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A rush of heat tears up my spine as his mouth opens. His kiss is rough and desperate as we both give into this need we’ve had for two decades. I grip onto his shirt as I kiss him back, and eventually my hands move up toward his neck and then into his hair, where I grip onto the silky strands there. I find myself lost in this new world that feels so familiar as our tongues dance viciously together, our bodies pressed together as all the pent-up emotions rise to the surface.
But reality is quick to kick in.
As much as I want to give into this kiss and into him, there’s just too much at stake.
He was right when he said that.
Our jobs, our families…it’s a lot to risk on something we’ve been fine without over the last twenty years.
Except…
Have I really been fine?
Or is the piece of me that was missing all this time right in front of me again, held in the hands of the man who is kissing me?
It’s the conflicting thoughts that finally force me to push him away.
He wipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, his mouth red and raw from our kiss, and he looks nearly insulted that I pulled away first.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I shouldn’t have—”
I cut him off. “No. I wanted you to. It’s just—”
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to say anything more. It’s out of our systems now, and we can move on. Goodnight, Jolene.” He turns to walk up to his office, effectively dismissing me, but my big, dumb mouth opens up again.
Mostly because I’m offended that he said it’s out of our systems when I know Lincoln Nash will never be out of my system.
“Why’d you stop playing?” I ask, and he freezes at my question before he turns to face me again. He looks a little out of sorts—as if he’s getting whiplash from this back and forth, and frankly, I am, too.
“I injured my knee.” His voice is firm and direct, as if he’s recalling the same old tired excuse from memory.
“Bullshit. Why’d you stop playing?” I repeat.
His eyes move away from mine. I could always see through him, and this is no different.
“I injured my knee, and a post-op infection kept me from being able to play again.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “How many surgeries did you have on that infection?”
“A few. Why are you asking me this?”
“Because I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care if you don’t believe me. Facts are facts, Jolene.” He folds his arms across his chest, and I wish I hadn’t gone this direction with the conversation right after he kissed me, but here we are.
I snag my bottom lip between my teeth for a beat. “I just can’t quite figure out why Lincoln Nash, part of the Nash family football dynasty, would choose to quit playing and move into coaching instead.”
“It’s ancient history. Nobody cares why. I’ve built a great career out of coaching, and I will not let some reporter fuck it all up for me.”
I ignore the some reporter line. For now.
“So you’re saying there’s a story there, then.” I realize I’m being aggressive, but maybe that’s how I need to work it with him.
“I’m not saying anything. I’m saying get the fuck out of my building before I have you arrested for trespassing.”
There is definitely a story here. He’s lying, and the entire world believes it.
Whether it’s for some reporter like me to uncover remains to be seen, but breaking a story like this could be huge for my career. It could catapult me from local news team correspondent to a major news channel, which has always been my end goal.
