IF | A Novel Read online

  I can’t. Not again.

  13

  Narrowed brown eyes stare at me from across the couch. I shift uncomfortably and look at Kennison as her gaze searches my face. She takes another sip of wine before speaking.

  “Lincoln Daniels lives across the hall?” She smirks. “From us. From you?”

  “Yup.”

  “Holy shit! I knew about Josh, but I had no idea he lived with Lincoln.”

  “Really?” My lips draw into an awkward frown-smile-pout thing. “How is it that you’ve stalked Josh for two years and had no idea he was living with Lincoln?”

  “I swear.” She puts her glass of wine on the coffee table. “If I had, no matter what psycho stalking I’m doing with Josh, I’d never have asked you to move in here, Em.”

  I sigh and sink deeper into the cushions. “It’s just weird.”

  “Josh and I never really spoke about Lincoln after you left.”

  “No?”

  “Lincoln sort of disappeared for a bit.”

  “That’s odd.”

  “Not really. If, or when, I brought him up, Josh said Lincoln was busy with school and baseball. That’s it. He didn’t give details or anything. He was pretty vague about him.”

  “Well, he’s around now,” I sigh.

  “Maybe it’s serendipity,” she suggests.

  “Serendipity?” I throw her a disbelieving look.

  “Fate pulling you two together again.”

  My gaze slides behind her as I scan the living room, avoiding her dreamy look.

  “It’s not. Besides, getting close to Lincoln again is a horrible idea.” My guard is up.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because. Either he’ll fuck up, or I’ll fuck up. Either way—”

  “There’s fucking.” She smirks wickedly when my unamused gaze collides with hers.

  I wrinkle my nose at her. Wherever she is going with this, I don’t like it. “Can we just go back to talking about how annoyed I am at you? That was more fun for me,” I pout.

  She laughs and shakes her head. “Listen, Em, Lincoln has always been into you. I mean, you walk into a room and you’re all he sees. He watches you with this expression, like you’re something to appreciate. He listens to every word you say, even if you aren’t speaking to him directly. If you’re near him, he gets this rigid protective stance. He’s fallen. Hard,” she says. “And no matter how hard you try to hide it, you have too.”

  “He used to do those things,” I correct. “I’ve been gone for two years.”

  “When you’re in as deep as he is, time and distance . . . they don’t matter.”

  I know she’s right. Yesterday, I felt it all over again. Every time he looked at me.

  “Regardless, he probably has a girlfriend or something,” I reason.

  “Subtle,” she smirks. “What he has is a reputation for sleeping with a shitload of girls.”

  I frown. “Really?”

  “You weren’t here to see the shitstorm right after.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He was pissed off when he found out you left for London. I swear, I thought he was going to jump on a plane and follow you. Josh said over the summer, he started to unravel. That he was lost. It destroyed him. By the time sophomore year started, he’d disappeared.”

  “Then how do you know about all the girls?”

  “I’ve heard the rumors and stories of his . . . activities. He’s legendary.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this when you visited?”

  “What good would it have done? You were living this amazing life. Dating cute guys. Studying. Working. You were living. Eventually, Lincoln began living his life too.”

  I nod. “I guess you’re right. We’ve both moved on.”

  “Ah, no. Neither of you have actually moved on. And, now, you’re both terrified of each other.” She tilts her head. “Neither one of you knows how to deal with the other. He doesn’t feel worthy of the kind of love you can give to him. And you—you’re scared to death of how you feel when you’re with him.”

  “I’m not scared,” I lie.

  “Yeah, Em, you are. Because he sees through your Little Miss Perfect façade.”

  “Little Miss Perfect?”

  “Yes. And Lincoln sees through it.”

  “I don’t want to talk about him anymore.”

  She sits forward and takes my hand. “You’ve been given a rare second chance with him. I think it’d be a mistake not to take it. Not to try. Mistakes can easily become regrets.”

  I drop my head on the back of the couch. “The idea of him and me together is insane.”

  A light chuckles falls out of her. “They say the best kind of love is the insane kind.”

  I breathe in deeply. “Maybe I do still have feelings for him.”

  “I’m glad you are finally being honest with me.” She smiles brightly. “And yourself.”

  I roll my eyes. “That doesn’t mean I’m thinking about exploring them.”

  “Maybe it’s time for you to think about it,” she encourages.

  My gaze drops to the throw pillow I’m absentmindedly playing with the fringe on.

  A knock at the door has her popping up off the couch. “Pizza’s here.”

  I think about what Kennison said as I watch her grab the cash off the counter and reach for the door. At the same time she opens our door, Josh opens his, and she freezes.

  Josh glances at the ground, then lifts his gaze to hers, and I sit up more to watch them.

  He gives her a shy-guilty look from across the hallway. “Sorry. We thought he was here for us. We ordered like an hour ago,” he explains. “It’s taking forever tonight.”

  Kenz waves him off. “Do you want ours?” she offers.

  I stand and rush over to the door. “Ah, no. We’ve been waiting for an hour and a half.”

  Josh laughs and shakes his head. “Nah.” He holds her eyes. “We’ll keep waiting.”

  As I look between the two of them, I can’t help but think Josh is talking about more than just waiting for the pizza. The energy between them is palpable.

  “You guys owe me $22.79,” the pizza guy says.

  After a moment, I grab the cash out of her hand and give it to the delivery guy while she takes the box and bag of appetizers before disappearing into our kitchen. I wave at Josh politely and just as he begins to close his door, Lincoln appears behind him. His eyes meet mine and just like that, I’m lost in him. Everything else fades away. All I see is him.

  Once their door is closed, I shut ours. When I turn around, I notice Kenz has returned and is eyeing me closely. She gives me a thoughtful look from beneath her long lashes.

  “I wish someone would look at me the way Lincoln looks at you.”

  14

  I’m organizing the stack of papers on my desk when someone slides into the empty seat next to me. I jerk my head up and twist when I see Lincoln. He settles in, twisting to look at me as he offers me a bright smile. His hair is messily wind-blown; his eyes are bright.

  “Morning,” he says in a deep voice.

  “Morning?” It comes out more as a surprised question.

  Lincoln chuckles and settles in, kicking his feet up on the seat in front of us.

  My eyes glide around the lecture hall before returning to him. “What are you doing?”

  He tilts his head back against the seat, his eyes on me. “Waiting for class to start.”

  “Class?” I whisper.

  “Yup.”

  “This is Architecture 101.”

  “Then it would appear I’m in the right lecture hall.”

  “You’re a senior,” I point out, confused.

  “So are you.”

  “This is a freshman-level class,” I whisper-shout.

  “It is,” he confirms.

  “Why are you in here?”

  “Why are you in here?” he counters.

  “I’m the TA. I hand out the syllabuses, take notes, help
grade papers, etc.”

  “Looks like I made a good class choice, then.”

  “What?”

  “Had I known the teaching assistants in architecture lectures were so cute, I might have taken this class earlier in my academic career.” He winks and gifts me a sly smirk.

  I blink. “Still not following.”

  Lincoln looks up through his long lashes and sighs. “I still haven’t fulfilled my art science credit,” he explains. “A long time ago, someone recommended I take this class. I believe she said, ‘It’s not an easy A, but it’s stimulating.’ And I like to be stimulated.”

  His words linger between the two of us, causing heat to rise to my cheeks.

  I shake my head at his innuendo. “How did you know I’d be here?”

  He sits up and forward, lowering his voice. “I didn’t. I need the credit to graduate. Your presence is just the icing on the cake. Plus, now I have my own built-in tutor.”

  Lincoln is the kind of guy who leaves you exhausted and exhilarated at the same time.

  “I’m not tutoring you,” I grumble.

  A slight grin appears on his face as he twists a bit more in his seat, causing his knee to brush mine. Every single muscle in my body locks up and becomes painfully tense.

  “Does it bother you that I’m in here, Em?”

  “Should it?”

  “Nope.”

  The door at the front of the lecture hall opens and Dr. Garcia walks in, ending our standoff. Dr. Garcia gives me a brief nod before taking his position at the lectern. Lincoln and I face forward, and after roll call, Dr. Garcia explains the ins and outs of the semester and expectations of his students. Shortly after pointing out who I am, he begins enthralling the class with his elegant Mediterranean accent. Halfway through class, I chance a look at Lincoln, but he’s not paying attention to Dr. Garcia; he’s watching me.

  I flatten my lips, annoyed that he isn’t taking the class seriously, and sift my fingers through my hair. Running from my car to class made it all messy and untamed. I twist a strand around my finger and nervously twirl it while trying to figure out why Lincoln waited until now to take this credit.

  Our college has certain general requirements you are expected to complete before graduation, regardless of your major. Most students get them out of the way their first year, since more often than not, they come in undecided. Lincoln has always known his major, so it’s strange that not only would he wait, but then use architecture as his credit.

  All that said, he couldn’t have known I was going to be the teaching assistant, because I just found out yesterday, after applying for the position more than two months ago.

  The moment class is over, I stand and begin to pack up, Lincoln doing the same next to me. It feels weird to have him so close and yet, so far away. I quickly look at his hand, which is still bandaged, but his fingers look less swollen than they did before.

  “Thank you, again.” He lifts it a bit, and I dip my chin in acknowledgment.

  “What class do you have next?” I ask.

  “Cryotherapy.” He chuckles at my surprised expression. “What about you?”

  “Interior Drafting and Design.”

  “Sounds fun,” he teases.

  I tilt my head. “Why are you really taking this class?” I ask quickly. “I mean, I’m sure there’s an art science class in your major that would fulfill the general requirement.”

  “I told you, you sold me on it that night in the laundry room,” he charms.

  I narrow my eyes at him as we start walking toward the exit. “Maybe I should go into sales, then, instead of design,” I mutter under my breath, and storm toward the exit.

  Just as I’m about to leave, Lincoln’s gentle fingertips on my elbow stop me.

  I turn and look up at him, melting at his soft expression.

  “Truth?” he asks.

  “That’d be nice, Lincoln.”

  “It’s something you like. And—”

  “And what?”

  He shrugs. “I guess I just want to learn about the things you like.”

  His steely eyes practically hypnotize me as they bore into mine. Feelings of heartache and guilt suddenly run through me. I missed this. Whatever this is that we do. Or are. I missed it. Him. All of it. I hadn’t even realized how much, until now.

  “I’m sorry I left for London without telling you,” I exhale.

  A throaty moan drifts from his lips in response. “Don’t apologize,” he says gruffly.

  I blink at him. “With all the tension and hurt between us—”

  “I never meant to hurt you, Em,” he whispers.

  “It wasn’t just on you.”

  “Your leaving didn’t give me the chance to make it right. When you suddenly appeared in front of my door a few weeks ago . . .” he trails off. “I felt like maybe this was my chance to make things right between us. If you’ll let me.”

  I sway a bit under his gaze and the weight of his words. “I’m sorry.”

  “So?”

  “So, what?” I ask.

  “Will you let me make things right?”

  Unable to help myself, I smile and nod.

  “Good,” he exhales, smiling back. “Because—”

  “Because what?” I interrupt.

  “You’re in my veins, and I just want to be in yours.”

  15

  My eyes slide closed and my head falls back against the door. It’s been two hours and Kennison still hasn’t answered any of my texts. Neither has anyone from the management office. I shift and shiver, which causes the loose knot on the top of my head, secured with a pin, to wobble a bit.

  The elevator dings again and this time, I don’t even bother to look to see if it’s her.

  My hopes of my roommate saving me died an hour and fifteen minutes ago.

  A dark shadow passes over me, then stops and lingers. When my eyes pop open, I look up to see Lincoln staring down at me, grinning. His amused eyes fall to my bare legs and run over me, taking in the pajama shorts and light, fitted T-shirt I’m wearing.

  “Cute jammies.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble, ignoring the way his gaze is heating my skin.

  “Are those”—he pauses, tilting his head—“skunks eating ice cream cones?”

  “Honey badgers,” I mutter.

  Lincoln arches his eyebrow. “Honey badgers,” he repeats.

  I shrug. “Don’t judge. They’re fearless. And cute.”

  He nods as if he understands, but there is a wicked gleam in his eye that tells me he’s simply amused with my absurd reasoning. “Why are you wearing them in the hallway?”

  “I was wearing them while studying,” I explain. “I opened the door to accept a flower delivery for Kennison from a guy in one of the fraternities on campus. He was asking her to one of their dances. Then, I got locked out when I ran after the guy to get his name.”

  “So, the flowers weren’t for you then?” he inquires, trying to sound casual.

  I shake my head. “I don’t have anyone serious in my life who would send me flowers.”

  His brows furrow as a deep scowl slowly appears on his face. “You’re locked out?”

  “Yeah,” I exhale. “Kennison isn’t answering her phone. Neither is the office.”

  He holds my stare. “How did you manage to lock yourself out?”

  “The bottom lock was pushed in,” I mumble. “I forgot, and the door closed on its own.”

  Lincoln falls quiet for a few seconds while he thinks. “It’s almost midnight. No one from management is going to be able to help you until the morning. Why don’t you hang out with me until Kennison comes home?” he suggests, motioning to his door.

  He’s right.

  And, he’s my only option, especially if I want to pee.

  “I have to pee,” I say out loud, without meaning to.

  “That settles it,” he says, grabbing my hands in his, pulling me away from the doorway and to my feet. “Let’s get you inside my apartment and war
med up.”

  With my heart rate beginning to speed up, I follow him into his place and with a nod of his head toward a closed door, I make my way into his bathroom. It’s oddly clean. I figured between him and Josh, it would look like a tornado ran through it. But it’s neat and tidy. After I wash my hands, I glance at myself in the mirror and wince at my state.

  Squeezing some of their toothpaste on my finger, I faux brush my teeth and fix my hair before releasing a few controlled breaths in order to calm myself down enough to decide whether this is a good idea or not. I’m only on my second breath when I open the bathroom door and walk quietly into the living room to escape.

  Just as I round the corner, I see Lincoln.

  He’s leaning against the door as if expecting me to bolt, like I was planning to.

  “It’s warmer in here than in the hallway.” He pushes off the door and walks past me into the kitchen. “Have a seat. I’ll grab a blanket and something for you to drink.”

  I watch him for a moment, soaking him up with my eyes before resolve hits me and I pad over to the couch and plop down on the black leather. Seconds later, he’s leaning over the back with a sweatshirt and blanket. I take both gratefully. The moment my head slides through the neck of his sweatshirt, I’m engulfed in all that is Lincoln.

  His scent.

  His warmth.

  Everything that makes him appealing is lingering in the cotton threads.

  With a final shift, I wrap my legs up in the blanket as he reappears with a water.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks.

  “I’m good. Thanks.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod as he hands the glass to me and then takes a seat at the end of the couch.

  Nervous, I look down at the glass, then back to him. “Thanks.”

  He motions for the glass, which I hand to him. “I forgot you don’t like to accept open glasses of liquid,” he teases. “I’ll drink from it first, so you’ll see that it’s safe,” he offers.

  I barely hear what he’s saying because his voice is soft and warm, like a blanket.