IF | A Novel Page 12

“Em?” he prompts.

  “Right,” I exhale, and run into my apartment, grabbing my coat and purse.

  When I reappear in the hallway, Lincoln has his keys out and motions toward the elevator with his head. “Ready?”

  No. Absolutely not. “Sure.”

  As we step on the elevator, we stand on opposite sides, staring at the doors. I don’t want to chance looking at him, because if I do, the desire for him to reach out and touch me will be overwhelming. Other than the brief exchange in class this afternoon, we haven’t spoken or touched since the night in the rain. And I ache for both.

  “What’s your favorite burger topping?” he asks.

  “Bacon. And cheese.” My eyes slide to his. “Yours?”

  “Same.”

  The elevator reaches the first floor and opens. When his hand connects with the small of my back, jolts of electricity burst through me. Every one of his touches, even the simplest one, seems to set my body off. It responds to him in a way it never has with anyone. I both suspect and fear that it never will with anyone else.

  As soon as we step off the elevator, I expect his hand to disappear, but it doesn’t as he guides me through the parking lot over to the passenger side of a black Range Rover.

  “This is your car?” I ask, surprised.

  “Yeah. It was a sign-on gift for coming here to play baseball freshman year.”

  “Isn’t that against the rules?”

  “Not if it’s a gift and not a payment or a bonus.” He holds the door open for me.

  I smile and slide onto the soft leather seat. Once he shuts the door, I inhale the newish car smell mixed with Lincoln’s scent, and admire how clean his car is for a college guy.

  As he slides into the driver’s seat, he throws me a quick smile and starts the SUV, pulling out of the spot and onto the main street. We’re quiet for most of the way, which I’m fine with, because small talk with Lincoln isn’t something I could handle right now.

  Pearl Jam’s “Black” comes on the radio and we both reach for the volume to turn it up. His fingers brush mine and linger before he unexpectedly places his hand over mine and laces our fingers together, bringing our combined hands to rest on the gear shift.

  Tensing, I swallow, trying not to freak the fuck out that he’s holding my hand.

  This is so a date. Holy shit.

  “Is this okay?” He squeezes my fingers for a second.

  I simply nod, because my throat is dry and the words are all stuck inside.

  “You like Pearl Jam?” he asks.

  “This is actually one of my favorite songs.”

  I realize I’m staring at the side of his face when he steals a glance in my direction before turning his eyes back to the road. I turn to look out the passenger window, not recognizing any of the streets he’s taking. After about an hour or so, he pulls into the parking lot of a restaurant I don’t recognize. I look up at the sign through the windshield.

  Lincoln’s hand disappears from mine as he shuts the car off and gets out. I’m still staring at the restaurant when my door opens and he holds his hand out for me to take.

  Unbuckling, I slide my hand into his and he grips me tighter as he helps me out and shuts my door. He never releases my hand as he guides me to the front of the restaurant.

  “Where are we?” I ask, pausing in front of the glass doors.

  “Chucks. It has the best burgers you will ever taste,” he replies.

  Lincoln steps in front of me, placing one hand on the small of my back while he opens the door and lets me walk in first. The hostess makes her way to greet us and once we’re seated in the booth, I take off my jacket and Lincoln slides his off at the same time.

  I look around, curious as to why he picked this diner, an hour away in some random run-down-looking small town. “There wasn’t a good burger place closer to campus?”

  “I didn’t want to be seen near campus tonight.” He picks up the menu, looking at it.

  My heart sinks at his admission. I can’t help but think he doesn’t want to be seen with me, around people we know. The server comes over and takes our drink orders as we sit in silence contemplating what we want to order. I look over the menu. The tension between us kicks up my anxiety and I shift, trying not to have a full-blown panic attack.

  “Em?” Lincoln’s voice is soft as he speaks.

  I refuse to look at him, because if I do, I’m afraid he’ll see my disappointment. I don’t think that being disappointed on a faux date is really part of what we agreed to do.

  “Emerson,” he says more forcefully.

  “What?” I practically growl between deep breaths.

  I meet his gaze. He’s looking at me with a serious look that makes me feel even more uncomfortable and nervous. When his hands reach for me again, my pulse jumps under my skin. He holds my wrists, his thumb caressing the skin over my pulse, calming the storm inside of me, sending my panic attack away.

  “We’re in Trenton . . .” He trails off for a second.

  A long silence passes between us as I try to decipher the meaning behind this. We’re both still quiet when the server returns to take our orders. Each of stares at the older woman’s retreating form as she walks to the kitchen, before I cut my eyes back to him.

  “This is the town where you’re from?”

  He gives me a slight nod but no smile. “I was born and raised here.”

  I want to ask a million questions. Like, why did he bring me here at night when I can’t see much, or why just this one place? What does it mean that he’s sharing this with me?

  But I don’t.

  Instead, I ask, “What’s your favorite movie?”

  Relief crosses his expression. “Not The Notebook.”

  I roll my eyes. Typical guy answer. “Let me guess, something with blood and guns?”

  Lincoln shakes his head. “Caddyshack.”

  My brows lift in surprise. “Really?”

  He laughs. “Is my movie pick really that hard to believe?”

  I shrug. “I guess things are always so intense between us. Fun seems . . .”

  Lincoln stares at me blankly. “What’s wrong with fun?”

  “Nothing. It’s just rare that I see you having any,” I point out. “With me, anyway.”

  The blank expression slips away and his face softens. “I have fun with you, Em.”

  The waitress brings our burgers over, which are huge. When we both reach for the ketchup, I let out this awkward bark-laugh, because everything just feels weird tonight.

  “This is weird,” I exhale.

  “What’s weird?” he asks. “The burgers or pretending like I haven’t been inside you?”

  My eyes snap up to his at the forwardness of his words.

  He laughs at my reaction.

  “Both,” I say steadily, cutting my burger in half so I can pick it up.

  He pops a french fry into his mouth. “What’s your favorite movie?

  “The Princess Bride. Hands down.” I motion to the ketchup. “May I?”

  “As you wish,” he says as he hands it to me, quoting the movie.

  I shake my head and smile. “Well played, Daniels.”

  He returns my smile and takes a huge bite of his burger, and I do the same. I try not to roll my eyes in the back of my head, because holy shit, he’s right. This might be the best burger I’ve ever eaten. Even the bacon and cheese on it tastes better than normal.

  I chew and moan at the same time, before I bring my wrist up to my mouth and lick off some of the ketchup that slid out between the buns because I need both hands to hold it. After a minute, I look up and notice Lincoln’s burger is frozen in front of his mouth as he watches me with hooded eyes.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I’m not going to lie to you, Em. Watching you eat that is fucking hot.”

  Blushing, I shake my head and smile at him. The rest of the meal is much more relaxed. We talk about safe topics and embarrassingly enough, I finish everything on my plate, as does h
e. Several times I had to keep reminding myself that this wasn’t a date, even though it sure as hell feels like one. Especially when Lincoln picks up the check after asking if I want dessert, which I decline for fear of exploding from being too full.

  Just as we take a step outside, a light snow begins to fall, and I curl into my coat.

  “Can I take you somewhere?” His voice is at my ear as he leans over my shoulder.

  I look up at him. “Sure.”

  We get back in the SUV and a short ride later, he pulls up next to what looks like it used to be a playground. There are old swings that are rusted and broken, and a sandbox that looks like it’s seen much better days. Everything just looks sad and forgotten.

  Taking my mitten-covered hand in his, he pulls me over to what’s left of a rotting picnic bench. After he tests its sturdiness, we sit on it, quietly watching the snow fall.

  “You warm enough?” he whispers.

  I nod, even though I’m freezing. For some reason, I don’t want him to know I’m cold.

  He leans into me so our shoulders are touching. “My best friend, Sean, and I used to come here when we were kids. We met in the third grade. We were both nine, trying to escape shitty parents and even shittier home lives.”

  “Has it always look this run-down and sad?”

  “Trenton isn’t exactly a town filled with old money,” he says, not looking at me.

  Unsure if that was a dig at my upbringing or not, I ignore the comment.

  “What school is Sean attending?” I ask.

  “None. As we got older, we got into things that made our lives a complicated and fucked up mess. I had one thing he didn’t, though,” he exhales.

  I watch the cloud of steam that escapes his mouth disappear into the cold night air.

  “What was that?”

  “Baseball. A coach. A team. Something to focus my energy on.”

  “He didn’t play?”

  “No.” His voice is thoughtful. “Sean didn’t play.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “Dead. A year ago today.”

  I peer over at him. He’s looking up at the sky. “I’m sorry, Lincoln.”

  “Don’t be. He died in prison. Hung himself.”

  “That’s awful,” I whisper.

  “It was his only way out of this shitty life. Just like baseball was mine.”

  Something in my heart cracks, and I start to worry that there is even more darkness to Lincoln than I initially thought. My eyes are suddenly glued to him, waiting for more.

  He gives his head a slight shake, clearing his throat. “I don’t know why I brought you here. Maybe it’s because all my memories of this park are shrouded in pain. Selfishly, I think I just wanted one memory of this place that was good. Does that make sense?”

  He’s still looking up at the sky and I have the sudden desire to ask him a million questions. About his parents, his childhood, his first love, his first kiss. I want to know more about his friend and why he has so many tattoos on his arm. I just want to drown in everything that is Lincoln. Each question lingers in my mouth, begging to be asked.

  “Thank you. For inviting me into your life.”

  “We should go; the snow is picking up,” is all he says.

  I look up at the tiny flakes that have begun to fall faster. Neither of us moves as large snowflakes land on my cheeks, in my hair and on my clothes. I close my eyes and inhale.

  When I reopen them, I look over to see Lincoln doing the same.

  I slide off the table and step between his legs, taking off my mittens and placing them in the pockets of my jacket. My warm hands meet his cold cheeks and as they do, he opens his eyes and tilts his head down so he’s looking at me.

  Leaning in, I gently brush my lips over his. His are cold but soft, and with one gentle caress of his warm tongue against mine, everything inside me heats with a slow burn as I leisurely kiss him, trying to take away the bad memories, leaving only this one, of us.

  His hands rest against my lower back, pressing me closer. I slide mine down and fist his coat, trying to meld even more with him. When we do finally pull away for air, he buries his face in the side of my neck and holds me tightly to him, as if I’m his lifeline.

  “You have no idea what you mean to me, Em,” he whispers against my neck.

  “Tell me.” My voice is shaky.

  He falls silent, holding me for a few moments before he speaks again.

  “Let’s go,” he says, and pulls away from me. “You’re cold.”

  I take my mittens out and put them on. Lincoln slides off the picnic table and puts his arm around my shoulders, keeping me tucked into his side as we walk back to his car.

  When we finally reach his car, he opens the passenger door and helps me in before closing the door and running around to the driver’s side. Quickly, he turns the car on and blasts the heat. We both sit in silence, staring out the window watching the snow while the car warms up. When it’s finally a pleasant temperature, Lincoln starts driving.

  I drop my head back. “Thank you. For the burger. I had no idea I needed one so badly.”

  A slow grin spreads across his face. “Thank you for joining me.”

  An hour later, we’re standing at my door. “Are you going home for Christmas?”

  Lincoln nods, but it’s forced. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen my Mom, so yeah. You?”

  I quickly nod too. “It will be my first one back in two years. My parents throw this ridiculous party at the club every year with friends and family. It’s—” I stop, after what he shared with me tonight, I realize I need to learn to control what I say around him.

  When I look up, he’s watching me, looking at me as if I’m the most interesting person in the world. It’s so odd how he can’t seem to keep his eyes off me whenever I’m near him.

  “Go on,” he encourages.

  “Lame,” I finish.

  “Come here.” His hand reaches down and he pulls me to him.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him.

  “Wishing you an early Merry Christmas,” he whispers.

  His lips touch mine. His kiss is slow and gentle. He explores my mouth as if it’s an art form. One hand slips into my hair, holding the back of my head, and the other tightens around my waist. I melt at the softness in his kiss. It’s raw and perfect. I never want it to end. But it does. He stops kissing me and takes my face with both his hands, holding me still as he looks into my eyes, seeking out something I don’t understand.

  When he finds whatever it is, his thumbs brush my cheeks and he closes his eyes, dropping his lips to my forehead. “Merry Christmas, Em,” he whispers.

  Feeling his internal struggle, I wrap my fingers around his wrists, silently pleading with him not to leave. I want more time with him. “Stay with me tonight?” I suggest.

  He shakes his head. “I just wanted to see you, without expectations.”

  Disappointment fills me. “I thought without expectations is what we are doing?”

  He forces a smile and kisses me once more with finality. “Good night, Em.”

  18

  Attending my parents’ parties has always felt like a chore, and tonight’s holiday auction is no exception. I scan the room, taking in all the wealthy people in their circle of “friends.” Everyone is mingling and politely chatting with one another while sipping overpriced champagne. It’s all so fake and formal. Tomorrow, they’ll all be gossiping behind one another’s backs. I should have stayed home, but I knew they’d never let me live it down.

  As I look around, none of this feels right. I feel like a fraud standing in this room.

  This life—it isn’t who I am. Or want to be.

  I miss Lincoln.

  For something that is supposed to be casual, it certainly doesn’t feel like it is.

  “Emerson, stand straight,” my mother’s cultured, clipped, impersonal tone snaps.

  “I am.”

  She rolls her eyes. “This is what you chose to we
ar?”

  “No, Mother. This is my arrival outfit. I’ll change into my party outfit later.”

  “Honestly,” she sighs. “Your sarcastic quips are unwelcome this evening.”

  “It’s a simple black dress. I don’t have the fake cleavage and large diamonds to pull off platinum blond hair and slutty red dresses like the other ladies in the room.”

  “That is a very flattering portrait of my friends you’re painting.”

  “I wasn’t talking about your friends.”

  My mother arches a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me. “No?”

  “I was talking about the other ladies in the room.”

  Her lips flatten at my snarky remarks. “You could at least try to act like you’re having a good time. I mean, for god’s sake, after the money we dumped into perfecting your smile, would showing it off kill you? Not to mention, frowning gives you wrinkles.”

  “Frowning is why the plastic surgeons in here tonight make generous donations.”

  Her eyes narrow. “The event is very important, Emerson. All the proceeds from the holiday auction go to the children’s hospital. Your frowning is scaring away bidders.”

  I throw her a forced, tight smile. “School is an hour away. I can leave.”

  He shoulders sag. “Never mind.” Her tone is full of defeat. “Frown away.”

  “Emily.” One of her high-society friends strolls over, taking my mother’s hands and kissing both her cheeks. “How lovely to see you. This event, as always, is such a treat.”

  “Thank you, Victoria.” She peps up. “My daughter, Emerson.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say politely.

  “Well, aren’t you lovely.” Victoria smiles at me with her collagen-filled lips.

  “And wrinkle free,” I quip, and my mother rolls her eyes.

  “Your mother is just the best. Her events get bigger and better every year.”

  “Oh, Victoria, you’re embarrassing me.” My mother acts like she’s embarrassed, but she’s actually beaming, soaking up the compliments, which are empty, by the way.

  Victoria flips her platinum extensions over her slender shoulder. “You must just love having Emily as a mother, Emerson. So much. She is everything I strive to be.”

  “She’d shame me into it if I didn’t,” I reply, but it goes over the social climber’s head.