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I have no business feeling what I’m feeling, yet I also know I have exactly zero ways to stop it.
CHAPTER 9: LINCOLN
I’m not sure what to do.
My instinct is to kiss her.
To wipe away her tears and find some way to help her understand that everything’s going to be okay. To help her find a flight back home if that’s what she really wants.
But I also find that I don’t want her to go.
This is our one chance to reconnect.
I’m not exactly sure what made me speak up when I heard the agent tell her there were no rooms available—other than the fact that I wanted to get her alone again.
I figured the suite I’m being treated to would be big enough for the two of us.
I was shocked it’s a small room with one bed.
I’m sure she thinks it’s a setup, that I’m hitting on her and I’m not any better than that asshole at the bar.
But I am better than him…only I can’t show her why.
Not publicly, at least.
The truth of the matter is we need to be careful, but when feelings run as deep as they do between the two of us, it’s impossible to ignore.
So maybe we just…stop ignoring them.
Maybe it’s time to sit down and have an honest conversation.
Off the record, of course.
Can I trust her?
I don’t know.
My father would say no. She’s a reporter for the team I’m coaching. She’s got ulterior motives. She has reasons to benefit from being close to me.
But it’s Jolene.
My gut says yes, and I’ve spent enough of my life either ignoring or listening to my gut to know that it’s right more often than it’s wrong.
I do know one thing, though.
As much as I want to kiss her right now, I can’t do it out here in the middle of the sidewalk where either one of us could be recognized at any given moment.
To that end, I set my hand on the small of her back and usher her back into the hotel. Regardless of whether I end up kissing her, out here is not the place, and it’s not just because of the history between our families. It’s her job. It’s my job. It’s being in the spotlight. It’s being here to give a commencement address. The last thing I should be doing is making out with a hot reporter in the middle of the sidewalk. Even if the reason I so badly want to kiss her is to comfort her when she’s terrified because her son is hurt and she’s away from him.
We take the elevator back up to the suite. Neither of us has food. The drink she ordered is abandoned on the bar.
The tension is thick in the elevator, but we’re not alone. I think about holding her hand—squeezing it and letting her know I’m right here for her.
I don’t.
We get off the elevator on my floor and head toward my suite, neither of us saying a word.
I’m not sure if we’re back to hating each other or if there’s something else at play here, and I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking right now.
