I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2)(35)

Jackson took a sip of his coffee. “Well, let’s see, I’m a former football player from Texas, so…yeah, pretty much.”

“None of which explains the hating-on-women thing.”

Jackson snorted. “I’ve been married. You’ll understand when some minx tricks you into walking down the aisle.”

Lincoln’s hand froze for a split second as he was bringing his sugary, frou-frou coffee to his lips, and Jackson felt a stab of panic that he’d just said the worst possible thing to the man who was the closest he had to a friend in this city. Lincoln looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

Fuck. Had Lincoln been married? If he had, something had gone seriously wrong, because the man looked destroyed.

“Shit, Mathis, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s cool,” Lincoln interrupted.

It wasn’t cool. Any idiot could see that. But Jackson also understood that sometimes the last thing a man needed was to talk it out.

They rode the elevator back to the office in silence, and by the time they stepped into the Oxford lobby, the tension was gone from Lincoln’s shoulders.

Jackson looked at the other man out of the corner of his eye, curiosity mingling with respect. Whatever demons Lincoln had were buried deep, and he was damn skilled at hiding them.

They rounded the corner toward their respective offices only to skid to a halt when they saw their boss hovering outside their doors.

Cassidy’s hands were on his hips, his face unreadable as they approached.

“What’d you do?” Lincoln asked out of the corner of his mouth.

“Me? You’re the one who tried to implement Thursday morning dance party yesterday.”

“Burke,” Cassidy said when they got closer.

“Shit,” Jackson muttered.

Lincoln smirked.

“Got a minute?” Alex Cassidy said as Jackson and Lincoln stopped in front of him.

“Jackson is in trouble, Jackson is in trouble,” Lincoln chanted in a singsong voice.

Cassidy pointed toward Lincoln’s office. “Mathis, get your ass and your dessert coffee in there and don’t come out until I have revisions on that beach babe article.”

Jackson shook his head. “Your job is so much better than mine. I’m currently writing about perfect bench press form.”

“I wrote about how to have sex on the bench once,” Lincoln said. “If it makes you feel better.”

“Nope. It does not,” Jackson said before following Cassidy down the hall to his office.

“Shut the door,” his boss said.

Jackson did as asked and lifted his eyebrows. “I’ve gotta tell you, boss, this feels a little bit like the principal’s office. Is this because I was late to homeroom?”

Cassidy sat and motioned for Jackson to do the same. “Wonderful, another sarcastic team member. I should have known that when I told you to make friends with your colleagues, they’d start to rub off on you.”

Jackson shrugged.

Cassidy laced his fingers and set them on the desk. “Before I say what I’m about to say, know that I hate that I’m about to do this.”

“Usually when someone starts off that way, they offer a man a drink first.”

Cassidy ignored this. “First off, you should know that you joining the team has been great for Oxford. There’s a whole group of readers who thought we were all tie clips and loafers until you came on board.”

Jackson said nothing.

“Advertising’s noticed an uptick too. Brands that used to distance themselves are now fighting for spots.”

“I don’t suppose you’re gearing up to offer me a raise?” Jackson asked.

“The thing that I didn’t count on,” Cassidy continued, “was just how in demand your story would be.”

Jackson stiffened. “My story?”

Cassidy blew out a breath. “You’re big news, Burke. I thought it would blow over once the world came to grips with the end of your pro career, but there are rumors of a movie coming out, and your ex-wife gives interviews to anyone who will ask, and the publicity department has been inundated with interview requests.”

“Just spit it out, boss. If my notoriety is hurting the magazine, you can just say so.”

“Far from it,” Cassidy said with a grim smile. “I want to use that notoriety to sell magazines. And if you want to punch me in the face, fine, but give me a few days.”

Jackson frowned. “Why?”

Cassidy let loose with a rare grin, then opened his desk drawer and pulled out a velvet box. Flipping it open, he revealed one hell of a diamond.

“Holy shit,” Jackson said. “Congratulations, man.”

“Thanks. But let’s hold the congratulations until after she says yes.”

“You’re worried?”

Cassidy gave a rueful smile. “Let’s just say the last time I put a ring on Emma Sinclair’s finger, it didn’t end well.”

“You sure you don’t want me to give you that shiner, then?” Jackson asked. “Maybe a black eye would summon her feminine sympathetic instincts.”

“Don’t know that my woman has those. She’s kind of badass,” Cassidy said, looking down at the ring with a dopey, adoring smile.