He laughs. “I already knew that. I’m asking if you’re okay now.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Call it a guess.”
Sighing, I stick a hand on my hip, hoping it makes me look nonchalant. “I’m fine. Deliciously tired after that little workout.” Glancing between his legs, I pull my gaze back to him. “Are you okay?”
He leaps off the table so he’s standing beside me. “I’m great.”
“But you’re still hard,” I say, pointing to the protrusion sticking from his pants. “I kind of feel like I should apologize. Or, you know, return the favor.”
My mouth waters at the thought of taking him in, showing him the attention he just showed me. That’s dashed as he shakes his head.
“Nope. That was perfect.”
“But . . .”
“That happens to be the best thing I’ve ever watched.”
“Oh, come on,” I laugh, heading towards my car. Why I’m blushing now, after what he just did to me, I don’t know. But I am.
“Can I see you again?”
I glance over my shoulder. His cheeks are pink, his hat sitting off-balance on his head.
“Did I tell you Dr. Manning came by my office to see if I knew who you were?” I ask.
“Who in the hell is Dr. Manning?”
“The guy that got off the elevator. In the scrubs. Remember? He asked if you were Lincoln Landry?”
He smirks. “The asshole. Got it.”
“Yeah, and he was pretty excited about meeting you, although you denied you were you.”
“Ah, he’s a fanboy.”
“I don’t think so,” I laugh. “He’s a very prominent physician.”
“Doctors are fanboys. Trust me,” he winks. “Now, I asked if I could see you again.”
I look at anything but him. I don’t know what to say. Yes, he’s fun. And playful. And hot. And considerate and makes me get off like no one I’ve ever been with. But it won’t work. It can’t. I don’t want it to. “I need to think about it.”
His brows pull together. “And why is that?”
“A lot of reasons.”
“What do you want?” he asks, slipping his hands in the front pouch of his hoodie. “You want romanced? I’ll romance the shit out of you.”
I can’t help but laugh. “It’s not about that.”
“Then what is it about?” He sounds genuinely concerned. Or curious. Maybe a mixture of both. “Someone really stuck it to you, didn’t they? Who was it?”
“No one. I just know how guys like you tick, and I’m not sure if I can handle it, if you want to know the truth.”
He strokes his chin, watching me with a narrowed gaze. All I can do is think about what that scruff would feel like between my legs.
“Did he play baseball? Football? Oh, God, don’t tell me you were in love with a basketball player!”
“Landry!” I laugh.
“He did play basketball, didn’t he? Geez, Dani, I had you figured to be smarter than that.”
Opening the door to my car, I stick my keys in the ignition. “He didn’t play basketball. I don’t even like basketball.”
“Thank fuck,” he sighs. “But there was someone.”
“I didn’t say that exactly.”
“He’s not an Arrow, is he?”
“Why?”
“It’s a yes or no kind of question, Dani.”
I laugh, unable to stop from smiling at this ridiculously handsome man questioning me. I should be annoyed, but I’m not. I just want to kiss him again, which is exactly why I can’t. “No. He isn’t an Arrow.”
He blows out a breath. “Good. That would’ve been awkward.”
“How do you figure?” I ask.
“It’s like dating your best friend’s girl. You don’t do it.”
“Um, we aren’t dating.”
“What a terrible thing to point out.” He leans forward, one hand on my car. “We should fix that, don’t you think?”
“No,” I reply adamantly, hoping to convince the both of us.
“Come on,” he coaxes. “You aren’t even mean to me anymore. I’m wearing you down. I can tell.”
Rolling my eyes, I grip the gear shifter. I need to get away from this conversation while I can, while I still have some sense about me. “I need to get going.”
A look flickers through his eyes as he pushes away from my car. It’s not going to be that easy. “Have it your way,” he says, a huge smile on his face.
“See you, Landry. And thanks for the orgasm.”
He laughs. “The pleasure was all mine. Well, not really, but it was worth it.”
With a shake of my head, I pull my door closed and put the car in reverse. I back out and drive away, sneaking one final glance at the sexy man standing in the parking lot, watching me leave.
Lincoln
MY PHONE BUZZES THROUGH THE Bluetooth as I take a right onto the freeway. It interrupts the hip-hop station with its shrill ring that tells me it’s Graham.
I press the button on the steering wheel. “Hey, G!”
“Why do you sound so chipper?”
“Chipper? I’m not sure that’s the right word,” I laugh. “What’s up?”
“Just calling to check on your shoulder. Dad said he tried to call you earlier today and you didn’t answer.”
“I sent him to voicemail,” I crack.
“Ballsy,” he laughs.
I shrug. “Yeah, well, I have to be in the right frame of mind to talk to him. You know how we are.”
“Oil and water?”
“Nah, not that bad. Maybe more like Cardinals and Cubs.”
He laughs. “Always the baseball reference.”
“Hey, you reference what you know. Baseball is what I know.”
“Speaking of which, how’s the shoulder?”
“I’ll put it to you like this,” I say, weaving in and out of traffic before hitting my exit, “my shoulder feels fanfuckingtastic right now.”
Graham sighs into the phone. I can hear the dread in it, and I know he’s rolling through a million scenarios as to why I’m not giving him a play-by-play of my pain this evening. He probably thinks I’ve resorted to drugs. Fucker.
“Care to elaborate?” he asks.
“She was so fucking wet,” I say, strumming my fingertips on the wheel. “And when she came, her pussy clamped down on my fingers like it was a vice grip. I can only imagine what that would feel like on my cock.”
“I should’ve known . . .”
“Tell the truth—you were sure I was on dope or something, huh?”
“With you, Linc, I’m never sure about anything.”
“Which is why you love me. Barrett and Ford are boring. I keep you entertained.”
“Hey, speaking of Barrett, he’s headed to Tennessee in a few days. There’s some convention . . . I can’t remember the day, and I’m driving so I can’t pull up the calendar. He’ll be in Tennessee just overnight. He was mentioning that he wanted to try to see you while he was in the area.”
“Is he bringing Alison?” I joke.
Graham snorts and then strings a slew of profanities about someone not using a turn signal. He takes a few seconds to gather himself before he comes back on the line.
“You get so worked up over nothing,” I remark. “You’re gonna have a heart attack before you’re forty. And I’ll tell you what, as the second smartest sibling, I’m not about to take over your job. So figure that shit out, will ya?”
“You couldn’t do my job, asshole.”
“The hell I couldn’t.” I think about it for a moment. “Yeah, I probably couldn’t. You’re right. Plus, I’d have to see Dad every day, and that makes me want to shoot myself in the face.”
He chuckles. “You know, there’s a good chance I’m going to need a secretary soon. Mine just keeps missing more and more, and I’m getting further behind.”
“Fire her,” I say easily. “Just cut her the two-weeks check and call it good.”
“You ever fired anyone?”
“Nope.”
“Yeah. So shut up,” he laughs. “I am going to have to do something. But I hate change.”
“You’ll live.” I pilot my SUV into the entrance to my gated community and press the code. The gate rises and I go through. “I’m almost home, G, so I gotta go. You good? Need anything?”
“Nah. Let me know about your shoulder. And for fuck’s sake, man, call Dad tomorrow.”
“We’ll see.”
“Talk to you later.”
“Later.”
Sliding into the garage, I cut the engine and hop out. Stepping over a set of dumbbells, I climb the stairs to the door leading into the laundry room. There’s a bounce in my step that even I notice, a little hop that makes me laugh at myself.
I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Just happy. Not overcome with a million worries and needing to figure shit out. With her, it’s . . . easy. There’s no talk of contracts or backup plans or dollar amounts. I’m not sure she even cares. Hell, I’m not completely convinced she wants to see me again. Which is precisely why I have to see her again.
“Danielle Ashley,” I say, stripping my clothes to the floor and putting them in the hamper for Rita. “You are one intriguing lady.”
Danielle
The washcloth hits the laundry basket with a splat. I still smell like him. His scent is in my hair, on my skin, and now on the washcloth in my hamper from cleansing between my legs.
I should take a shower, but I don’t. Not yet. I just want to feel this little buzz a while longer. I thought maybe when I took off my clothes and put on a robe some of it would vanish, but it didn’t. I’m still soaked in Lincoln Landry.
My phone rings in the kitchen and I tighten the tie around my waist and nearly skip in there. I swipe it on with a smile when I see it’s Macie.
“Hey,” I say happily.
“Wow. What’s that all about?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you get laid?”
My laugh probably confirms something of the sort, but I don’t care. I usually try to keep some of my intimate moments private, even from Macie, but not this one. It needs celebrated.
“You did!” she exclaims. “It was by the baseball god, right? Please, please let it have been by the baseball god. And please have taken pictures because I want to see his body. I mean, I’ve seen it online without a shirt, but there are things I’d like to know, and I’m not even sorry I’m saying that about your potential man because whoa.”
“Breathe!” I laugh.
“I’ll breathe. You talk.”
“Okay. Yeah, it was Lincoln. But we didn’t have sex,” I tell her. “He just fingered me.”
“Like in middle school?” she giggles.
“This was nothing like that,” I point out. “There was no fumbling, no searching for my clit. Lincoln knew exactly what he was doing.” I sigh dreamily. I can’t help it. “I mean, it was the most spontaneous, carnal thing I’ve done in a long time.”
“So, details! Fork ’em over, Danielle.”
“Lincoln asked me to dinner and I said no. Then he wanted to go play catch and I couldn’t think of a reason not to meet Lincoln—”
“You do realize you’ve said his name like five times in this conversation, right?”
“I have not!”
“You have too!” She smacks her lips together. “You’re there, that point where you just want to say his name in a sentence.”
“That’s not true.”
“That is so, so true,” she laughs. “It’s cute, actually.”
I think about that. If it is true, how am I going to feel when this high wears off? I can’t get in over my head here, and I’m aware just how easy that is to do. It’s how I do everything, really. I move fast and hard. My therapist told me when I was younger that I wanted someone to love me because I felt neglected by my parents. That I needed someone to protect me from them, not physically, but emotionally. I don’t think that’s true. I don’t search out friendships or relationships. Do I want to connect with someone? Absolutely. But do I bend over backwards for it? No. Still, when I commit, when I go down that rabbit hole, I spiral into the darkness with no parachute. There’s no way I’d survive Lincoln Landry.
“So . . . details!” Macie insists. I fill her in on all the things I can make myself say out loud, much to her amusement. “I knew he’d know what he was doing, you lucky duck.”
Blowing out a breath, I find myself settling a little. “You know what the scary part is?”
“What’s that?”
“That he’s fun to talk to,” I admit. “He doesn’t take himself too seriously and asks questions and seems to care about what I say. He’s . . . dangerous to my health,” I laugh.
“I think he’s perfect for your health. You deserve to have fun, Danielle. Lincoln Landry seems like the answer to your problems.”
“Or more problems,” I sigh. Already, I want to see him again. I want to hear his voice and smell his cologne and hear him laugh. I want to feel his touch and make him smile and that . . . Is. Not. Good.
“You still here?” Macie asks.
“Yeah, I’m here.” I chew on a snagged fingernail. “What’s happening with you today?”
She pauses, like she’s trying to figure out whether to steer me back to the topic at hand or let me change it. Thankfully, she rolls with me. “Not much. Will is training tonight. They got a new guy in named Pike from somewhere in the South. His accent though,” she whistles. “Anyway, he’s just training for a few weeks. They think he’s going to be something, I guess. It’s all I hear about right now.”
“Better than baseball.”
“Truth,” she laughs. “So, what are your plans for Thanksgiving?”
I shrug. “Probably the same as always.”
“Want to come to Boston? Julia and I are fixing dinner, and we always make way too much.”
“Nah. Thanks, though.”
“Did you think about the job? You know, at the foundation with Julia?”
“Honestly, I haven’t really given it much thought. Is this a time sensitive thing?”
“I don’t think so. She’s just getting her ducks in a row.”
“Okay, well, let me see what happens at the budget meetings and go from there.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she yawns. “I’m going to grab a shower and go to bed. Call me later.”
“I will.”
“Bye.”
I end the call, but hold the phone in my hand. For some reason, I don’t want to put it down. Realizing how stupid I look standing in the living room, staring at it, I go to sit it down when it buzzes.
My heart leaps when I look at the screen.
Lincoln: Just checking to see if you made it home okay. Let me know when you can.
Hurriedly, I swipe my fingers across the screen.
Me: I made it a while ago. Already cleaned up and getting ready to make some tea.
I watch for his response, but it doesn’t come right away. Just as my nerves start to get the best of me, the light goes off.
Lincoln: Thank you for coming tonight.
Me: Is that an innuendo?
Lincoln: Could be. ;)
Me: Well, thank you for having me come. ;)
Lincoln: It was my pleasure. Wait, are we sexting now?
Me: I think sexting includes dick pics.
Lincoln: I’d rather you see it in person. Feel free to send me naked pics of you though. ;)
Me: Yeahhhh. There are no naked pics of me floating in the digital world and I think I’ll keep it that way.
Lincoln: Classy. I like it.
Me: I have to make up for letting you finger me on a picnic table today.
Lincoln: I hope you’re kidding. That was the best thing I’ve done in a long fucking time. You’re something else, Dani.
Me: It’s Danielle. Grr . . .
Lincoln: I like when you growl. And when you moan. And when you get all b
ossy when you’re hot and bothered.
Me: I think I need to go to bed now. LOL
Lincoln: Dream of me?
Me: There’s a good chance of that since I still smell like you.
Lincoln: That’s so damn hot. I’m hard again.
Me: Sweet dreams, Landry.
Lincoln: Night, Ryan.
Me: Ugh. Night.
Lincoln: LOL
Danielle
I TYPE THE FINAL WORDS of the email with a flourish and hit “send.” It’s taken all morning to focus, but I’ve finally started to get into the flow. That is, until I remember the feel of his hands or the draw of his gaze.
Picking up a pen, I click it against my desktop. The sound ricochets through my office, just like the thoughts of Lincoln ping around in my skull.
I’m a twisted mess. My body is on fire for this man. My brain is on high alert. My heart is desperate to feel the warmth and giddiness of having a man in my life.
“It can’t be him,” I whisper, rolling the pen against my stapler. “I can’t do this with him.”
“You can’t do what with whom?”
My head snaps to the doorway where my boss, Gretchen, stands. She’s looking at me curiously.
“Good afternoon,” I say, folding my hands in front of me like I have nothing to hide. “How are you today?”
“Today, I’m curious. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing,” I lie.
“Uh-huh.” She enters my office and places a set of files in front of me. “Take a look at these when you can. It’s the proposed budget. It’s a mess, Danielle. If this passes, I fear for our program.”
“I really don’t see how they can cut us back that sharply. This hospital is known, in part, because of this program. Don’t they realize we can’t provide the services we do without money?”
“It seems not.”
“I’ll go over this in a bit,” I promise. “I have a few emails to get through and a scheduling issue for next week, then I’ll give it a quick look.”
With a nod and a half-hearted smile, she bustles out. I’m logging back in to my computer when a knock at the door pulls my attention away.
Lincoln looks almost edible in a pair of loose-fitting black shorts and a long-sleeved, grey t-shirt. A silver watch sits around his thick wrist, adding a touch of sophistication to his otherwise casual appearance.
Swing Page 7
