“I questioned it too,” I sigh. “But it seriously . . . Macie, he was so fantastic with him. With all the kids, really.”
My heart swells as I remember seeing him sitting his tall frame in those little kid’s chairs. I peaked in from across the hall a couple of times and nearly melted into a puddle on the floor.
“There’s nothing like a man with a kid,” Macie sings.
“It wasn’t just that,” I say, trying to find the words to say what I mean. “Yes, seeing him with these little boys was super cute. But it was more than that. It was the way he was with them. With me, he’s funny and sexy and kind of full of himself. But when he’s sitting at this little table, covered in paint, flanked by two kids talking his ear off, you’d have no idea he was a big deal. None at all.”
I’m grinning and I can’t stop it. It was one of the most endearing things I’ve seen in my career. Usually celebrities come in and go through the motions, but Lincoln was more than that. He stayed a long time. He didn’t ask for help. He didn’t look bored or get mad when they had accidents. He seemed to actually enjoy it.
“Is he coming back?” she asks.
I gulp. “Maybe. He left his wallet on my desk.”
“And his wallet was out why?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe he thought he was going to need his ID for the paperwork he was filling out? I don’t know.”
Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth. “Where was it?”
“Behind a picture frame.”
“Huh.” She’s quiet again, which is fine by me because the more I think about it, the harder I find it to breathe. “So he left it for you to find.”
“You think?”
“Of course. A man like him with an unlimited credit card isn’t going to whip it out and leave it sit. I don’t care who he is, Danielle. It’s not going to happen.”
A long sigh escapes my lips.
“What are you sighing about?” she laughs. “You’re going to have to meet Mr. Sexy and give him his wallet back. Poor you.”
“I think I’ll just leave it at the front desk.”
An exasperated breath rumbles through the phone and I brace for the onslaught that’s coming. “Ryan Danielle,” she starts, using my given name for emphasis, “the one thing I don’t like about you, besides your ability to eat shit and not gain a pound, is the way you lump people together. It’s not fair.”
“It may not be fair, but it’s logic.”
“So every guy I dated before Will with green eyes was a monster. What would’ve happened had I not dated him?”
“You would’ve found someone else?” I offer just to irritate her.
She groans.
“Look, Macie. No one knows athletes, baseball players specifically, better than me. They’re a unique bunch full of superstitions and a love of—”
“Baseball before everything else,” she says, finishing my sentence for me. “I’ve heard.”
“This would be so easy if he weren’t so fucking hot,” I groan, picking at a napkin on the table. “It’s like the devil sends me these men just to torture me. What do you think I did in a past life to deserve this?”
“Whatever it was, let’s hope I figure it out and do it in this one.”
Lincoln
Is this how the rest of the world lives?
Sitting on the counter in my kitchen, an apple in my hand, I toss it into the air and catch it. Once, twice, three times. On the fourth catch, I whip it around and throw it at the trash can. Instead of landing in the liner, it hits the wall above. A spray of juice and pulp splatter everywhere.
“And that’s why I don’t play basketball.”
I listen to the clock over the sink tick. How have I just noticed how annoying this is? Hopping off the grey marble, I leap onto the counter and pull it down. The batteries come out with a loud pop.
Silence. It’s a relief for about fifty seconds.
“Fuck,” I say, getting back to the floor again. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Humming a tune from the radio just so it doesn’t seem so empty in here, I pad into the living room. I’m not sure why. There’s nothing to do in there, either. I gave up video games a long time ago. There’s no one I want to hang out with, no party I want to attend. I’d just go to Savannah if I didn’t have therapy.
Testing the rotation in my shoulder, I feel it pull deep inside. The cringe that usually accompanies the movement doesn’t come, but still, it doesn’t feel good.
“Is this what I have to look forward to? Being lame?” There’s no one to answer my questions but me, and I sure as shit don’t have answers. I don’t know anything—what the future holds, what my friends are doing, who in the fuck decided an almost-orange-colored blanket was my style, or what Danielle Ashley is wearing under that red shirt. I know nothing anymore.
My phone starts to ring. I consider not answering it, but I’m too bored not to. “Hello?”
“Hi, Lincoln. It’s Danielle Ashley.”
Her voice is sweeter on the phone than in person, and it catches me off guard. Even though I’d hoped she’d call, I really hadn’t expected her to, even though I bolded my phone number on the form she had me fill out. She’s too unpredictable. The fact that I’m listening to her faint breathing on the other end of the line is, to put it mildly, a nice surprise.
“Well, look who it is,” I kid. “How are you?”
“Good,” she replies. “I had to hear about how awesome you are all afternoon from Rocky.”
“Glad to know I made a good impression,” I laugh. “It was a lot of fun. Thank you for letting me stay.”
She waits a moment before responding. “Thanks for coming by. It was really nice of you.”
“Maybe you’ll let me come by again,” I suggest. “I have a lot of time on my hands these days.”
“We’ll see.”
I take that for what it’s worth and dig in. “So, did you call to thank me for coming today?”
“I’ll humor you and tell you that your left your wallet on my desk.”
“Did I? How irresponsible of me.”
“Uh-huh,” she laughs. “I love how your phone number had a big black box around it. Super subtle.”
“Hey, it got you to call, didn’t it?”
She laughs, but doesn’t answer. I know she knows I did it on purpose and find a little gratification that she isn’t pissed about it.
“I guess now we need to negotiate how to get it back,” I suggest.
“It will be at the front desk for you tomorrow.”
Walking over to the large window in the living room, I look out across Memphis. It’s beautiful this time of the evening, the buildings lit up by the early evening sun behind them. Something about the scene makes me want to watch it, breathe it in. Maybe that’s what I need.
“I was afraid to leave it there overnight,” she continues, “so I just brought it home with me. I’ll drop it off on the first floor when I go in tomorrow.”
Ding! Ding!
“Ah, that’s nice of you, Dani—”
“It’s Danielle.”
“—but I have plans tonight so I really need my wallet.”
There’s no response, no witty comeback or snort that I’m crazy. I take it as a good sign.
“Should I just come over and get it?” I prod.
“No,” she says hurriedly. “I’m sorry you have plans. I guess you’ll have to cancel them.”
Wincing at her taking my comment the wrong way, I try to backtrack. “Maybe I can change them.”
“Do what you want. I’ll have it at the front desk tomorrow.”
“Do you mean that?” I grin.
“What?”
“For me to do what I want?”
She laughs, knowing where I’m headed with this. “No, no, I don’t. I get in at eight thirty. You can pick it up any time after that.”
“I’ll see you around eight thirty then. I’ll bring you coffee. How do you like it?”
“I don’t.”
“Oh, I promise you will.”
The little intake of breath brushes through the phone, and every cell in my body feels it. I can see her face, the pink of her cheeks matching the shirt she wore yesterday. Her long lashes widening as she unmistakably reads the innuendo I threw in there. Before I know it, my breath is as ragged as hers.
“Lincoln . . .”
“Meet me tonight. If you don’t want me going to your house, that’s fine. But meet me somewhere.”
“Where?” she nearly whispers.
“Riffle Steakhouse.”
“We aren’t having dinner. It’s me giving you the wallet back.”
“It’s me thanking you.”
“If you want it tonight, no dinner.”
“Oh, I want it tonight,” I smirk, choosing to just lay it out there. “I’ve wanted it since I saw you, and I’m fairly certain you do too. I will say, I like the way you negotiate,” I crack.
“What do you mean?”
“They always want dinner first.”
She scoffs. “You are too much, Landry.”
“Have you heard of Freeman Park? It’s on 57th,” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Be there in an hour.”
“Okay.”
I start to click off my phone, my body on high-alert, when I hear her try to speak.
“Hey—” she starts to say, but I hang up before she can change her mind.
Danielle
MY CAR SLIDES BENEATH A large oak tree with a placard about feeding the Freeman Park wildlife. From this angle, I can see most of the greenery tucked away behind a row of oversized evergreens. The park is almost nestled inside the trees, fields of green expanding for acres. There are little tables and sheds and play equipment sprinkled throughout.
I climb out of the car and look for him. After a few long minutes, my gaze falls on a picnic table near a little pond in the back corner. A man sits on the top, his back to me. It isn’t just a man though. With a grey sweatshirt stretched across a broad, thick back, a few strands of sandy brown hair peeking out from below a purple baseball cap, it’s Lincoln. It has to be. No one else can look that delectable, that unintentionally sexy.
Damn him.
I force my feet to keep going forward. This is dangerous. He is dangerous. My willpower is skirted, chipped away with every interaction, and I’m feeling very bare these days.
You must stay strong. Don’t give in to temptation. Don’t . . .
He reaches over his head, his shirt pulling up so I can see the skin on his side. The thick muscle that wraps from his front to back bulges, rolling as he moves.
I’m so screwed. No, I’m not. I’ll hand him his wallet and go home. No sex. Well, maybe. No! No sex, Danielle.
I’m not screwed. I’m about to be fucked.
Like he has all the time in the world, he glances over his shoulder. Bit by bit his face is revealed to me. His sculpted cheekbones are followed by his sharp jawline peppered with a five o’clock shadow. His full lips are displayed, then his brooding eyes that light up as they meet mine somewhere over the gravel between us.
“Hey,” he says. His voice is balmy, welcoming, but he doesn’t move.
“Hey.” I try to suck in a breath to regain my composure but am hit with the essence of Landry and blow it out instead. It’s not helping. “I have your wallet.”
My words stumble out of my mouth. Something about seeing him in a place that I don’t hold the advantage has me flailing a bit, my typical confidence floating somewhere on the little ripples in Lake Freeman. I have to get it back. It’s the only weapon I have against this force sitting in front of me.
I glance around the park, only to find it deserted. Royal purples and lively pinks spatter the blue sky as the sun hovers over the top of the evergreens as it descends.
Turning to face him, I extend the leather in my hand. I wait for him to take it. He doesn’t. After a few moments, my hand falls back to my side, and he scoots across the table, making room for me.
“I love it here,” he says, taking in the ducks bobbing on the water. “It reminds me of a lake at home. My brothers and I all learned to swim there.”
“How many brothers do you have?”
“Three. Assholes, all of them,” he says before glancing down at the picnic table. “You going to sit or what?”
My brows tug together, and I want to say no, that he should take his wallet and I should go. Instead, I find myself climbing on the bench and resting beside him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a look of satisfaction splashed on his face.
“I was kidding about my brothers being assholes. They’re all good guys. My dad would still whip the shit out of us if we weren’t.”
“Yeah, well, my dad is an asshole,” I huff before I can think about it. I fidget with his wallet in my hands. “I think my father was so disappointed that I was a girl that he was afraid to try again. Try growing up knowing that.”
“Maybe he thought he hit the jackpot and was afraid of being disappointed the next go-round.”
Trying to return his smile, my attempt lacks any genuineness. There’s nothing to smile about when it comes to my parents. Lincoln picks up on it, watching me curiously.
“I’ll save you the trouble of trying to figure it out,” I offer. “My father wanted a boy more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. He named me Ryan Danielle. That’s how bad he wanted a son.”
“Ryan is kind of sexy,” Lincoln whispers.
My shoulders rise and fall as I try not to focus on the fact that it does sound sexy coming out of his lips. I also heave away the little fact that I’m sitting next to him, talking about our families. “It doesn’t matter. I hate it,” I spill. “I grew up knowing I would never be good enough for my parents, and my name is just another reminder of that.”
“Is that why you always correct me when I call you Dani? Because you think it’s a boy’s name?”
When I don’t respond with words, just the sobering of my features, the playfulness vanishes from his. “That’s bullshit,” he gruffs. “Your name is who you are. You shouldn’t get a bad vibe every time someone says it.”
“Well, I do. I can’t help it.”
His lips twist together, his foot tapping on the bench. We sit in silence for a while, the autumnal wind making me pull my knit jacket tighter. I do it out of knowledge that it’s probably cold and that’s what I should probably do. I don’t feel anything other than the warmth from sitting next to Lincoln though.
This is unexpected. The flirting, the joking—that I was prepared for. But this side of him? This serious part, this section of his personality that’s almost like I’ve known him forever rips the guard right down from around my heart. It’s as easy to talk to him about these painful things as it is to joke about his body. That’s both amazing and nerve-wracking.
“I’m going to keep calling you Dani. You need to embrace who you are. And,” he says, leaning so close to me that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek, “you are seriously hot.”
The smile stretches across my cheeks before I can stop it. He delights in my reaction, his own cheeks splitting with a wide grin. I thrust his wallet in his hands and laugh, not able to look at him.
“Fuck your dad,” he says like he’s joking, although I’m not one hundred percent sure he is. He tucks his wallet in his pocket.
My spirits dip as Lincoln’s words land on my ears and heart. “You probably wouldn’t think that if you knew him.”
“Any man that makes his daughter feel that way, yeah, I don’t care if he’s the fuckin’ Pope, I’ll guarantee you I wouldn’t like him.”
“He’s not the Pope,” I laugh, “but he’s kind of a big deal. People love my parents.”
“I don’t. I love . . .” He leans forward, his eyes wide, watching for my reaction. As I pull slightly away, whispers, “I love ice cream. Wanna go get some?”
My laughter mixes with his, but when his shoulder bumps mine, I can barely breathe. Lincoln moves cl
oser to me in one easy, graceful move.
“Is that a yes?” he asks.
“No. I should be heading home,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I hope you get done whatever you need to with the wallet you just had to have back tonight.”
His shrugs, pressing his lips together in a mischievous look. “I was hoping for dinner with a slightly irritating lady I met on the wrong floor.”
“Slightly irritating? That’s how you would describe her?” I ask, raising a brow.
“All right,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “She was actually more of a moderate irritator.” He flashes me a soft smile, one that is without any of the teasing or jokes. “I’d really like to have dinner with you sometime.”
The water laps the shore in front of us. I close my eyes and breathe in the clean air mixed with Lincoln’s cologne and feel my shoulders give up some of the stress they’ve been holding.
“You were great with the kids today,” I tell him. When I look over my shoulder, he’s watching me closely. “Rocky loved hanging out with you today. You were so patient with him.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Yeah, well, it’s not the worst way to spend an afternoon.” It’s him now that’s looking across the water, his thoughts going somewhere else. “Kids are so genuine. He wanted some of my time and reminded me to get him a poster,” he laughs. “But that’s it. They don’t want the rest of the shit people usually do.”
“I can’t imagine.”
My heart hurts a little for him, but I don’t know why. The look on his face is somber, thoughtful, and I’m sure whatever he’s thinking isn’t the happiest of thoughts. It’s my first reaction to reach for him and hug him like I would one of the kids or Macie or Pepper, but I don’t.
“It’s a part of the life,” he sighs. “I’m lucky to play baseball. I know that. But there are parts of it that sometimes feel . . .”
“Insincere?” I offer.
He looks at me, his head bent to the side. “Yeah,” he says, narrowing his eyes.
Before he can start asking questions, I throw it back to him. “You were going to the therapy floor the other day. Are you okay?”
“Maybe. My shoulder is pretty fucked up. I’m doing everything I can to get it healed up so I can be back out there this spring.”
Swing Page 5
