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I lift a hand as if I’m going to slap him, and he flinches. I don’t do it, but it’s proof I’ve got him where I want him. He might be threatening me with photos, but he’s still a little scared of me.
Okay, so maybe I don’t have him right where I want him. But I like that he’s a little afraid.
“Get. Out,” I hiss, and he scampers off, leaving his stupid photos behind on my desk.
I toss them in the trash after ripping them up, but I’m well aware how photos work these days. Digital copies have presumably already been distributed across the interwebs, and surely my boyfriend is going to have a conniption fit that I was caught kissing one of his players.
I text him in order to stave off the potential consequences.
Me: Just got back to the office after lunch. Austin tried to kiss me. I firmly pushed him away, but needed you to know before pics hit the internet.
I feel like a colossal idiot as soon as I send the text. I’m not sure if he’s stewing over it or if he’s just busy, but I don’t get a reply right away, so I stop staring at my phone waiting for one and dive into work.
They’re already out there. All over the place. Pics of me with Austin’s mouth on mine, and I know Lincoln’s reaction isn’t going to be pretty.
It’s several hours before the reply comes.
Lincoln: I need to see you. My house in an hour.
I glance at the clock. I need to be home in an hour to meet the boys coming off the school bus.
Me: Can’t. Boys get home then.
Lincoln: Fine, then. Gridiron break room, ten minutes.
I can’t help but wonder why he wants to meet me there and not his office, but I agree.
Me: If you’re walking over and don’t want anyone to see you slipping into the break room, there’s a back door that’ll be unlocked.
He sends me a thumbs up, the most passive aggressive emoji in existence, and I make my way over to my dad’s bar.
Lucky for me, my parents aren’t in today, and deliveries are done for the day. He’s sitting at the round table back there where I used to do my homework when I walk in, and he immediately stands and strides over toward me. He fists my biceps and smashes his lips to mine.
“These are my lips,” he says, his breath hot against my mouth. “No one else’s.”
He’s filled with something I’ve never seen from him, and it’s pretty dang hot.
“If you thought I was jealous when your assistant left your room that first day at the vineyard, that had nothing on this, Coach.”
He flattens his lips as he glares at me. “Why’d he kiss you?”
“I’m not sure.” I shrug. “My guess is it was for the photo op. But I did my due diligence. I went out with him, and now I don’t have to do it again.”
“It feels bigger than that,” he says, shaking his head a little as he lets me go. He paces a few steps back and forth.
“He’s getting under your skin, and you’re letting him,” I say softly.
“You’re goddamn right he is,” he mutters. “I need to get rid of him. He isn’t going to play for me anyway, and now this?” He shakes his head. “Forget it.”
I blow out a breath. “Why isn’t he going to play for you?”
“Asher is.” He says it like it’s the obvious answer and I should’ve known that.
“What if something happens to him? Who’s your TE-two?”
He exhales both loudly and dramatically.
I walk over and rest my palm on his shoulder. “Look, he tried and it didn’t pan out. Let him play the game. He’s good, and you know that. You can’t let your feelings for me keep you from doing what’s best for your team.”
