“Better than it did,” he said, looking up at me from under the brim of his black hat. “Thank you, darlin’.”
I hated how my heart swelled when he called me darlin’, and the moment baby had left his lips, I’d been a goner. Why were those endearments so damn hot? I mean, they shouldn’t be.
My dad had always called me darlin’ or sugar since I was little. Whenever a man tried to do it before, I’d promptly told them it didn’t sit right with me and we’d avoid it altogether. But the moment it’d come from Lincoln’s lips as he poured my first shot of whiskey, it altered my brain chemistry.
With him, it felt right.
Which is why the moment I stepped foot back on Black Springs, I told Dad he couldn’t call me that anymore. Every time I heard it, I thought of Lincoln. And I hadn’t wanted the reminder of what I’d left.
I cleared my throat. “Thank me tomorrow when the swelling goes down,” I said, tearing open the little packet and putting two pills in his hand. “This should help a little.”
“I don’t suppose you have something to chase these with? I’ve been weird about dry swallowing pills for years. Got one stuck as a kid.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I said, walking over to Dad’s closet. I reached for the top shelf, letting out a whoop when I wrapped my fingers around a dusty glass bottle. The label was faded, barely legible as I held it up. “Dad’s emergency stash.”
“That’ll do.” He tossed the pills in his mouth and reached for the whiskey. He took a swig and grimaced. “Shit, this is awful.”
I swiped it from him and did the same. God, it burned. That’d been a hard lesson to learn in high school. Dad didn’t keep much liquor in the house. He was more of a beer drinker. He only brought out his expensive stash during holidays, and my sisters and I knew better than to break into that. So, we’d sneak out to the barn during sleepovers and crack open these instead. He had them hidden all over the barn.
“I told you it was the first night we met,” I said. “I don’t know why he likes this swill. It’s horrible.”
“But it does the job,” he said, pointing the bottle toward me. “And that, darlin’, is the point. Some people like the burn. It numbs whatever’s got you reaching for the whiskey.”
That was true. It was why I’d always done it, at least. Especially on the night Lincoln had shared his special bottle with me at the bar. I’d been running from my past, and mourning the loss of something I’d never had.
“What’s got you reaching for it tonight?” I asked, holding my breath as I waited for his answer. The buzz from the alcohol from the bar and my waning adrenaline left me wanting to swipe the liquor from his grasp and down a shot of my own.
Lincoln studied the bottle, his lips pressed into a hard line. “The thought of him touching you. Of him thinking he has any claim on you, when you’ve been mine since the moment you walked into Frank’s last summer.” He raised his head, eyes shadowed. The usual warmth in them replaced by something darker, sharper. “The thought that he’s had you when I?—”
“I never touched him,” I interrupted, the words spilling out before I could stop them. Lincoln’s eyebrows lifted, his grip tightening on the bottle as I rushed to explain. “I mean, we kissed. But I’ve never… I couldn’t…” My palms were damp, and I wiped them hastily on my jeans, hoping it was enough to still the shaking.
Come on, Josie. Fucking say it.
Lincoln sat the bottle down and reached forward, hooking his fingers in my belt loops and tugging me closer like he had earlier. “Never been able to dowhat, darlin’?”
“I haven’t been able to touch another man without thinking about you,” I whispered, letting my admission hang in the air between us like a taught thread.
I’d tried to move on. God, how I tried. Every time I kissed someone, desperate to forget what Lincoln’s lips felt like against mine, it’d been his face I’d seen when I opened my eyes.
Just like it’d been his body I’d thought about as I touched myself on so many nights, his name I’d cried out on a ragged exhale as my toes curled and ecstasy crashed through my body.
“You haven’t slept with anyone else since me?” he asked. His body trembled as his fingers squeezed my hips.
I shook my head. “I couldn’t.”
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, eliminating the space between our bodies with one tug.
I went willingly, placing my hands against his chest. His heart thundered under my touch, a rampant beat that matched my own.
Lincoln ran his nose up my throat and groaned. “It’s taking everything in me not to give in to this temptation,” he rasped. “Because I want you so badly it fucking hurts.”
“Then take me,” I said, baring my throat. “I want you, too.”
His lips touched softly at the skin beneath my ear, and I wanted to die. His breath fanned against me as he let out a ragged exhale, and I wanted more. It was the cruelest form of torture, and I didn’t know if I could go another second without him.
He pulled back, just as he’d done when I kissed him outside the bar. “God, how I want you—don’t think that I don’t—but,” he paused and let his hands travel from my hips to my neck, cupping it tenderly. “I wanna do this right, Josie, and that means not taking you on top of your dad’s desk. I wanna show you that this is real for me. I wanna show you how you should be treated.”
My eyes watered, and he wiped beneath them as the first tear fell. “I may die if you don’t at least kiss me, Lincoln Carter.”
