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She pulls out the earbud on my side. “What?”
I clear my throat. “Nothing.”
She raises a brow. “Are you jealous?”
I knew she heard me. “Of a kid nine years younger than you? No.”
“Part of my job is to profile players on the team, and part of the reason why I got this position is my ability to get the kind of details our viewers want. Is there a sound bite you’d like to give about Graham? Or would you prefer I just mention how you’re jealous of all the pussy he must get?”
I nearly choke on her use of the word pussy.
And, naturally, just hearing it out of her mouth makes me want to taste hers.
When her words pair with the softest scent of orange blossoms, I know I’m fucked.
This is going to be a tough weekend. The two of us alone in the same city fighting what’s clearly evident between us? I’m not sure how we’re going to get through the next couple days unscathed.
CHAPTER 7: JOLENE
The second the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.
Mostly because I don’t want to think about any of the pussy Lincoln must get. The thought of him being with some other woman actually tears at my soul a little.
But I can’t take it back, and he turns to his tablet rather than dignifying me with a response.
I turn toward the window rather than toward him. When I face him, I get little whiffs of bergamot every so often, and it causes more harm than good.
I should be working. It was my plan all along, and if nothing else, I should be interviewing Lincoln or something. But he’s busy doing his own thing, and I should be too.
Still…his leg brushes mine when he shifts.
His arm is planted firmly on that middle armrest as he asserts his dominance, and when he lifts it to reach down to rub his knee, I claim it myself.
That’s just us now. A nonverbal fight over something as insignificant as a plane armrest.
At least once we land, we can go our separate ways to our own hotels and the only time I’ll need to see him again is at the commencement address tomorrow morning.
Then it’s one more night in Ohio before I head back to Vegas.
Not that it’s any safer there. We’re a few weeks out from the organized team activities, many of which I’ll need to cover. It’s four weeks of that with the charity ball capping the end, and then a month later, we’re back for training camp and the official kickoff of the new season.
It’s going to be a whole lot of Lincoln Nash over the next year, and if he proves himself, likely beyond that.
Coaches can come and go at any time. No one is safe, and if Lincoln doesn’t keep up the winning culture here in Vegas, he’ll be on the chopping block no matter how tight he and Jack become over the next year.
A part of me hopes he doesn’t make the cut. I want him out of my town.
But the other part of me wants him to succeed with everything I have inside. Not just because I love the Aces and they’re my home team, but—and it’s hard to admit this even to myself—because this is Lincoln. Despite the sordid history between us, deep down I still care about him. Deep down I still want him to succeed.
Even though I hate him.
It’s confusing.
We spend the flight ignoring each other, but I can’t ignore the way he smells. I can’t ignore the heat I feel coming off him. I can’t ignore the way my stomach flips knowing he’s so close to me.
But he’s still so, so far.
When the plane lands, he grabs his suitcase out of the overhead and bolts, which is probably for the best. I take my time and get my suitcase down with the help of a flight attendant, and I reserve a Lyft close by. I spot Lincoln as a chauffeur ushers him toward a limo, and they take off toward whatever hotel he’s staying in.
