I look around while pumping the gas and notice a beat up looking white Jeep pull into the pump across from me, making my stomach drops.
Lincoln Locke.
Shit. I’ve been very careful the last month never to go places Lincoln would be. It sucked because I haven’t been to the beach, and that’s my favorite place to be. I haven’t had to see him since I left his place doing the walk of shame.
It looks like my hard work has just ran out.
I drop my head down and turn back toward the pump, giving him my back. I’m simultaneously hoping he won’t realize it’s me and willing the numbers on the pump to move faster. Right now, they seem to be moving at a snail’s pace. I had planned on filling my baby up, but if I can just get twenty bucks in it right now, I’ll be happy.
“Hey, gorgeous.”
I stiffen as I hear Linc’s silky-soft voice and feel it try to wrap around me. Instead of making my knees grow weak like the last time we met, this time it does the opposite. I feel like I’m completely frozen. I steadfastly ignore him, wanting to cry because the pump is just now counting up to the ten-dollar mark.
Seriously! What is wrong with this pump?
“I said hello, Blue Eyes, didn’t you hear me?” he asks again and this time he’s right behind me.
He’s so close his breath fans out against my bare neck. Damn it. I should have worn my hair down. I feel tiny fissures of electricity move over my skin. I swallow down my nerves and keep my face devoid of emotion, my voice cold.
I look over my shoulder and spare him an annoyed glance. “No,” I lie, turning back around and hoping he gets the message.
“You disappeared,” he says, clearly not understanding I want him to leave me alone. “I’ve been looking for you. Where have you been, sweetheart?”
Wow. Seriously?
His hand touches my back and then brushes to my hip and that small touch pisses me off.
I slap his hand away, stop my gas pump way before my twenty-dollar goal, and then jab the nozzle back into the pump as hard as I can. I’d like to ram Lincoln Locke’s face into it.
“Whoa, sweetheart, what’s your damage?” Linc asks, and I swear if it was physically possible, my head would spin around—old school, like Linda Blair’s in the Exorcist.
“My damage is you putting your hands on me,” I snap, looking him in the eye.
“Hey, I didn’t mean any harm. I just thought—”
“Yeah, I know what you thought because you’re an egotistical asshole.”
“Now, hold up, sweet stuff—”
“I don’t want to talk to you, Lincoln Locke. In fact, I’d be okay if I never spoke to you again,” I bite out. The entire time I’m responding to him, I’m mentally berating myself for getting so emotional.
“Listen, I don’t need your shit. I thought we parted on good terms,” he says, making my eyes go wide in shock. “I guess I was wrong. No harm, no foul.” His glib comment feels like a sucker punch. He caused harm. It was more harmful than he will ever know.
“We didn’t part at all. I woke up alone in bed—”
“I had to work, baby. You don’t have to get mad. If you wanted an extended booty call, you should have stuck around,” he says, holding his hands up as if to ward off my anger. He’s trying to make me feel irrational and that just pisses me off more.
“I woke up with a blonde chick, who probably isn’t even legal, letting herself in with your key.”
“Oh,” he says, drawing the word out as if he’s just now realizing what’s wrong—but I doubt he has the mental capability to truly understand. “I see what has you so pissed,” he adds, and his tone makes it clear he’s not impressed and thinks I’m ridiculous.
“You think I’m overreacting,” I confirm, and he shrugs, which I suppose is his answer. “Maybe you’re right,” I allow, not meaning it at all. “Tell me, Linc. Do you even remember my name?”
He stares at me blankly. I figure once again that his silence is my answer. It hurts way more than it should. There’s a lot more I could say, but I know it wouldn’t do any good. He’d just think I was an over-emotional idiot—and I’m starting to feel like I am.
I hurry and get into my car, not looking at Linc. As my baby purrs to life, I remind myself again that the wild side is safer with objects. Not people.
2
Linc
Jodie Jones.
For the millionth time, I think about the woman I ran into a couple of days ago. I knew her name, of course. She’s not the kind of woman you could forget. I didn’t tell her that. It was a damn hookup and she’s old enough to know the score. I don’t need to take shit from her. We didn’t make promises and we sure as hell don’t owe one another explanations. It was a night of sex. That’s it.