That Girl (That Girl, #1)(49)

“This is where you were raised?” I ask, trying to keep the awe out of my voice.

“Yep, home sweet hell.”

“Holy shit,” I murmur taking in all the luxury.

We drive up to the biggest one on the biggest hill with the longest paved lane. Of course. Beautiful white fencing lines each side of the drive, with gorgeous pink rosebushes decorating every single inch of it.

I want to freak out and shit my pants, but keep it all reined in to help keep Lincoln calm.

I get out of the truck and adopt a fake swagger. “Well, buckle up, bitches. Let’s take names and kick some ass.”

Lincoln is unable to hold back a snort. “You’ve been spending way too much time with Jenni.”

“Kiss me.”

Lincoln leans down and kisses me, until I pull away just enough to say, “Now, remember this feeling, these lips on yours, remember us. I’ll always be here for you. Remember us and know I’m your number one fan. Fuck your dad. You’re a brilliant, amazing, talented, hot as f*ck athlete.”

“Lincoln,” a high-pitched voice squeals.

I jolt back a half step and see the picture perfect mother standing before us, dressed in a very beautiful, very conservative pantsuit, with perfect hair and manicured nails. Before she schools her expression, I’m sure I see a hint of disapproval.

“Well, come in. You’re not going to sit in that truck all day are you?” she asks with an impatient flutter of fingers.

Lincoln climbs out, holding his hand out to me. I grab it and plan to not let go of it for the duration.

An older version of Lincoln walks up behind his mom. They are so identical in their stature and looks it almost spooks me. I do know the feeling of resembling your parent so closely, but wanting to be nothing like them.

“You didn’t tell us you were bringing a friend.” She’s trying to sound cheery, but I hear the judgmental undertone. She turns her gaze to Lincoln. “Good lord, son, you could’ve dressed up a bit. You haven’t seen us for months, you’d think you might try.”

His dad enters the fray, his voice full of grim resignation. “Jesus, Elaine, the boy doesn’t care. Never has, so quit poking at him.”

“What’s your friend’s name, Lincoln?”

“Mom, Dad, this is Oakley, my girlfriend.”

His mom’s jaw blatantly drops open, and then her eyes see our locked hands. She turns her back on us and walks into the house.

“Nice to meet you, Oakley,” his dad responds over his shoulder, having already turned to follow his wife.

“Guess they were expecting someone else,” I mutter, not even slightly surprised.

“Fuck them,” he growls.

I follow Lincoln’s lead into the house and can’t quit staring at everything. The place is simply beautiful.

Wasting no time, we are seated at the perfectly decorated dinner table where a feast lay before us. My hands tremble at the thought of breaking or staining something. Elegant glass adorns the entire table. The napkins are white linen, not a one-use paper napkin. The salt and pepper shakers look so fancy I’m not sure I’d even know how to use them.

Lincoln’s dad turns on the big screen across the room, and to no one’s surprise ESPN is the channel of choice.

“So, how did you two meet?” his mom, Elaine, asks, making a show of straightening her place setting.

I know Elaine just asked a question and I should be answering her or at least panicking, hoping like hell Lincoln is going to provide an answer. Instead, I sit and stare at my surroundings. The paintings, fancy fabric, and attention to detail covering every single inch of this space cause my stomach to whirlpool, stirring up desperate bile. I fight the battle of all battle trying to keep it contained. Then I hear his voice.

He simply answers and refuses to offer any detail. “At a local college hangout.”

“Very nice.” I can tell she doesn’t think it is. ”And what does your family do, Oakley?”

The note of tension in her voice is very similar to the sound nails make scraping down a chalkboard. The bile pooling in the back of my throat threatens again, and my eyes can only focus on the pepper shaker wondering how in the hell does that thing work. Desperately avoiding her questions, I focus on the feel of the plush carpet between my toes. My big toe is peeking over the edge of my flip flop. It’s a sensation I’ve never felt before. Comfort.

Before I have the chance to answer, Lincoln jumps in. “Does it matter, Mom? You know it will never be good enough in your eyes.” He clenches my hand tightly under the table. “I love Oakley, and she loves me. What her parents do and where she comes from don’t f*cking matter.”

Mr. Wilks puts his wineglass down with more force than necessary. “Watch your mouth, son.”

I’ve never in my life been in a room with so much animosity. It’s all bottled up in each person. You can see what each one desires, but nobody is willing to give in. A beautiful woman strolls into the dining room, causing me to flinch. It only takes me moments to realize she’s the one serving our food. In an odd way she provides me with one more distraction to stare at. I watch as she serves each one of us with the most obedient mask.

Stirring around my salad, I try convincing my stomach to calm down so I can force a few bites in. The last thing I want to do is offend Elaine by not eating her meal.