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“Not anymore,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be. You have me now.”
I ignore the way those words seem to wrap themselves around my heart and squeeze. I don’t have Linc. Not really. I never have and I doubt I ever will.
I give a little laugh to disguise the hurt I feel at that thought. “Linc, I can’t just call you every time I break something and can’t fix it.”
He grins down at me. “Why not? I’m happy to help.”
“For starters, you have a life. You have a daughter and a business.” I keep my gaze focused on a spot just beyond his shoulder, rather than meeting his gaze.
“Besides,” I say, trying to keep my voice light. “Someday you’ll have a girlfriend, or a wife and I doubt she’ll appreciate it if you drop everything to run to my aid every time I need help with something.”
Linc doesn’t reply and my words hang in the air for a long moment. When I risk a glance at him, I see that he’s watching me, his gaze intense.
“Anyone who gets upset about me helping a friend isn’t someone I want to be with,” he says, his voice hard.
I ignore the way the word ‘friend’ stings. Of course, we’re friends. That’s all we’ve ever been. That’s all we’ll ever be. Linc has never said or done anything to make me think otherwise. This dance tonight is just an illusion. It’s only my traitorous brain that keeps wondering what it would be like to kiss him. I’m the only one in this ‘friendship’ whose mind is in the gutter. I force a smile and ignore the way his eyes on me are sending flutters straight to my lady bits.
“That’s what you say now,” I say.
We’re both quiet for a few moments as we sway to the music. Linc tightens his hold slightly, pulling me closer to him as we dance. I want to lean into him, press my body to his and rest my head on his chest. I want to spend what's left of this song enjoying the feel of his arms around me, his body close to mine. But that feels like crossing a line. Would he welcome that? Would he read something into it? Like the truth?
“You’re a good dancer,” he murmurs, breaking the silence.
I look up at him and smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.” I keep my tone light and playful when all I want to do is kiss him and beg him to do unspeakable things to my body.
“I should have asked you to the prom,” he says, his grin widening. “My date didn’t dance with me once the whole night.”
I know he doesn’t mean anything by bringing up high school, but it feels like someone just dumped a bucket of cold water over me. He can’t realize how much his casual comment bothers me. Back then, I would have given anything to be noticed by him. Instead, I went to prom alone. My mom made my corsage, and I wore a second-hand dress that took me months to save up for. All in the hopes that he would finally see me. Instead, he’d opted to take Hillary Mitchell as his date. She’d been one of the cheerleaders and he was the football star. They were a walking cliché, especially when they won Prom King and Queen, to absolutely no one’s surprise.
I’d left before the perfect couple could make it onto the stage to accept their crowns. Instead of going home where I knew my mom would question why I left so early and want a full recap of the night, I drove to the beach and spent an hour walking along the sand until I was sure I was finished crying. I’d been so stupid to think someone like Lincoln Prescott would notice a shy band nerd who was nowhere near his social standing. Eventually, I tamped down my hurt and dried my tears. I finally drove home after I was sure it was so late my mom would already be asleep.
I’ve spent years blocking out the memory of that night, trying to forget the feelings of embarrassment and disappointment that seemed to be a running theme of my teen years. I thought I was past those feelings. I’ve done so much to move on and become a better version of that awkward girl. But Linc just brought it all back with one thoughtless comment. Not that he even realizes it. I manage to smile at him, but I don’t say anything as the song ends and we walk back to the table.
I spend the next hour pretending with my friends that everything is the same as it was before my dance with Linc. But really, I’m counting down the minutes until I can break away and go home to mope in my pajamas. A dull headache is forming behind my eyes, and I don’t think anyone but Piper notices when I quietly switch to drinking water. Whatever alcohol buzz I had at the start of the night is long gone.
By the time I finally excuse myself to go home, it’s barely 9:30 and I’m completely sober. It’s a good thing, though. I have appointments with clients tomorrow and I should probably go home and get some rest. At least that’s the excuse I use when I tell the others I’m leaving. Piper puts up a token argument, but I can tell she senses something is bothering me and she doesn’t press me to stay. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s ready to take Luke home. Those two haven’t stopped touching each other all night. It would be cute if it weren’t so annoying.
After a chorus of goodbyes and a hug from Piper, I’m finally out the door and on my way home. Luckily, I live close enough to Peach Fuzz that I can walk there in just a few minutes. I let myself into the salon and don’t bother turning on the lights. I’m already imagining how good it’s going to feel to take off this dress and put on a baggy shirt and crawl into bed. After locking up, I turn toward the stairs. I only make it three steps before I hear someone knocking at the front door. My heart jumps into my throat when I turn to see who’s standing there.
Linc.
Chapter 18
Harlow
Linc is here. Why is he here? Did something happen? I walk over to unlock the door.
“What is it?” I ask.
Instead of answering, Linc squeezes past me into the darkened salon.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, suddenly nervous.
He nods. “Everything is fine.”
“Did you forget something yesterday? Something you need for work?” I’m trying to figure out why he showed up here unannounced when I left him less than 10 minutes ago.
“What?” he asks. “Oh, no. That’s not why I’m here.”
