That Girl

by H. J. Bellus

  The crowd roars again when the referee announces we’ll be take defense first.

  I hear voices around me cheer and praise the defense. “Can’t wait to see our big D this year. Coach said they’re the best he’s ever seen.”

  I wish Lincoln could hear all the praise. His name is mentioned by several around me.

  A stranger yells, “Stand up. Stand up!”

  Momentarily confused, I turn to Jewels. “Why are we standing up?”

  “Really, Miss Football 2014?”

  Rolling my eyes, I reply, “Really.”

  “You always stand and make lots of noise when the other team kicks the ball.”

  I give Jewels a thumbs up and a smartass grin.

  The fans go crazy when the ball is kicked, and then get even louder when the player is tackled. Number fifty-five takes him out; I try to wrack my brain remembering who he is.

  “Was that good?” I ask. I’m assuming it was terrific because the crowd is still going wild.

  “Yes, Oakley,” Jewel says, giving me a light jab in the ribs.

  “Hey, I’m just nervous and forgetting stuff.”

  Jewels laughs at me, and then says, “Well, you want our boys to tear off heads right now. All defense, baby.”

  I’m not a praying girl, but dear God, please let Lincoln have the game of his life, and even more importantly, let him have the season of his life.

  The reader board flashes the message, “GET LOUD,” and some of the defensive men are waving their hands up and down, signaling the crowd to get rowdy. Lincoln is on the field pacing back and forth in his spot, jumping up and down every once in a while. The other team takes their spot, and I start to freak out.

  “O-M-G, Jewels, I can’t watch this. I’m sick. I think I’m going to puke,” I say, turning to head toward the bathroom.

  She grabs my hand and shakes her head. I try to argue, but the ball is snapped, and the action comes alive on the field. My eyes instantly go to the quarterback to see if it’s going to be a run or a throw. He’s holding and looking. The ball goes up in the air for a long pass of over thirty yards. My eyes stay glued to the movement of the ball. In slow motion I see two white gloves extended in the air, and then the ball is brought down into a green jersey. The roar of the crowd is deafening, and I’m screaming right along with them. When my eyes zone in on the green jersey, there’s a twenty-two on it.

  I grab Jewel’s shoulder and shout, “It’s Lincoln. It’s Lincoln. Run, fucking run!”

  Lincoln’s at the fifty, forty, thirty, busting through the other team’s offense while his boys do the best to block for him as he makes his way to the end zone. The twenty, the ten, TOUCHDOWN.

  “Holy shit!” I scream and jump up on the top of my chair waving my cotton candy.

  Jewels is up next to me jumping and shouting her head off. The big screen replays the score, and I watch it all again. Lincoln doesn’t dance or show off in the end zone. He’s scooped up by this teammates, and they all pat him on the helmet and back. Coach Uni runs on the field and hugs him. The crowd finally settles down enough for the kicker to make the extra point. I don’t watch to see if it goes through; I keep my eyes focused on Lincoln and study his movements.

  He’s breathing hard as he takes his helmet off and hands it to an assistant. Grabbing a bottle, he pours the water on his face, and then drinks a little, adjusting his headband to keep his hair back.

  Finally, he looks up into the stands and spots me. I begin jumping up and down and swinging my cotton candy around again. I see him laugh, wave, and wink at me, then mouth the words, “Are you okay?”

  Enthusiastically, I nod and mouth the word “Pizza” back to him.

  “Oakley,” I hear Jewels say, “we are the only ones standing up.”

  Turning to look around, sure enough, we are the only ones standing, and on our chairs, no less. Jewels brings down her arm and accidentally elbows me right in the temple, and an instant rush of pain fills me. I grab the spot to find a goose egg size bump.

  “Oh my God, did my elbow just do that?” she asks, her eyes wide with concern.

  “No,” I answer, stepping down.

  “What’s it from? And what the hell happened to your knees?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Tell me,” she insists.

  The T.V. commercial break is over, the announcer begins talking, and the teams take the field again. Lincoln is back out there, and I realize the feeling in the pit of my stomach wasn’t an urge to run. It was nerves for Lincoln.

  “What the fuck happened to you?” Jewels demands again.

  I throw out an implausible scenario. “A wiener dog chased me.” I refuse to let any drama or bullshit from Monica ruin this day.

  “A wiener dog?” Jewels repeats my lie slowly.

  “What? They can be mean little bastards.”

  The announcer and crowd noise take over and save my ass from any further scrutiny.

  Play after play, Lincoln freaking amazes me with his talent and sheer speed. The boy’s got mad skills. I giggle, imagining his face if I ever used that line on him. Halftime, and the score is fourteen to zero.

  The players jog off the field, and before turning to join his team, Lincoln takes his helmet off and holds it up to me. Again I act like a fucking lunatic jumping all over the place. There’s something about his shaggy hair and lean body jogging across the field holding his helmet. It is the epitome of sexiness.

  Jewels is deeply involved in texting someone, and by the looks of it, she’d rather be punching the person in the face. Her fingers are rapid-firing, and her lips are pressed into a tight line.

  “Hey, do you think Lincoln bought this cotton candy here?”

  Jewels just shakes her head, “Yeah, up at the concessions.”

  She doesn’t even look up from her phone to answer me.

  I ask, “Everything okay?”

  “It’s my dad.”

  Question answered.

  “I’m going to buy some more. Want anything?” Not like popcorn would help, but I have to offer something.

  “A Coke.”

  The walk up to the concessions knocks all the air out of me. I didn’t realize how close to the field we were. After stepping into the narrow walkway leading to the vendors, I realize it was a mistake. There are people everywhere pushing and shoving to get to their destinations, and when I spot the line, I know there’s no way in hell I’m waiting in it.

  Why did I offer to get Jewels something? Now I feel obligated.

  Before throwing the towel in, I spot a teenager carrying a drink container shouting, “Soda!” I wave him down and buy a drink from him.

  “Hey, do you know where the closest place to get cotton candy is?”

  “If you wait a minute, my buddy is coming with a tray full.”

  Well, it was more than a minute, closer to fifteen. Jewels is still full-on finger-fighting on her phone, so I slip her Coke on the ground by her feet and begin to devour my cotton candy. I bought two bags, one for the game and one to take home.

  Forty-two to zero, the second half flew by. Lincoln and the defense didn’t leave an inch for the other team to score. It was simply phenomenal.

  “My voice is gone,” I manage to squeak out to Jewels.

  She grins. “Sign of good fan and great girlfriend.”

  My phone goes off as we make our way to Jewels’ car.

  “Hello.” I wince at the hoarse sound of my voice.

  “Where are you?” Lincoln growls.

  “Walking to Jewels’ car.”

  “Where’s she fucking parked?”

  “Um, I don’t know. What’s wrong?” Shouldn’t he be happy right now?

  “Did you, or did you not walk to the stadium?”

  “I walked. Jewels had shit to do. Everything worked out. I’m fine,” I lie.

  “I’m fucking livid. Why didn’t you call me?”

  “Stop,” I finally bark into the phone, “I’m fine. Please don’t be mad at me.”


  “I’m not mad at you, Oakley. I freaked out when one of the sports medicine guys said he saw you walking.”

  “Please don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not mad at you, I’m fucking fuming at the situation. Give the phone to Jewels.”

  I hand the phone over to her. I’d warn her, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure she heard every word.

  I ignore their conversation, not wanting to know one detail, and wonder how in the fuck I’m going to lie away the cuts on my knees. Possibly a story about tripping while rushing down the stadium stairs or tripping in the parking lot.

  “Here, he’s all yours,” Jewels says, passing me the phone.

  “Hi.”

  “Just stay at the car with Jewels. I’ll be there in forty minutes.”

  “Okay, please don’t be mad.” I’m starting to sound like a broken record.

  “I’m not mad at you, Oakley, for the fifth fucking time. I just don’t think it’s very cool that my girl has to walk a couple miles across town to get to my game.”

  “Okay, bye.” I hang up the phone before Lincoln can lecture me anymore.

  “He’s fucking pissed,” I say, stating the obvious.

  “No shit, Einstein,” she replies.

  We both start laughing uncontrollably.

  “Stop, we need to stop laughing. This isn’t funny,” I gasp, still laughing.

  Trying to hide our smiles and smother out our nervous, inappropriate laughter, we sit and wait for the storm.

  “I’m not wearing any panties. That should count for something, right?” I ask hopefully a while later.

  Then the laughter strikes again.

  “You two find something funny?”

  Looking up from the passenger seat, I see Lincoln leaning on the car and looking in at us.

  “Lincoln,” I squeal, forgetting all about his fit.

  He steps back, and I fly out the door, jumping up into his arms. I feel him wince, but am too far gone to back off.

  “You’re amazing,” I say.

  “Oakley, I’m really not okay with…”

  “That first interception was so cool. I didn’t know what was going on for a minute, and then you were off to score.”

  “Oakley…”

  With my legs wrapped around his middle, I lay my lips over his mouth, silencing his words.

  “Get a room, assholes.”

  I hear Jewel shoot out of the car and into Heath’s arms, followed by her sobs and pleas for him to never leave her.

  Lincoln grunts one more time, walks over to his truck, and sets me down on his open tailgate.

  He’s avoiding eye contact, so I say, “Look at me. Don’t be mad at Jewels. She had to go to her dad.”

  Lincoln grips my ass and pulls me in closer to him, setting his face in the crook of my neck.

  “Plus, I’m not wearing panties.”

  His head flies up, and he has a questioning eyebrow raised, daring me to prove it. Leaning back from him, I unbutton my shorts and unzip them. “See?”

  “Holy fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Now, kiss me, MVP.”

  “There’s no MVPs in games like those.”

  “No shit. You’re mine, though.”

  Lincoln leans down, licking his way across my mouth and nipping at my bottom lip.

  “Stop and kiss me.”

  His eyes take on a wicked gleam. “Make me.”

  Grabbing the back of his head, I force him down on my lips and devour him.

  “Good game, Lincoln,” a carload screams as they pass by us.

  I let him stand up straight and wave to the fans.

  “Jesus, woman, you looked hot as hell swinging that cotton candy bag above your head, jumping up and down screaming for me.”

  “I was a little out of control,” I admit. “My belly is killing me.”

  “Why?”

  “I ate three bags of it.” I say, my stomach roiling a bit at the confession.

  “Holy hell, I guess it would,” he says, jumping up on the tailgate with me.

  He grabs me by the hips and pulls me over onto his lap, and when my knees hit the metal, I cringe in pain.

  Lincoln eyes me suspiciously. “What’s wrong, Oakley?”

  I’m stuck in a position where I either roll the rest of the way into his lap or flop back down on my ass. The pain is so overwhelming that I have no choice but to fall down on the edge of the tailgate. In the same moment, Lincoln reaches out and brushes the goose egg on my head.

  “What happened?” he asks gently, his fingers carefully probing the shape of the lump.

  My hands fly to my knees to soothe away the pain, and I feel the wet, warm liquid running down them.

  “Oakley Ann, what the fuck happened?”

  All of the happiness is gone.

  Jewels interrupts. “She told me a wiener dog chased her and she fell.”

  Looking up, I see my three friends with their hands folded over their chests waiting for answers.

  “Truth now,” Lincoln demands.

  Turning to face him, I grab his hand. “I was walking here, and about three blocks away a truck pulled up to me, and Monica was in the passenger seat.”

  “And?” Lincoln prompts, his brows lowering menacingly.

  “And she was saying nasty things about me. I just kept walking, but she kept attacking me, so I told her to leave me alone. The next thing I know, a beer bottle hit me in the head, and I fell. Then I ran to the game so I wouldn’t be late, but Jewels picked me up before I got here.”

  “Color?” Heath’s voice sounds like a wolf about to attack.

  “Color of what?” I ask.

  “What color was the truck?”

  “It was a light silver,” I whisper.

  “That motherfucker,” both men roar. I glance between them, but quickly look away from the anger evident in their faces.

  “Take Oakley home, Jewels,” Lincoln orders.

  He picks me up off the tailgate, sets me down, and then kisses my lips in a hurry.

  “Stop, what are you doing?” I ask him, grabbing his arm.

  “I’m going to kick the prick’s ass who just sat there and watched while Monica did that to you.”

  “No, stop!” I’m frantic. I can’t let him do what he’s planning.

  Heath steps up. “It’s okay, Oakley. I’m gonna kick the cocksucker’s ass.”

  “Please don’t leave me, Lincoln.”

  My words are having no effect. “Go. Go with Jewels.”

  “Please,” I plead again.

  Lincoln walks straight to me and grabs my face in his hands. His voice is heavy with determination and eerily calm. “I will not let anyone treat you this way. I don’t care who the fuck it is. Nobody is going to hurt you. Your begging and pleading isn’t going to stop me from leaving to defend your honor. Trust me when I say Paul will never be able to drive a truck again.”

  This time Lincoln walks away, and I’m stunned from his words. Nobody has ever fought this hard when I’ve been abused or wronged. Part of me is cheering for him to go kick the driver’s ass, and the other is scared to death of the outcome.

  ***

  “That’s his truck,” I say about two hours later.

  Jewels and I have been huddled together on my bed, trying to watch T.V. and waiting on the men. I can hear Lincoln’s truck from blocks away; I’ve memorized the roar of his engine. It’s engrained in my memory.

  Running out front to the sidewalk, I meet Lincoln and rush into his arms.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “No.”

  “I love you, Lincoln Wilks.”

  It leaves my lips before I realize it, and I don’t panic or even try to run. I simply repeat it again.

  “I love you, Lincoln Wilks.”

  Chapter 14

  All In at 1,104 Miles

  “Is that lip gloss you’re wearing?”

  Lookin
g up from my shopping bag, I see Lincoln sitting on top of the picnic table next to my room.

  “Lincoln!” I call happily, “when did you get back into town?”

  He stands and starts walking toward me. “About thirty minutes ago.”

  “Why didn’t you text or call?”

  His lips turn up in a mischievous smile. “Because I wanted to see your face light up, baby.”

  “Oh my God, your game was so freaking spot on.”

  This was Lincoln’s second away game. Having him gone for three or four days at a time has nearly killed me. It sucks knowing I depend on him and want him so badly every single minute of the day. There are three more away games I have to deal with.

  “Again, is that lip gloss you’re wearing?”

  “Lincoln, it was hell. Jenni dragged me to a spa again. You wouldn’t believe the shit they do at those places. She actually got her yoo-hoo waxed,” I say, cringing and crossing my legs.

  “So, did you?”

  “Absolutely not. I just did some shit makeup and some freaking scrub thing.” I can’t tell if he’s disappointed or relieved.

  “Want to go out tonight? There are a couple parties.” He reaches me and takes me in his arms.

  “Actually, I just want burgers and ESPN.”

  “I can manage that,” he mumbles into my lips.

  “And by ESPN, I mean you shirtless in my bed holding me.”

  He brushes his lips across my hair. “Anything, babe.”

  Something about his demeanor seems off. “Lincoln, what’s wrong?”

  He had another phenomenal game in Oklahoma, but he’s moping around here like his puppy was just run over.

  “My mom and dad are in town.”

  “Oh. Okay, what does the mean for you?” I know he doesn’t talk to his parents and avoids them at all costs, which I’ve found is not hard because their heads are always stuck up Levi’s ass.

  “They want to have dinner tomorrow.”

  “Okay, that’s not bad is it?” I study his face for clues.

  “I’ll just hear all about Levi, and how close he is to breaking records, and how his season is set to be the best of his career, and how big his house…”