be shining with glitter, and you could bet your sweet ass on that.”
“What do most girls wear to this thing?”
“Well, I didn’t go last year, but I did my freshman year when I was still at CSU, and most girls were just in short shorts and tiny tanks.”
“Okay, I got this.”
“I need to go tan, wax, and get my groove on. Hope to see you tonight.” She bounced toward the door.
“Bye, Jenni.”
She has way too much time on her hands. I’m still blown away by all the different things she does to her body. I really thought those things were just made up in the movies. I had no idea grown women actually paid other grown women to rip out their pubic hairs. I’m still not sure I believe it.
A knocking sound pulls me from my gory thoughts. It’s Jenni at the drive-thru window.
“You’ll need a swimming suit. Don’t forget that.”
“Okay,” I reply.
Mentally noting to forget a swimming suit because I won’t be wearing one, I check the clock again to see how many hours are left before I can go home and figure out what to wear.
***
My tiny closet is emptied, and my dresser is bare. Everything I own is on the floor, and I’m no closer to being ready than I was ten minutes ago. I came straight home from work, showered, styled my hair, and threw on an over-sized shirt while digging for an outfit.
The last trip to the grocery store, I bought some mascara and eyeliner. It’s as much makeup as I’ve ever worn. I must say eyeliner is magic; it really makes my brown eyes pop. I’ve always been blessed with long, thick lashes, so it’s fun applying mascara. But I’m sure if you took a before and after photo you wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference.
I hear Lincoln’s truck pull into his parking spot and then a knock, and I’m bounding over the two small piles of clothes to get to the door. When I do open it, I melt a little. Lincoln is dressed up. I’ve never seen him in anything more than his gym shorts and tank. Tonight he’s wearing a button up short sleeve shirt with tan cargo shorts. He’s fucking hot, and I’m about to show him exactly how hot I think he is.
I leap up into his arms and kiss him first this time. He’s always the one leading it and bending down to get a kiss. My lips hit his, and I feel him smile. I begin the kiss the same way he always does, slow and steady, then I pick up my pace.
His phone goes off in his pocket, and I pull away.
“Damn, I taught you well, grasshopper.” He doesn’t reach for the phone.
“I’ve had some good practice.”
“Are you wearing this?” he asks, looking down between us.
Both his arms are under my ass holding me up to his chest. I didn’t even realize I literally jumped up into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist. The stress of tonight is overwhelming, and when I saw his face, I found my comfort zone. My home sweet home. Remembering his question and looking down, I’m in a white tank top, with no bra, and my boy short panties.
“Do you think it’s acceptable?”
“I’d fucking sign you up to be in a parade in this outfit.”
Sliding down Lincoln’s body, I grab his hand and lead him into the apartment. He hasn’t officially been in here, which is ridiculous because he’s stood at the doorway numerous times. I’ve always felt ashamed of the tiny room I rent. As the weeks have gone by, I’ve been able to add some decorations here and there, and I’m finally at a point where I’m really proud of it. I always keep it tidy just in case the courage strikes to invite him all the way in.
Tonight when I saw his face, I knew it was time.
Walking away from him and back to my pile of clothes, he slaps me on the ass. “Just wear anything. You know what I’ll say.”
“Lincoln, this is really stressing me out. Jenni came by work today and made this huge deal about me being with you at this particular party. She gave me options like I could look slutty, classy, or just normal. You know me, I went for normal in the moment, but the more I think about it, the more fucking crazy I’m going. I’m sure the other years you’ve gone you’ve had a knock-out on your arm, and tonight, well…I just don’t deserve…”
Lincoln walks over to me and puts his fingers on my lips. “Let me dress you,” he says.
“But,” I try to start again.
This time Lincoln’s lips are on mine before I can protest any more. He keeps them there as he grabs my neon green bra from the bed. I feel his hands snake up my back as he maneuvers the bra on me. He does all of this without taking his lips from mine or touching my breasts. I don’t even flinch once while he does it, and am secretly disappointed when I don’t feel his hands exploring.
“Now, no more words. Didn’t anyone ever teach you if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?”
“Lincoln…”
“I said to be quiet.”
“I pizza you hard, and that’s why I’m freaking the fuck out,” I blurt before he can do anything.
He smiles, places his lips back on mine, and continues to dress me. Lincoln knows if he responds, I’ll run. He slips my tank top over my head and bends over to pick up two items from the floor. When he stands back up, I push him down onto the bed and crawl on top of him, straddling his middle.
Smiling at my actions, I respond, “Thank you.”
Lincoln picked the same outfit I was going to – a simple lace shirt with black denim shorts.
“I’m dying to see these shorts on you,” he admits.
“Well, I’m dying to feel your hands on my breasts. They were so close.”
I grab both his hands and guide them up to where I want them. When his fingers hit the flesh exposed above my bra, I’m shocked by my actions and even more stunned by how good his touch feels. Lincoln closes his eyes as he sinks his hands down into the bra. I let out a cry of pleasure, then his cell phone goes off. It’s not just any ring, but his coach’s ring. Lincoln looks as if someone just ran over his puppy on Christmas morning.
“Answer it,” I say.
As he talks to his coach, I stay on top of him, pulling on my shirt and snatching my necklace from the nightstand. Lincoln waves goodbye to my boobies as I cover them up, and I can’t help but laugh.
I try to roll off him so I can put my shorts on, but instead he flips me over, covering the length of my body, with his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. He gently shakes his head, and then goes for the little black shorts that fell on the floor.
Hanging up the phone, he comes back up to face me with a quick peck on the lips, then the chin, then the center of my chest. He continues kissing down my body, and when he hits my belly button I squirm a little, but he doesn’t stop. His chin hits my core, and I begin to panic. Ugly memories resurface, a forgotten face races right back into memory, and I panic a little more. Squirming to get free and trying like hell to steady my feet on something solid to run.
“Oakley, look down here. It’s me, Lincoln. No one else owns this memory or night. Please look at me.”
I prop myself up and look into Lincoln’s eyes. His scent overwhelms my senses, and my feet ease up and relax a bit.
“Watch me. I just wanted to kiss from your lips down to your toes. Tell me to stop if you want me to, but don’t run.”
I watch as Lincoln places another kiss right below my belly button, and then another, and then one more at the juncture of my thighs. Even with a panty barrier, I feel every sensation. Nothing dirty or wrong, just Lincoln consuming every inch of my body. Then I giggle when he hits the inside of my thigh. Apparently, I’m very ticklish there.
“Thank you,” he says few moments later, kissing the tip of my big toe.
We both laugh as Lincoln tries to shimmy my shorts up my legs while I’m lying down. He finally pulls me up and buttons them.
“Fuck,” he growls. “We may need to stay here tonight.”
“Stop.” Weeks ago that comment would’ve sent me in a tailspin, but now I know it’s simply a comment. “Now, pick the shoes.”
I have all six pairs of my shoes lined up on my dresser.
“Well, let’s see,” he says, “flip-flops or flip-flops, sneakers, or these sexy-ass wedges.”
“Those are Jenni’s. She insisted I have them about a month ago because she was sick of my Old Navy flip-flops.”
“Wedges,” he replies. “We’re going to need to buy you a pair of snow boots before winter hits.”
“Nah, it’s fine. I’m the master of walking in snow with shit shoes. Wisconsin ain’t for the weak of heart.”
It all leaves my mouth before I even know what I’m saying. Lincoln senses the fear in my eyes and completely avoids the topic.
“Feet, my princess,” he says, bending down and holding the wedges out, “I love the tattoo on your foot. One day I want to know the story behind it.”
I watch as he straps each shoe onto my feet. “Okay,” I say in a trance from the sensations of his fingers touching my skin.
I’m way more than normal tonight with my light makeup, lacy shirt, tight-ass shorts, and lady ‘hawk.
“Have I ever told you that you’re fucking gorgeous?”
“Not that I recall,” I joke back.
Lincoln twirls me in his arms so my back is to his chest, whips out his phone, and is poised to take a selfie.
“I know you hate these, but I have to have one of us tonight.”
He snaps a couple before I reach up and kiss him on the lips. I hear his phone snap another picture before it begins to ring again. Not the coach’s ring, just the general ringtone.
“We better get going before they send the search party,” Lincoln says. “Oh, and I almost forgot, this is for you.”
Opening the department store bag, I see a swimsuit.
“I bought two and hid one in the truck in case you slash this one up.”
He heads for the door; I grab my purse and hope like hell the suit covers more than it exposes. “Lincoln Wilks, it better be a one piece.”
“You wish.”