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Lincoln knows I have a son now.
Maybe he already knew. I wonder if he’s followed anything at all about me. I wanted to stay far, far away from him, but given my choice of careers, I didn’t have much choice. I’ve run across news about him over the years, always trying to be objective and always failing, but I didn’t actually have to report on him until now.
“And this is Mike, Steve, Lincoln, and Andy,” Jack says, pointing out each of the five big names in the Aces organization. “Nice meeting you.” He offers a small wave, and I smile at Mike, the offensive coordinator, before they all turn toward their table.
That was a close call.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Sam says quietly to me as the boys howl over seeing one of their heroes in the flesh. “That Lincoln Nash is one gorgeous son of a gun.”
“Too bad he’s a monster dick,” I mutter back to her, and then Debbie comes with our food.
But I can’t eat.
Not when Lincoln Nash is in the same restaurant as me.
CHAPTER 17: JOLENE
They’ve been here the entire time, and I’ve avoided looking in that direction.
I’ve barely touched my salad, but Jonah is chowing his burger and fries. I push around tomatoes and cucumbers and bacon bits and sunflower seeds. It’s my favorite salad, and the ranch dressing here is second to none.
But I can’t eat. I try to focus on Jonah and his enjoyment of his burger, but I can’t.
All I can focus on is keeping my eyes from wandering over to Lincoln Nash.
I need a minute. I need a breather. He’s too close. He’s here at my bar and it’s just not okay.
And since it’s my bar, I’m not taking my breather in the bathroom. I excuse myself and head toward the break room where I used to sit and write college essays when I wasn’t sitting in one of the booths and working to the din of the restaurant.
I lean against the wall back there and stare up at the exposed ceiling and the network of pipes and beams and structural elements up there.
Focus, Bailey. Focus.
It’s day-fucking-one and I’m already having a panic attack over having Lincoln Nash in the same town as me. How the hell am I going to get through this entire season unscathed?
Maybe that’s my answer. I won’t.
Not unscathed, anyway.
The door directly to my left swings open, and I don’t have to remove my gaze from the ceiling to know who it is.
I smell him the second he walks in.
“You can’t be back here,” I snap.
“Then how come you are?” His voice is a rich, deep, raspy challenge.
I move my eyes from the ceiling to him, but I don’t move from where I lean on the wall. “Because this is my fucking bar.”
His brows rise. “You own it?”
I shake my head as I straighten my posture, squaring off against him. “My father does.”
He draws in a sharp breath.
“Now get the fuck out,” I demand.
Instead of listening to my demand, though, he does the opposite. He takes a step toward me, and the woodsy bergamot is overpowering.
