That Girl (That Girl, #1)(29)

Stepping back from the giant, all I can see is huge grin through his mountain of a beard.

“Hi,” I manage to squeak out, and wave.

“Guys, this is Oakley,” Lincoln announces cheerfully, then adds, “Touch her and die.”

“She is as hot as you’ve gone on and on about. We’ve had to hear lover boy gush over you for days, so it’s nice to finally put a face to the name. I’m Jerrod. Everyone calls me Tank.” The other men all introduce themselves, and my head spins.

I recognize Tank’s, Grant’s, and Aidan’s names from Lincoln’s stories. The three are his very best friends on and off the field, along with Tiny, but I don’t think I’ve met him yet. I always ask Lincoln to talk football to me. I want to learn it all from the ground up, because when Lincoln speaks of the game he’s truly an overcharged, elated being, and I want to know every part of it. He breathes, eats, and lives football, and specifically defense and picking off the ball.

“Let’s go get a drink,” Lincoln whispers in my ear.

Nodding, I say to the rest of the men, “Nice meeting all of you.”

Lincoln grabs my hand, and we walk toward the pool and the larger crowd of people. Music is blaring, and the smell of grilled burgers fills the air. It’s like a party straight from a movie scene. The kind I always dreamed about as a little girl.

“They’re huge,” I say looking up to Lincoln.

“They need to be.”

“Trust me, I know. I remember exactly why. They have to be huge brutes to break the offensive line and get to the quarterback.”

He gives my hand a squeeze. “Damn, my little student does listen to me.”

“I soak up every word you speak.”

“I see, little grasshopper.”

Clutching his hand tighter, I beg, “Lincoln, don’t leave my side tonight.”

He stops us from going any further. “Oakley, I promise you that I’m not leaving your side tonight.”

“Okay.” His words calm me a bit, but I’m still nervous as hell.

We make our way up to a very large crowd. Lincoln has no problems making his way to the front. Everyone parts ways as he walks through, and as promised, he doesn’t let go of me.

“Lincoln,” a voice yells.

“’Sup, Monica,” he coolly replies, and instantly I despise her from her looks down to her annoying voice.

“What can I get you to drink?”

“I’ll take a Coke,” he answers and then turns to me. “What do you want, Oakley?”

“Water is fine.”

A brunette standing next to this Monica broad pipes up, “You’re not a player, hun. You can drink whatever you want. Beer or whisky, what do you want?”

“Um, water is still fine. Thank you.”

“Ladies, I want to introduce you to someone.”

The five or six girls behind the makeshift bar turn to look at me. Their stares bore holes into me, and the same thought plasters all their faces. “She can’t be his.”

Lincoln is oblivious to their hostility. “This is my girl, Oakley. Oakley this is Monica, Heather, Sarah, Carrie, and Jamie, and that’s Jessica, Abby, and Lisa on the other end, serving.”

“Hi.” I wave.

“Hey,” they all repeat in unison.

I notice the one he called Monica definitely looks beyond pissed off at the announcement.

“Here’s your water,” Carrie says.

Reaching out, I grab the bottle of water from her and watch as her eyes glimpse my scarred palm.

“What’s that?” she sneers.

My hearts stops, and memories of torture and jokes being made about the hideous scar come flooding back to me. I drop the bottle of water, turning to run. Lincoln tightens his grip on my hand and swings me straight in front of him. He’s making me face them with him solid against my back.

“Where the f*ck is my drink?” he growls, grabbing me a fresh bottle of water.

The girls sense his anger and don’t dare question him. A blonde passes over his drink. By this time all their names have escaped me, except Monica’s. She seems to be on a down and dirty mission to be cruel.

She has no idea how easily adaptable I am to mean girls like her. They can wield knives, shovels, and the cruelest words and not affect me an ounce.

“You okay?” Lincoln asks as we walk closer to the pool.

“Fine.”

“Stop.”

I try to keep walking, trying like hell to avoid my feelings.

“I said stop,” Lincoln says, pulling me to a complete halt.

“Are. You. Okay?” he says very slowly, emphasizing each word.

“I’m fine. Please don’t make a big deal of it.”

“I won’t, but you seem pissed. I’m sorry she asked you that.”

“I just don’t belong here, and I’m trying because I want to be with you, Lincoln, but it’s not working…”

His hands grab each side of my face, and he forces me to look up at him. “Oakley Ann, knock it off. I’ll haul your ass to the truck right now if you don’t want to be here. We’ll order Chinese and eat in your room. Your choice.”

I giggle at the mention of Ann. Lincoln gave me a middle name the other night. He’d asked if I had one, and I lied and said I didn’t. He was mystified and said it wasn’t fair, because he wouldn’t have a good name to holler at me when he was pissed.