That Girl (That Girl, #1)(27)

I hear Lincoln’s truck pull into his parking spot and then a knock, and I’m bounding over the two small piles of clothes to get to the door. When I do open it, I melt a little. Lincoln is dressed up. I’ve never seen him in anything more than his gym shorts and tank. Tonight he’s wearing a button up short sleeve shirt with tan cargo shorts. He’s f*cking hot, and I’m about to show him exactly how hot I think he is.

I leap up into his arms and kiss him first this time. He’s always the one leading it and bending down to get a kiss. My lips hit his, and I feel him smile. I begin the kiss the same way he always does, slow and steady, then I pick up my pace.

His phone goes off in his pocket, and I pull away.

“Damn, I taught you well, grasshopper.” He doesn’t reach for the phone.

“I’ve had some good practice.”

“Are you wearing this?” he asks, looking down between us.

Both his arms are under my ass holding me up to his chest. I didn’t even realize I literally jumped up into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist. The stress of tonight is overwhelming, and when I saw his face, I found my comfort zone. My home sweet home. Remembering his question and looking down, I’m in a white tank top, with no bra, and my boy short panties.

“Do you think it’s acceptable?”

“I’d f*cking sign you up to be in a parade in this outfit.”

Sliding down Lincoln’s body, I grab his hand and lead him into the apartment. He hasn’t officially been in here, which is ridiculous because he’s stood at the doorway numerous times. I’ve always felt ashamed of the tiny room I rent. As the weeks have gone by, I’ve been able to add some decorations here and there, and I’m finally at a point where I’m really proud of it. I always keep it tidy just in case the courage strikes to invite him all the way in.

Tonight when I saw his face, I knew it was time.

Walking away from him and back to my pile of clothes, he slaps me on the ass. “Just wear anything. You know what I’ll say.”

“Lincoln, this is really stressing me out. Jenni came by work today and made this huge deal about me being with you at this particular party. She gave me options like I could look slutty, classy, or just normal. You know me, I went for normal in the moment, but the more I think about it, the more f*cking crazy I’m going. I’m sure the other years you’ve gone you’ve had a knock-out on your arm, and tonight, well…I just don’t deserve…”

Lincoln walks over to me and puts his fingers on my lips. “Let me dress you,” he says.

“But,” I try to start again.

This time Lincoln’s lips are on mine before I can protest any more. He keeps them there as he grabs my neon green bra from the bed. I feel his hands snake up my back as he maneuvers the bra on me. He does all of this without taking his lips from mine or touching my breasts. I don’t even flinch once while he does it, and am secretly disappointed when I don’t feel his hands exploring.

“Now, no more words. Didn’t anyone ever teach you if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?”

“Lincoln…”

“I said to be quiet.”

“I pizza you hard, and that’s why I’m freaking the f*ck out,” I blurt before he can do anything.

He smiles, places his lips back on mine, and continues to dress me. Lincoln knows if he responds, I’ll run. He slips my tank top over my head and bends over to pick up two items from the floor. When he stands back up, I push him down onto the bed and crawl on top of him, straddling his middle.

Smiling at my actions, I respond, “Thank you.”

Lincoln picked the same outfit I was going to – a simple lace shirt with black denim shorts.

“I’m dying to see these shorts on you,” he admits.

“Well, I’m dying to feel your hands on my breasts. They were so close.”

I grab both his hands and guide them up to where I want them. When his fingers hit the flesh exposed above my bra, I’m shocked by my actions and even more stunned by how good his touch feels. Lincoln closes his eyes as he sinks his hands down into the bra. I let out a cry of pleasure, then his cell phone goes off. It’s not just any ring, but his coach’s ring. Lincoln looks as if someone just ran over his puppy on Christmas morning.

“Answer it,” I say.

As he talks to his coach, I stay on top of him, pulling on my shirt and snatching my necklace from the nightstand. Lincoln waves goodbye to my boobies as I cover them up, and I can’t help but laugh.

I try to roll off him so I can put my shorts on, but instead he flips me over, covering the length of my body, with his phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. He gently shakes his head, and then goes for the little black shorts that fell on the floor.

Hanging up the phone, he comes back up to face me with a quick peck on the lips, then the chin, then the center of my chest. He continues kissing down my body, and when he hits my belly button I squirm a little, but he doesn’t stop. His chin hits my core, and I begin to panic. Ugly memories resurface, a forgotten face races right back into memory, and I panic a little more. Squirming to get free and trying like hell to steady my feet on something solid to run.

“Oakley, look down here. It’s me, Lincoln. No one else owns this memory or night. Please look at me.”