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Shit. I don’t like that one bit.
CHAPTER 18: LINCOLN
She has a kid.
And…
What the fuck was that?
What did I just do?
I saw her walk back toward a room with a door marked employees only.
Does she work here? I’m not sure, but something compelled me to my feet to find out. Or to confront her…or to ask her about her kid.
Who’s the father?
Is she with him?
Is she married? She wasn’t wearing a ring. I checked her hand when I threaded my fingers through hers. Her fingers tightened in mine when I shoved my hard cock against her just the way they did when I shoved into her tight pussy all those years ago.
Touching her was a mistake.
A fucking huge one.
But I had to. God dammit, I fucking had to.
And once I was close enough, I had to taste her. My lips grazed her neck and it took everything in my power not to kiss her.
It was one hit, and it wasn’t enough.
But I can’t touch her. I can’t be close to her.
I can’t smell her. She still wears the same perfume, and the scent transported me back twenty years to when I fell in love with her.
It was love.
Of that I am confident.
And there’s definitely still something there, but too much has happened. Touching her was a betrayal to my entire family, and I can’t do it again.
But how am I supposed to avoid it?
I’ve never been so tempted by anyone in my entire life.
But I know what her dad did to mine. And it wasn’t just our fathers. It feels very much like my family banded together as we all watched my father try to save the bar. We helped where we could, and we watched as our parents very nearly got divorced over it. We watched as Joseph Bailey very slowly drained the money from my father’s account and somehow managed to take everything else from him—not just his financial freedom, but his happiness. His patience. His excitement.
The Baileys tried to break us. They didn’t succeed. Our family drew closer together over the loss of his dream, and when Grayson got his first big money contract, we offered to go in together to help him rebuild his dream.
But he didn’t want it. He’s never been the same, and somehow I think it has more to do with the loss of their friendship than the loss of the bar. But that’s not something my stubborn father would ever admit.
I can’t keep running into her, but I’m also well aware that I can’t avoid her. The relationship between a head coach and the media is a delicate one, and I’ve seen my head coaches over the years befriend reporters. I’ve seen them kick back and have a drink or two—off the record, of course. In fact, one previous head coach I worked with was the godfather of a local reporter’s kid.
Other coaches take a different stance on reporters, to be sure. But that’s never how I wanted to coach, and besides, Jack wants me to form relationships here. I need to form relationships here, and who better to do that with than the people I’ll be around the most?
I just can’t do it with her.
I keep my eyes on Steve as he chatters on and on about the draft. It’s still six weeks away, so we have time to prepare, and it’s not like we’re going to throw out any specific names here in public.
