Crazy, Stupid Love Page 4

  When we’re together, he’s attentive and kind, always asking me about life and school and how I’m doing. But when we’re apart, he’s distant, which was fine when we started up this tryst.

  But that was five months ago, and things have changed—at least for me they have. What started as fun and exciting has developed into so much more. Lincoln is kind and thoughtful, and he takes care of me in a way no one else ever has. I’m pretty sure I made a mistake when I put restrictions on our relationship, even if it made sense at the time.

  Chewing on the inside of my mouth, I sigh.

  “What’s wrong?” Claire asks.

  “Oh, um, nothing.” Tucking my phone back in my purse, I give her my full attention.

  She gives me a look that says nice try. “Does it have anything to do with why you were late?”

  “I thought we were done talking about this.”

  “Mo was right. It’s a guy.” Claire shakes her head. “Only a man could put that look on a woman’s face.”

  Tess nods, and my eyes dart between the two of them. “What look?”

  “Like you got laid, and it was the best damn sex you’ve ever had, and while you’re basking in the glory of an intense orgasm, you’re also worried you’ll never experience it again.”

  Claire and I both stare at Tess, and she shrugs. “What? I’m perceptive.”

  Claire blinks and turns to me. “I was going to say the look of love, but I like her explanation better. Is she right?”

  Love?

  I love the way he hums when he’s cooking dinner. And I love the way he makes sure my gas tank is always full. I also love his sleepy smile in the morning and the feel of his hand curled around my hip at night.

  But do I love him?

  No way.

  Right?

  Lust, maybe? A strong like? Pre-love?

  A thousand lies sit on the tip of my tongue, but these are my friends—my family—and I’ve stretched the truth enough over the last several months.

  I nod. “It’s a guy, but I’m not in love with him.”

  Tess hoots. “I knew it! And you’re totally in love with him,” she says, dancing in her seat.

  With a gleam in her eye, Claire scoots to the edge of her chair. “Who’s the lucky man? Do I know him?”

  “I’d really rather not say.”

  “Is it Ben?” Tess asks.

  “The sexy mailman? No. But it’s a compliment that you think he’d be into me.”

  Claire cringes. “Please tell me it isn’t Joseph.”

  “No,” I laugh, remembering the time Mo set Claire up with her accountant.

  “Lincoln?” Mo asks, poking her head out from behind the curtain.

  Talk about hitting the nail on the head. “What is taking you so long?” I ask.

  “I need help with the zipper.”

  I stand up and motion for her to turn around.

  “Am I right? Is it Lincoln?” she asks, looking over her shoulder.

  I pull the zipper up and clasp the hook at the top. “I’m not going to tell you guys his name, so you might as well drop it.”

  My best friend, Abby, is the only person who knows about Lincoln. She even met him once when I needed an emergency pickup on the way to a clinical. I hadn’t planned on telling her, but, hey, a secret of this magnitude is hard to keep to myself.

  Mo turns around. “Can I ask you one question?”

  I hold up one finger. “One.”

  “Whoever it is, is he good to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is the sex great?” Claire asks. “Because that’s really important.”

  “That’s two questions.”

  Tess shakes her head. “Nope, one question per person. My turn. Are you happy?”

  “Wait. Answer my question first,” Claire says.

  “The sex is phenomenal, and yes, I’m happy.”

  Tess smiles. “That’s all that matters.”

  Mo steps around me to stand in front of the mirror. Claire and Tess ooh and ahh over the sequined material, and I take a step back.

  Is that all that matters?

  The night Lincoln kissed me for the first time, I would’ve said yes, all that mattered was that I was happy, because at the time I needed easy, and that’s exactly what he was willing to give.

  No-strings-attached sex with a gorgeous cowboy.

  There’s not a damn thing wrong with that.

  But now, here I am. Twenty-four years old—almost twenty-five—with the career of my dreams at my fingertips and a man I have no idea what to do with, and while I am happy, I’m not so sure that’s enough anymore.

  Mo giggles, bringing me back to the room and what I’m here for. With a hand propped on one hip, she poses in front of the mirror, and while I feel excited for her and my brother, I can’t help but feel a little lonely.

  Grabbing my phone again, I shoot a text to my friend Abby.

  Am I stupid for sleeping with Lincoln?

  I watch three dots dance across the screen and then read her reply: Do you want my honest opinion, or do you want me to tell you want you want to hear?

  Really? Do you usually just tell me what you think I want to hear?

  Okay, honest opinion it is. You’re not stupid. Naïve, yes, but not stupid.

  That wasn’t so bad. Except… Naïve?

  For thinking you could sleep with him and not develop feelings. Things like this never end the way we want them to. Someone always gets hurt, and I don’t want that someone to be you.

  I’m not going to get hurt.

  Are you thinking of breaking up with him?

  We’re not actually together, are we?

  You know what I mean.

  I think about it for a second and then type out a reply: Should I break things off with him?

  Do you want to?

  I don’t even have to think about that. The answer comes way too easily. No.

  Then don’t.

  But what if I want…more?

  More what? More sex? More dates? More than his body?

  All of the above?

  I don’t think it’s possible for you two to have more sex without your vagina somehow falling off. But…if you want more, then go for it. Just take things slow. Men like Lincoln spook easily.

  I don’t think we can move much slower. It’s been five months, and we’re in the same spot.

  Her reply comes a second later. Because you built a fence around your relationship. Tear that fence down. Mix things up. Show him he’s more than short term and you’re more than a nursing student.

  You’re right.

  I always am.

  “Adley.”

  I put my phone away and stand up. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Mo tilts her head to the side. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I am now.” Plastering on my best smile, I run my hand over Mo’s dress. “I still like the first one better.”

  “Me too,” Claire, Tess, and Mo say at the same time.

  We all laugh, and Mo steps back into the dressing room. “Two dresses down, twenty-two to go.”

  Oh boy.

  5

  Adley

  Lincoln’s truck isn’t in the driveway, and for a split second I consider turning around and heading home. But that would be the cowardly way out. I am many things, but a coward isn’t one of them. Plus, I drove all the way here for the second time today, and I really don’t want to drive back home.

  And Abby is right; if I want more from Lincoln, I have to tear down the wall I built.

  Squaring my shoulders, I wrap my fingers around the key to his house, remembering the night he gave it to me.

  “I don’t like you driving home this late at night,” he’d told me.

  “What would you have me do?”

  “Stay here. It’ll save you time—time you can use to study—and you won’t have to get up as early and drive another hour back here.”

  I blinked. “You want me to stay here? All night?”


  He shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but it was a big deal, and when I didn’t immediately answer him, he said, “It was just a suggestion. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it,” I blurted, before he had time to rescind the offer.

  “Yeah?”

  “Absolutely. You’re right. It’ll save me a ton of time.” And I’ll get to see you more.

  Lincoln pulled a kitchen drawer open and rooted around until he found what he was looking for.

  “Here.”

  He handed me a gold key with a metal cowboy hat keychain attached, and I remember feeling like he’d just given me the world.

  “Don’t lose it.”

  I’ve never showed up unannounced before. Lincoln has always been home when I’ve popped in, or he’s known I was on my way. I’m not sure how he’s going to react when he finds me here, but Abby did say to mix things up a bit.

  Shoving the key in the lock, I twist it and push the door open. Everything is the same as when I left earlier today. I shrug my coat off, hang it on the hook by the front door, and toss my book bag on the couch. Normally I’d grab a fuzzy blanket, curl up, and study, but tonight I’m here for a different reason, and my heart is racing way too fast to concentrate on differential diagnoses and med calculations.

  My eyes dart across the small house. Dishes are piled up in the sink, the trash is overflowing, and there’s a laundry basket full of clothes sitting in the hallway just waiting to be washed.

  Might as well go big or go home.

  Nothing says I want more like washing someone’s underwear, right?

  I grab the laundry basket off the floor and send up a silent prayer that I’m not overstepping any major boundaries.

  Three hours later, with a bottle of water in my hand, I collapse on the couch. The dishes are done, the kitchen floor is spotless, and the laundry has been folded and put away. And I didn’t even peek in that box shoved in the back of his closet.

  Okay, fine, I peeked, and I still can’t shake what I saw.

  I knew Lincoln and I had kept parts of our lives from each other, but I didn’t realize how much until I opened that box. There were two file folders. One for Lincoln and one for his younger sister, Chloe, whom I’ve yet to meet. The files were from the Department of Family and Protective Services, and they were filled with pictures of the young siblings covered in cuts and bruises. And much to my heart’s dismay, there were several more pictures of Lincoln than of Chloe, leaving no doubt that he took the brunt of whatever beatings they endured.

  My stomach drops as images of the kids flash through my head, and I take a drink of water. Who hurt them? Lincoln has mentioned his father only a handful of times. He’s never offered me any information about him other than he’s a recovering alcoholic.

  There’s also been no mention of his mother in the five months we’ve been seeing each other, but I know from Rhett that she walked out on them years ago. The only people Lincoln talks about on a regular basis are my brother, Rhett, his trainer, Roy, and Chloe. And all I know about her is that she’s about my age and is going to school to be a teacher.

  I’ve been so wrapped up in classes and my own life that I’ve never bothered to ask much more about his. I don’t know what he does when I’m not around, other than train and work at The Barn, a place he’s all but forbidden me from going to. “It’s not the safest place for a woman,” he always says. And I don’t know when he sees Chloe, but it’s not when I’m around.

  There have been times over the last few months where I’ve thought I knew him well. I see now that it’s all superficial stuff. I know how he likes his eggs in the morning, what types of movies he prefers, and the sounds he makes when he’s about to come. But I don’t know the important stuff: his favorite childhood memory—or his worst, his favorite holiday, his hopes and dreams for the future.

  I pick up my phone off the end table, hoping to see a missed call from Lincoln, but there’s nothing. It’s getting late, so I send him a text.

  Hey there, cowboy.

  Closing out of the messenger app, I pull up my email and scroll through them until his reply comes through.

  You didn’t call me when you got home.

  His words make me smile. I love how protective he is. I’m sorry. I forgot.

  I worry about you.

  It won’t happen again. And I’m home now.

  Good. I would call you, but my phone is about to die.

  Not necessary, big guy. Switching to the camera app, I hold it up in selfie mode and snap a picture of myself cuddled up on his couch with his favorite quilt. As soon as he sees it, he’ll know which home I’m talking about.

  I load the picture, hit send, and nuzzle deeper into the sofa. Several seconds pass without a reply, and then minutes. With the phone clutched to my chest, I close my eyes and wait for him to respond. Lincoln hates it when I’m alone, so I’m sure he’ll come barreling through that door any second.

  I must’ve fallen asleep because I startle awake to the sound of a loud thud. I fly up on couch to find Lincoln standing by the front door staring at me.

  “What time is it?” I rub my eyes and stretch my arms over my head. I can’t believe I fell asleep.

  Lincoln looks at his watch and blinks as if he’s waiting for it to come into focus. Then he looks up at me. “One o’clock in the morning. What are you doing here?”

  “I texted you two hours ago and told you I was home. Sorta thought once you saw the picture you’d know I was talking about your home and not mine.” I smile, trying to go for light and easy and hoping he doesn’t freak out about me being here.

  “Picture?” His brow pinches as he toes off his boots, leaving them beside my shoes at the front door.

  “Your phone. I sent you a picture.”

  “My phone died.”

  Flipping the cover off my lap, I push up from the couch and tuck my phone in my back pocket.

  Lincoln walks toward me, and I can’t miss the glossy look in his eyes and the faint smell of beer.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “To bed. I’m tired.”

  “To my bed or your bed?”

  “I was planning on your bed, but if you don’t want me here, I can leave. Have you been drinking?”

  He shrugs and holds his pointer finger and thumb an inch a part. “Maybe a little.”

  “How many?”

  Not that it matters, but I’d like to know if I’m dealing with a guy whose kind of inebriated or completely drunk, although I’m guessing it’s not the latter since he’s still standing on two feet and hasn’t hurled all over the floor.

  “Four or five.” He takes a breath and blows it out. “Maybe six. Or seven. I lost count.”

  I nod, unsure what to think because Lincoln doesn’t drink that often—especially not like this. Part of me wants to be upset that I was here waiting on him and he was out tying one on, but it’s difficult to blame him when he looks this cute and frazzled. Plus, his phone died, and he didn’t even know I was here.

  As if he’s able to read my thoughts, Lincoln takes the ball cap off his head, runs his fingers through his already messy hair and pulls it back on.

  “If I would’ve known you were here, I would’ve come home.”

  “I know you would’ve.” My eyes move to the front pocket of his jeans, where I see the outline of his keys. “Did you drive home?”

  His eyes follow mine, and then he looks back up and shakes his head. “Roy’s youngest gave me a ride while Roy followed behind in my truck.” Lincoln swallows and takes a deep breath. “Adley, I don’t want you to leave, but I’m exhausted, and I had a rough day.”

  “Then let’s get you to bed.”

  I take a step toward his room. When Lincoln doesn’t follow, I turn around to find him watching me. At first his face is blank, as if he’s not sure what to make of me being here, in his home, walking down his hall. Then something flickers in his dark gaze. Something I haven’t seen from him before. Maybe happiness? Conte
ntment? Acceptance?

  “You coming?”

  He smirks. “I wish,” he says, taking my outstretched hand.

  I laugh, leading him down the hall.

  “So, we’re not going to have sex tonight?” he asks.

  Nudging his bedroom door open, I step inside, and he follows.

  “You had a rough day, remember? Arms up.” When he complies, I lift the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head, and then I pop the button on his jeans and tug them down his muscular thighs.

  Lincoln’s body is a work of art. He’s all muscle with defined lines and ridges that I’ve spent hours and hours exploring. There’s a dusting of hair to his chest and a perfectly cut V leading to an impressive erection that is straining against his red boxer briefs.

  “He likes you.”

  “Oh yeah?” With my hands to his chest, I gently push Lincoln until the backs of his knees hit the bed.

  He sits and watches me tug off his socks, but doesn’t say a word. His hungry eyes eat me up as I strip out of my clothes, leaving on my bra and panties. Electricity crackles between us the way it does every time we’re within reach of each other. We’re good in bed. Our chemistry is off the charts, but I remind myself that we’re more than this. I want to be so much more than a warm body in his bed. I want to be his confidant, his best friend, the person he comes to when he’s had a rough day rather than turning to the bottle.

  “Come on, big guy. Let’s go brush our teeth.”

  I’m in the bathroom, halfway through my nighttime ritual when Lincoln steps into the doorway. I spit into the sink, rinse my mouth, and turn to look at him. “Everything okay?”

  He takes in my toothbrush sitting next to his and my facial wash on the counter. “You have stuff in my bathroom.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  He takes a second to think about his answer and then shakes his head. “No. It’s not a problem.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, watching him step up to the sink.

  He makes quick work of brushing his teeth and then stops in front of me on his way out.

  Curling a hand around my hip, he pulls me in and kisses my forehead. “I’m getting there.”

  There are so many things I want to say to that, but I need to remember to take things slow. It’s difficult to step away from his hard, semi-naked body pressed against mine, but somehow, I manage.