by Hamel, B. B.
“He’ll take you to the hottest restaurant in Boulder, and afterward you’ll take a nice little stroll through downtown,” Jules said.
Lincoln kept smiling.
“Bid now! Perfect for a man or a woman, for any true fan of one of the best BASE jumpers in the world.”
I rolled my eyes. She was laying it on pretty thick.
“Remember everyone, it’s for a good cause, so go ahead. Trust me, Lincoln Carter is worth it.”
I nearly gagged. She was practically pimping him out. Even Lincoln gave her a little look at that last line. But before he could do anything to ruin her nice speech, she put the microphone back on its stand and ushered him off the stage and back into his adoring public’s waiting embrace.
Forget him, I thought to myself. Let him get mobbed. I don’t care.
The night had dragged on without incident, mostly just people complaining that pencils had broken or asking inane questions about the different things they could bid on. Since I more or less didn’t know any answers, I started amusing myself by making up elaborate stories for whatever item people were asking about.
Basically, I was bored. And I was trying to do anything I could to keep my mind off Lincoln.
I watched as Jules and Lincoln disappeared back into the crowd, the camera crew following his every step, as I waded back onto the floor.
“Excuse me, miss?”
I turned toward an older gentleman and his wife. Based on the number of diamonds she was wearing, these people were seriously loaded.
“Yes, sir?”
“This package here. This . . . restaurant package. What exactly is that?”
“Well, sir, that’s an exclusive package of the hottest restaurants all over Boulder. It gets you a private room and private tastings with each chef, plus as much wine as you can drink.”
He nodded and murmured appreciatively, glancing at his wife.
“Very good. Very good. I think I’ll bid on this one.”
“Thank you, sir. Your money is going to a great cause.”
Before he could ask me anything else, I walked away quickly. I felt a little bad that I had just lied to him, but I was pretty sure at least one part of what I had said was true. Plus, it really was a good cause, whatever that was.
“Okay, guys, five minute notice!” Jules said over the headset.
That meant things were wrapping up. I glanced at my watch and was surprised three hours had already flown by. I moved through the people and began passing along the word.
When it was done, we shut the books that held the bids and carried them up to the stage. Once there, Jules began to read out the winning bid amounts and the generous donor’s name if they weren’t anonymous.
At that point, though, I was already sipping my second glass of wine and ignoring the whole thing. I was ready for the boring, crappy night to be done with.
Until something Jules said pulled me back.
“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Who won the date with Based Carter?”
Some scattered cheers and applause could be heard, and I glanced around the room for Lincoln but couldn’t find him.
“Let’s see here . . .” Jules said, looking over the bid. “Okay, this is fantastic. With a winning bid of five thousand dollars, Miss Misty Springer is the winner! Misty, come on up here.”
Misty Springer? Sounds like a stripper, I thought ruefully.
And then Misty walked onstage, and I nearly gagged. Stripper was probably pretty accurate. She was blond, had huge fake breasts, and was wearing the shortest dress I had ever seen. Her heels were maybe nine inches high, and she giggled and waved at the crowd like she was accepting an Oscar for Best Prostitute.
I couldn’t take it. Of course Lincoln was going out on a date with someone like her. Of course she had to be young and pretty and easy looking. I threw back my glass of wine, tore the earpiece from my ear, and dropped it right there on the floor.
I turned and walked out.
I didn’t bother thinking about it. I just left. I was done with the night, done with Lincoln, done with everything.
The cool night air hit me hard as I shoved open the front door and stormed outside. I hadn’t realized how warm it had been inside. I suddenly felt like I could breathe again. I walked a few paces toward the parking lot, anger and frustration welling up through me.
“Hey, Aubrie?”
I turned toward the voice and recognized Brent, one of Lincoln’s camera crew guys.
“Hey, Brent,” I said, stepping toward him.
He smiled at me, dropping a cigarette on the ground and stubbing it out with his foot.
“Cutting out early?”
“Yeah. Thought I’d beat the traffic.”
He came a bit closer to me, but he looked unsteady on his feet. Is he drunk? I thought to myself, suddenly nervous.
“Very clever. You’re a pretty clever girl.”
“Uh, thanks, Brent. Shouldn’t you be working?”
He shook his head. “Nah. Takin’ a break. Sick of filming that asshole anyway.”
I blinked. “Okay. Well, have a good night.”
I turned to leave but he took a step closer.
“Hold on, hold on. Where you off to?”
He was definitely drunk. His words were coming out thick and slurry and his smile was dumb and empty.
“Home.” I started walking.
He jogged to catch up, matching my pace. “Want to do something fun instead?”
I glanced around the parking lot. Nobody was around.
“No, thanks. I’m tired. I should just head home.”
“Okay, yeah, I hear you.”
I kept walking. For a second, I thought I had gotten away, but suddenly he grabbed my arm. I staggered and stopped, glaring at him.
“What the hell?” I said.
“Wait a second. I’m just trying to talk to you.”
He was standing close, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He reeked of whisky and cigarettes. There was something empty in his gaze, something off-putting. I had never seen someone look at me like that before, but I suddenly felt like he was sizing me up.
“Get off me,” I said, trying to yank my arm away.
“Relax. It’s fine. We’re just talking,” he said, tightening his grip.
My heart was hammering in my chest. Nobody was around. Nobody was coming to help me. Why was he doing this? What was going on?
“Get off me, asshole,” I said loudly.
“Come on, let’s get out of here. Hang out together.”
“Let me go!” I yelled in his face.
Suddenly, his expression went from appraising and calm to completely angry. It almost took my breath away how furious he looked. He was sweating slightly and his face was inches away from mine. He spit in my face every time he spoke.
I wanted to vomit and scream.
“No need to fucking yell,” he said.
My heart was hammering in my chest, and I made the snap decision to fight back. As I prepared myself, not sure what I was going to do, but pretty sure it involved hitting him in the balls, suddenly he grunted in pain and dropped down onto one knee, letting me go. Before I could scream in his face or kick him, I saw Lincoln standing there, his cane pulled back.
Lincoln bashed his cane down again, hitting Brent in the side of the head. Brent went down with a grunt.
“Lincoln!” I yelled, but he didn’t hear me. His face was a mask of twisted rage as he stood over Brent and hit him again. I had never seen someone so furious.
“How dare you fucking touch her, you piece of shit,” he yelled as he hit Brent a third time.
“Stop it!” I called out, grabbing his arm.
That brought him back to himself. He dropped the cane and grabbed on to me.
“Are you okay?” he said.
“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. Where did you come from?”
“I followed you out here. I wanted to talk. Then I saw him grab yo
u, and the look on his face, and you yelled . . .”
He trailed off as bright lights blinded us.
“Did you get that?” Jess said gleefully.
“Yeah. Lighting sucked, but I got it,” the cameraman said.
“Fuck,” Lincoln grunted.
“Turn the cameras off, you asshole,” I yelled at Jess.
“Sorry, kid,” she said, shrugging.
Lincoln grabbed my arm and stooped down to pick up his cane. “Come on,” he said.
“What’s happening?” someone else said.
I didn’t have time to look back at the crowd slowly gathering around Brent. Lincoln began to walk as fast as he could away from the scene, not bothering to look back. More people were gathering, and fortunately Jess and the cameraman didn’t try to follow us. They were probably too busy making sure Brent wasn’t dead or seriously injured.
My heart was racing. I felt like I could barely breathe as Lincoln towed me along behind him. What had just happened felt completely surreal and fake.
It had happened so fast. One second, I was walking to my car, and the next Brent was accosting me. Then Lincoln comes out of nowhere and practically breaks his kneecap.
We rounded a corner and headed toward a busier part of the city, Lincoln still limping fast, leaning heavy on his cane but not slowing down. I could see the strain on his face, the pain from pushing himself so hard, but he wasn’t complaining. There was a determination there that I had never seen before.
“Lincoln, wait. Where are we going?” I said.
“Getting away from the cameras.”
We turned another corner, pale streetlight illuminating the street. Cute little shops lined the stone sidewalk.
“They didn’t follow,” I said.
“Can’t be sure.”
We kept walking, farther on, down streets I didn’t recognize.
“Hold on, Lincoln.”
I pulled my hand away and he looked back at me. Suddenly, it was like a spell broke and he came back to himself. He stopped walking and turned toward me, grabbing me by the shoulders and pulling me against him. I fell against his chest as his arms wrapped tightly around me, pulling me close.
I couldn’t do anything but wrap my arms around him and try not to cry. I was probably in shock, but it was hard to think clearly when I was pressed against his hard body, his smell filling my nose.
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me.”
“That mother fucker. I hope I broke his fucking skull.”
“Lincoln.” I pulled away slightly, looking at his face. “You’re on parole. You could go back to jail.”
He shook his head. “Fuck jail. I’d break a thousand skulls to keep you safe if I had to.”
I smiled. “That’s like poetry.”
My joke seemed to soften something inside him, and his grin peeked through the mask of rage.
“What can I say? I’m a big softie.”
I sighed. “Come on, let’s sit down. Your legs must be killing you.”
“I’m fine. We should keep going, make sure the cameras don’t find us.”
I pulled away and tugged his hand, pulling him over to a bench. I sat down and he followed, stretching his legs out and wincing.
“I think Jess is probably busy making sure you didn’t kill one of her crew.”
“That’s fair. Did they get it on film?”
“Yeah. I think. I’m not sure.”
He cursed. “She’s going to use that against me, you can be damn sure.”
“But he was attacking me.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He laughed. “I know that too. But a judge might not see it that way.”
“Lincoln.” I moved closer to him. “What were you doing out there?”
“I saw you leave. I wanted to talk. I don’t know. I wanted to explain.”
“Explain what?”
“The stupid date thing.” He paused and massaged his right knee. “It was Jules’s idea. I didn’t really think about it.”
“The date? Who cares about that?”
“You looked like you did.”
I blushed. “I was just tired.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I saw your face when that girl went up onstage.”
“Fine. Okay? Fine. I was a little jealous.”
He laughed. “A little? You stormed out of there.”
I looked at him, a little annoyed. “What do you want from me?”
“Admit you fucking want me.”
He was suddenly so close, his body warm and strong, and I didn’t want to pull away.
“You know that I do,” I whispered.
“Then enough with this bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit,” I said more forcefully. “If we keep doing whatever this is, it could mean your entire career.”
“You think I care about that?”
“I don’t want to compromise what you’ve built.”
He sighed, taking my chin in his hand and turning my face to look deep into his grass-after-rain colored eyes. “I’m already deeply fucking compromised.”
Then he kissed me. And like the first time and every time after, it rocketed through my whole body, sending shivers down my spine. It was only a kiss, a simple, boring kiss, but with Lincoln it was so much more.
After a second, we pulled away, the tingle still lingering on the thin skin of my lips.
“What are we going to do?” I said softly.
“Let me deal with it.”
“I won’t be the reason you lose everything you worked for.”
He grinned. “You already might be.”
I smacked his chest. “Don’t be an ass.”
“Just being real, Brie baby.”
“What do you think’s happening back there?”
“Probably taking him to the hospital.”
“He was drunk. Really drunk.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah. Breath reeked of it.”
“What a piece of shit.”
We lapsed into silence for a second and watched the few scattered people walking along the sidewalk. It was comfortable there, even though my heart wouldn’t stop hammering. I couldn’t tell if it was the lingering adrenaline from my run-in with Brent the psycho rapist, or if I just always felt that way when Lincoln was so close to me.
“I feel like I keep asking this,” I said. “But what now?”
“I don’t know. Not sure I really care.”
“You don’t have a plan?”
He laughed. “Nope, no plan. Not yet at least.”
“This thing with Brent is serious.”
“I know. I’ll deal with whatever happens. But let’s just sit here for now.”
I sighed and looked up at his face. He looked calm, almost happy, even though his whole life might be over. I couldn’t imagine what I would do if he got sent off to prison. It wouldn’t be some easy, minimum-security thing either, I figured. It would be serious prison.
But he didn’t seem to care. And his calm made me calm.
“Fine. Let’s stay here,” I said.
He looked down at me, this wicked grin spreading across his face. “And when we get back, I’m going to make you come harder than you’ve ever come before.”
I giggled. “Lincoln!”
“I’m going to slide my big cock into your tight little soaked pussy and fuck you rough. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t get the feeling of me out of your mind.”
“We’ll see about that,” I said, looking away but smiling.
“Yeah. We will.”
My heart kept hammering in my chest.
It was definitely him. It was always him.
Chapter Sixteen: Lincoln
I pulled her chair out, playing the perfect gentleman for the cameras. She smiled hugely, clearly beyond excited to be out in public with me, and I smiled back.
“Thanks, Based
—I mean, Lincoln.”
“No problem, Misty.”
I watched as she sat down, her big fake boobs pressing against her pink tube top. She wore a white furry cardigan over top, but that barely covered anything. It was clear what she felt her best features were, and she wasn’t shy about showing them off.
I looked away as I limped around the table and sat down. Misty stared at me, grinning this big stupid grin, and I wracked my brain for something to talk about. She had been pretty quiet on the ride over, mostly alternating between gushing about being out on a date with me and staring with this insane look on her face.
I can’t believe I have to be on a whole date with this lunatic, I thought to myself as the waiter walked over.
“Good evening, sir, madam. Can I tempt you with drinks to start?”
“Yes, please. Dirty martini for me,” Misty said and then looked right at me. “Extra dirty.” She winked.
She seriously winked. I had to stifle an eye roll.
“Very good. And for you, sir?”
I glanced at the menu. “The Japanese whisky, neat.”
“Very good. I will return shortly with your drinks.” He turned on his heel and left.
I sighed, feeling fortunate that my mom had sprung for the private room. Even though I was surrounded by the camera crew, with Jess lurking in the background, at least I didn’t have to suffer through my embarrassing ordeal with a room full of strangers.
“So . . . Based—I mean, Lincoln,” Misty said.
“So, Misty. Let me ask you something.”
“Okay. Ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you absolutely anything.”
I ignored the innuendo. “What do you do for a living?”
She giggled. “Not much really. I design dresses.”
“Who carries them?”
“Nobody yet,” she said. “But Daddy says I have talent.”
I winced. Any adult woman that called her father “daddy” was deeply, deeply damaged. Or maybe I shouldn’t generalize, but it definitely applied in Misty’s case.
“Where do you live?”
“With Daddy still.”
I paused. “How old are you, Misty?”
She smiled. “Twenty-three.”
I had a feeling she was lying, but I wasn’t about to press her on it. I pegged her closer to thirty. The waiter returned with our drinks before I could go back to pulling conversational teeth.
