That Girl (That Girl, #1)(21)

“Actually, I do,” he says, a slight smile flickering at the corners of his mouth.

“Want me to order another one?”

“I think I’d like to share with you,” he replies.

It’s a square picnic table with four sides. Lincoln takes the bag of ice from me with a frown and a shake of his head. I settle down on one side of the table, expecting him to sit across from me, but instead he scoots in right next to me.

“What are we eating?” he asks, adjusting the ice bag on my wrist.

“Bacon cheeseburger.”

“My absolute favorite.”

Before chickening out, I take the plunge of all plunges and try to make small talk with him. Jazzy was my only friend, and everything came naturally to us growing up. This is a first for me.

“How was your day?” I ask, and immediately cringe at the boring question.

There is only one thing worse than the “how was your day” question, and that’s any question that deals with weather. Those two types of questions are sure signs of digging for conversation.

“It was okay. Training camp started, and I’m exhausted from it.”

“For soccer?” I ask.

Lincoln turns his head in dismay and lets me have it. “You think I’m a soccer player? Are you f*cking shitting me? Do you think any soccer player could light up someone like I did for you last night?”

Unable to hold my giggle any longer, I let it out, and I can physically see the worry and hint of anger leave his face. He wasn’t impressed, but now realizes it’s a joke and smiles. “So, she can joke around.”

“I’ve got jokes,” I say.

“Good to know.”

“Who do you play for, and what position and all that jazz,” I ask, opening my to-go box and sliding it toward him.

“CSU,” he says around a bite of burger.

I watch as he passes it to me to take a bite. I guess I didn’t think this plan through very well. When I talk about splitting a meal, there’s a knife involved, and cutting.

Lincoln continues talking, like this is no big deal. “I play defense. My dad played in the pros for Texas, and my only brother plays there now. I have big shoes to fill, you know.”

“That’s impressive,” I reply, taking another bite and passing the burger.

“Tell me a little about you.”

At this innocent request, I lose my appetite and all the happiness from this simple meal. The darkness in the night sky takes over, dimming out the moonlight and stars, and my feet steady themselves in their favorite position to run.

“I, uh. I don’t have anything to say about myself. I’m really nothing.”

Lincoln tries to pass me the burger, and I decline.

“Not hungry anymore?” he asks.

“No, I’m good.”

“Did I just ruin the whole night by asking about you?” He looks puzzled and a little sad.

I give my head a shake. “It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not a good person. You shouldn’t even be here with me.”

“I’m not here to judge you. I want to spend more time with you and find more about you.”

“But I’m not a good person.”

“Neither am I. Hell, I was raised here. My childhood home is twenty minutes away, and my parents basically live in Texas during football season to be with their golden child. I was an ass in high school, rebelling and partying it up. Challenging my parents in every way. I was a spoiled-ass f*cking brat.”

“What changed? You seem like a pretty nice guy now,” I point out.

“My coaches. It’s taken two football seasons and a lot of hard life lessons.”

“I’ve had those. Not coaches, but a lot of life lessons. Here’s my story. I don’t have a past I care to remember or memories worth reminiscing about. I left home, and not one single person noticed. I’ve lived in various places the last year, and not one person has missed me when I’m gone. I don’t leave an impact on anyone.”

“Until now,” he says, grabbing my hand and rubbing my scars again.

“Yeah, right. You’re just hungry,” I say, shrugging off the true impact of his statement.

“I am that, but I’m always hungry. I came back for you, and I will every night because I want to know your story, and more importantly, be a part of your story.”

“I don’t work here tomorrow night. I only work here four nights a week, and tonight was the fourth. I work at the coffee shop and bakery the rest of the week.”

“Guess we’ll be sharing doughnuts and coffee tomorrow, then?”

“I can’t do this,” I whisper.

“Oakley or Jodie, whatever the hell you want to be called, you don’t have a choice in this situation. The moment I saw your brown eyes, I’ve been hypnotized. I think about you during the day and at night before I go to bed. I just want a chance to get to know you.”

“There’s nothing to know,” I insist with a note of panic.

Lincoln is taken aback by my voice, and my feet finally find their place to run.

“I can’t do this. Please leave me alone.”

Standing up, I grab my keys and ice and make my way to the lit-up lot. I tried, I really tried to be normal and act like a girl on a date. I asked the boring questions and enjoyed every single one of his touches. Ate off the same plate, and never did I think sharing a hamburger could be so intimate, but it most certainly was. I enjoyed watching him eat more than taking my own satisfaction from the meal, but once again I ran. These few memories are the only things I can hold dear and replay over and over again in my mind. The way his hand naturally runs over the scars in my palm soothes my soul and almost makes me want to take the leap off the cliff.