That Girl (That Girl, #1)(30)

“I’m trying, and does this mean you’re pissed because you just dropped my fake middle name?”

“No, it means I’m trying to get your damn attention,” he says, leaning down and placing a kiss on the tip of my nose.

“You have my complete attention. I just don’t belong, nor am I enough for you. I’m not running. I’m here,” I reply, and then kiss the tip of his nose.

“Oakley Ann, I love you,” Lincoln says, and then immediately clenches my face tight.

Panic covers his face at the words that just escaped his lips.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, so sorry. I know you’re not ready for that, but Jesus Christ, I do love you. Shit, I said it again, and I...”

“Lincoln, stop. Pizza. I’m here and not running. Stop.”

My lips cover his before he has a chance to respond, and I take lead with my lips like he has taught me. We’ve had lots of practice lately, and Lincoln is a damn good teacher.

The noise from the crowd goes wild when I lay one on Lincoln, and I tense up a bit and cut the kiss short.

“So, fake middle names are used when professing love, too?” I ask.

“Yes, they are, Oakley Ann.”

We stand in the middle of the crowd swaying to a Luke Bryan song blasting over the speakers. The only reason I know the song and the name of the artist is because I love listening to Lincoln’s iPod at night. I found it in his truck the other night when we were driving for pizza. He was embarrassed by all the sweat stains on the ear buds. Secretly, I f*cking love those stains and the faint smell of him on the rubberized cord. The iPod is filled with tons and tons of songs, from bang your head death jam rock to the sweetest romantic country tunes. Lincoln must have gotten the clue, because the other night he brought the iPod to the door, and I instantly nabbed it out of his hands. So now every night he brings it, and we listen to music in the background. I noticed last night he has a playlist titled Oakley, but I haven’t been brave enough to click on it.

Lincoln steps forward and points to another group of people, and I recognize pretty boy standing in the middle providing the entertainment. When Lincoln talks about his friends, he refers to them as the wolf pack, and my gut tells me I’m about to walk into their den.

“Wolf pack?”

“Damn, my girl is getting an A-plus.”

Laughing, I slap him on the ass. I gasp at my outward display of affection, and then blush a little. Lincoln notices my reaction and laughs.

“You ass, you have me acting like some stupid college girl in heat,” I accuse, trying to mask my embarrassment.

“Nothing wrong with that, Oakley.”

Mid-step, Lincoln stops, drops my hand, and moves to my other side to pick up my other hand. The scarred hand everyone loves to look at. Over the last year, I’ve had to develop thick skin while waiting tables, but then Lincoln came into my life and started wiping the ugly away one touch at a time.

“I don’t do this, Lincoln. Not one ounce of it. Not relationships, not feeling good about myself, and definitely not pizza, but here I stand with you. Thank you,” I murmur.

“I’ll do you,” he replies with a wink.

With those words, I know he heard every single one of my hidden messages. He’s become the pro at not pushing me too far and accepting everything I give him, even if it’s not enough for his desires. Call me selfish, but it’s the perfect fit for me. I know he wants all of me, but is willing to wait for all of my being to be ready to dive in with him. Again, my heart wants him and everything that comes with being Lincoln Wilks’ girl, but my brain keeps sending messages reminding me of all the hurt and pain waiting to drag me down.

Lincoln pulls me toward the wolf pack while holding my scarred hand, which now feels like the most beautiful piece of art compared to feeling like a piece of used trash ten seconds ago. Lincoln. He’s all I need to have in my life.

“Well, f*ck, look who the cat dragged in.”

“He doesn’t turn into a f*cking pumpkin after six o’clock practice.”

“My God, he’s out of the * cage.”

Lincoln raises his free hand in mock surrender. “Enough, you *s. I told you’d I’d be coming and I’m here.”

“Does she have a name?” A tall brunette hollers over Rhiannon.

“Yeah, Alstott, she does. Wolf pack, this is Oakley, and Oakley this is the crew I’ve been schooling you on.”

Sink or survive. Break or bust. Dive into the deep end. Now is the moment. I take the plunge. “That must be Mike the badass fullback who runs like a freight train over any and all defenses, and you’ll never admit it, but you’re damn f*cking happy you don’t have to defend against a beast like that.”

Lincoln’s chest swells with pride while the others’ jaws drop in amazement.

Turning to face my man, I ask, “Want me to continue, honey?”

“Nah, you’re good. Gentlemen, you just met my badass mother-trucking girlfriend, Oakley, and yes, she’s the one who has me magnetized to her. Any more shit you want to fling at me?” he asks while flipping his hat backward and crossing his arms.

“Nope, we give up,” Mike says and holds out a seat.

Lincoln steps forward to take the offered seat, but Mike bumps him aside. “Back off, bitch. This seat is for the queen.”