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I hope he can't feel my hand trembling in his, but my hopes are swiftly dashed when he squeezes my hand, as if trying to comfort me. It's an unexpected but comforting gesture.
Leaning back down, he brings our faces close. "I don't want to be here at all. Do you want to come to my house with me?" He straightens up to his full height before I can fully process what he just said.
Stuck in the moment, I find myself fixated on his height, unlike most people, he bent down to talk to me instead of talking down at me. It sends a tingle down my spine.
Tingles aside, I can't help but wonder why he's asking me to go home with him. My confusion must be evident because he gently pulls on my hand and dips down to talk to me again. "Ro and Leia look busy," he gestures towards the living room where they're engrossed in a beer pong game with some guys from the hockey team. "This doesn't seem like your type of thing, and it's not mine either. We can watch a movie or something, and they can find us when they're done."
It's probably the most he's ever said to me, and what's more, it's all rather respectful. Maybe Liam was right – Lincoln does have a nice side.
On the other hand, I've worn my disinterest on my face like a neon sign, which doesn't exactly work in my favor. But the idea of watching a movie sounds incredible right now. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm not a party person, and I don't think I'll ever be one. I have to realize that it's okay and not a setback that I don't enjoy these gatherings.
With my decision made, I offer a warm smile to Lincoln and say, "That sounds good."
He looks at me for a moment, as though he's about to say something significant, but instead, he sighs. "Perfect, let's get the fuck out of here."
Lincoln ignores everyone trying to talk to him, maintaining his unwavering grip on my hand as he leads me toward the front door. We squeeze through the dense crowd of people filling the living room. I get jostled around, but Lincoln ensures that I don't get lost in the chaotic shuffle.
As we step out into the frigid night air, I instantly feel relief washing over me. The heat and overcrowding of that small house now seem like a distant memory. Lincoln doesn't release my hand during our entire journey across the street to his house. Only when we're inside the front door does he finally drop my hand, running both of his through his dark hair.
I pause for a moment, taking in my surroundings in his tidy entryway. Lincoln's house is far cleaner and more organized than I would have guessed, especially considering he's part of the hockey team. The other day's experience wasn't a one-off; they genuinely keep this place spotless. Liam's influence must explain the tidiness. He wouldn't live in a place that resembled a frat house.
When Lincoln flashes a smile in my direction, a wave of tension melts away from my body. I have no idea what that smile means, but seeing Lincoln happy is enough to bring me relief. At this point, I'll take any scraps he's willing to give.
"We can go to my room or stay in the living room. Marshall might come in and try to talk to us, though," Lincoln says, clearly uncomfortable at the thought of that.
My heart stutters in my chest, and I sense trouble brewing. "Uh, we can do whatever you want to do," I reply, unsure of what I prefer.
He purses his lips momentarily, looking appalled at my lack of an opinion. But his irritation doesn't last long. He grabs my hand again and pulls me up the stairs with him.
We navigate the hallway, and he points out various rooms, "That's the bathroom," he gestures to the first door on the right, "Ronan's room and my room," he finishes, indicating the door across from Ronan's room on the left.
Lincoln pushes his bedroom door open and ushers me inside. I look around, taking it all in. It's precisely what I expected, yet it surprises me at the same time.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
LINCOLN
Sutton is in my room.The sight of her makes my heart race, and I struggle to maintain my composure.
"No need to freak out," I mutter to myself, but it's too late. I can feel the nerves building within me.
Fuck.
I'm definitely freaking out.
I turn to reach around her and close the door while she takes in my room. It's probably not what she expected. Not that she expected anything because there was no way she could have imagined my room. Not like I've imagined hers.
Well, not so much her room, but her bed. Yeah, her bed. Her bed without her in it. That's what I'm sticking with.
The door clicks shut, and she turns to look at me, her eyes curious.
"You read?" She asks, her words more of a statement than a question. She doesn't expect a response, but I feel compelled to give her one, for some inexplicable reason.
I want to explain why I have a huge collection of books, but before I can formulate a response, she's already asking me another question.
I generally hate questions and try to avoid them, but the fact that she's comfortable enough to ask me instead of being the nervous girl I thought she was fills me with a sense of calm. It's a calm I desperately needed.
She walks closer to my bookshelf and runs her finger along the spines.
