That Girl (That Girl, #1)(38)
“Hello?” My greeting comes out more as a question from sheer shock.
“Hey, baby!”
“Lincoln.”
“Oakley.”
I can’t help it, I giggle. “I can’t believe you. You bought me a phone.”
“I did. I want to call and text my girlfriend. You know, get my full stalker mode on.”
“I’m speechless,” I say as a couple tears well in my eyes.
“There are a few more surprises on there for you.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything, and go get your ass ready for work. I’ll be at the diner around 6:30-ish.”
“Okay.”
“Bye, Oakley Ann.”
“Bye, Lincoln Wilks.”
Hanging up, I stare at the lime green phone in my hands, still wondering if all this just really happened. Walking back into my room, I let out a very girly squeal and belly flop onto my bed, burying my nose in the sheets and soaking up Lincoln’s lingering scent. Rolling over onto my back, I slide open the lock screen to start exploring my new phone. It sounds silly, but I’ve never had anything like this, ever. Lincoln has the home screen set to a selfie of us. He’s always snapping pictures of me on his phone, and sometimes he wraps his arm around me and takes one. It’s a picture of us sitting outside on the picnic table eating pizza. He caught me with a slice of cheese pizza entering my mouth.
I tap on the icon with a music note, and I really squeal. All of his music is there, right down to his playlists. Tears build up and begin to roll down my face when I even see the playlist named Oakley. The phone dings, alerting me to a text, and I know it can only be one person.
Lincoln: Do you like it?
It takes me a few seconds to steady myself with all the right keys. Then I realize it’s a real bitch to type, because my fat thumb keeps hitting the wrong damn letters. Feeling like a hippo on skates, I laugh out loud at the learning curve ahead of me. After several minutes I manage to text back.
Me: No, I love it.
Lincoln: Did you find your music?
Me: Yes, first thing.
Lincoln: The pictures?
Me: Not yet. I duck at texting.
I reread my last message and die laughing at the word duck.
Me: I meant suck.
Lincoln: You’ll get the hang of it.
Me: I jopr so.
Lincoln: LOL… I’ll set up auto-correct for you tonight.
Me: Shut, that was supposed to be hope.
Lincoln: LMFAO
Me: I give ip
Lincoln: Love you
Me: Pizza
Tapping on the picture icon, I see all the selfies Lincoln has taken and the pictures of me he has snapped. He even has shots of the field and him in the locker room. A couple of them are worth drooling over and fanning yourself, because they are downright freaking hot. If I had to guess, he was being a little tease.
This texting is a real bitch. I've watched Lincoln fire off texts right and left, not blinking an eye. It's a good thing he can't see me try and type out a message. He'd get a real good laugh.
I turn on his pre-game playlist and rock out while I shower and get ready for work. Today I'm in the coffee shop until four, and then the diner. Jenni is covering in the bakery for a few hours today. I'm sure she'll have to come get the scoop from me. I saw her yesterday at the barbecue. We never spoke because of the different crowds we were running in. She was in full blast glitter mode and definitely stood out.
She had several players surrounding her and her sparkly group of friends. With any luck, she landed one of the boys. I'm sure I'll soon find out.
***
I check the window again to see if there are picket signs outside. It’s been so dead. Three customers in two hours. Usually, I’m slammed on a Monday. The minutes drag on and on. I’ve cleaned the shack from ceiling to floor. I’ve checked my phone about a hundred times, and no more texts from Lincoln.
“Hey, girl, hey.” Jenni busts into the shack in her full, shining glory. I wonder how long it takes her to spray all of her makeup on and pick out her perfect outfits. She’s never not put together.
“Hi,” I say.
“So?” She questions, sitting down on one of the barstools.
“So, what?” I counter. I know damn well what she’s digging for. She wants all the details from my first public date with Lincoln.
“So, how did it go? Are you in love? Are you ready to lay down and have his babies?”
I can’t help but laugh at her ridiculous questions. The funniest part is the dead serious look covering her face.
“It was fine,” I lie.
“Just fine?” she prods.
“Okay, better than fine,” I concede. “Enough about me, I want to know about you.”
“I’m in f*cking love, Oakley. Like head over heels in love with Ryan. He’s on the team, but mostly second string until next year because he’s only a freshman, but I’m in love. We met last night at the barbecue.”
“How do you know?” I ask in astonishment at her confession.