Page 41 of Pieces of Us

Chasing Ghosts

Amity

I’ve attended and interviewed a heck of a lot of sports stars over the past six years, but nothing beats the thrill of sitting on the sidelines watching burly men tackle each other in a game of highly-charged NRL.

Being a Gold Coast girl at heart, I’ll always root for my home team. It has been so long since I’ve had the chance to just enjoy the atmosphere and not have the spotlight on me.

Earlier this morning, I had a power meeting with my management team, led by Joan—my agent—who got the ball rolling with my upcoming interviews, new range of teas and lingerie deal. A limited edition Christmas tea is about to be launched and the designs for my lingerie line are confirmed.

I can’t say it hasn’t been nice to take a step back from the gruelling work days of being poked, prodded and primped to perfection. I was constantly worried about whether I’d have a nip slip in one of the bras or bikinis, and I was always concerned about being in the healthiest and fittest state possible.

It feels good, though, to almost be back in the saddle. If my mind is elsewhere—like on work—it won’t be on Lincoln and the calamity that is us.

After our blow up in his office, and once I had enough breathing space to calm down, I feel mortified that I let myself get so worked up. Lashing out at him and losing control of my prison-vaulted emotions makes me cringe.

Trying to zone out, I force my attention onto the field. Dad has season tickets, so I’m sitting in the members area. For obvious reasons, he couldn’t make it, and neither could Lily or Rome, so I decided some downtime for me was in order.

I don’t want to sound stuck up, but none of these NRL players would make the cut to be on my show. It’s all NFL, NBL, NBA across America and football in Europe. There is something so refreshing about going unnoticed.

My tongue is salivating at the meaty goodness in front of me, and I’m not just talking about the muscly men. Just as I’m about to take a bite of my sausage roll, someone clears their throat behind me.

I swivel to take a look and any witty words I would have had for the stranger coming in between me and my crusty, flaky goodness, die in my throat as I spot the tall, dark-haired man looking down at me.

Lincoln flashes a sheepish smile as he steps down the bleachers so he’s directly in line with my row.

‘Lincoln,’ I greet weakly. ‘Hey.’

He rubs the back of his neck, awkwardness covering his features as he appears unsure whether his intrusion is welcome. It’s not.

The strained atmosphere is beginning to draw attention the more he stands there, soundless.

‘Sit down,’ I hiss, all but yanking him into the seat beside me. His whisky-coloured eyes eat up my appearance as he glances down at my crop top before meeting my eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’ I huff, crossing my arms across my chest. I don’t miss the smirk and heated glare he tosses my way.

‘It’s a home game. Never miss one.’ He shrugs. ‘The real question is, what are you doing here, sitting amongst us mere mortals? Aren’t we peasants to you?’

I glare at him, tensing at his insinuation that I’ve somehow become snobby in the past seven years. I think he’s mistaking me for his whore of an ex. Judging by the way he sits up straight, he can see his joke has been taken offensively. ‘You know I don’t mean that.’ I can see him mentally kicking himself in the dick, and that image turns the corner of my mouth up slightly. My sausage roll is long forgotten as I place it on the ground so I don’t accidentally shove it up his ass for being a condescending clown.

I half huff, half sigh, knowing he was just trying to lighten the mood. ‘I know,’ I admit. Aside from mincing my heart into nothing, he has never actually said a mean word to my face.

‘We still need to talk. I don’t like how we left things. I can’t and won’t let you go now that I have you back, Hart.’

My heart kicks up at his impassioned comment, but outwardly, I remain impressively impassive.

‘I don’t know what your endgame is here.’ I shake my head in confusion.

‘I just want to be in your life again…I need you. I’ll take you any way you want me.’

‘What if I don’t want you at all?’ I shoot back, whipping my coal-coloured ponytail in his face. As if anticipating my actions, his hand shoots out and grabs the back of my neck, holding me firmly in place so I have nowhere else to look but his eyes, which are flickering smoulders of desire. His thumb presses gently on the pulse point of my neck. At this moment, it rivals that of a hummingbird.

‘You might not want me. You might hate me forever. But, Hart, baby, your body still fucking wants me.’ I’ve been breathing unassisted for twenty-four years of my life, yet somehow it has escaped me how to perform this basic human function. My breaths are shallow as I take in this new, dominant side of him. He’s transformed into all my smutty book boyfriend dreams, where he takes control and works my body into a frenzy.

I’m tired of denying what I’ve kept dead and buried for so long. I’m still—and probably always will be—attracted to Lincoln. I’m old enough to recognise the signs, as well as compartmentalise all my other hateful feelings towards him. My mouth has gone dry, probably because all forms of liquid in my body are flooding to one particular spot. My underwear.

Trying to gain a modicum of normalcy, I bite my lip before sweeping my tongue across it to smooth the sting. I keep my voice low and only hush the words between us. ‘Linc?’ I use my nickname for him. Leaning in close to his ear, he loosens his grip on my neck, like he’s losing control.

‘My body used to want a lot of things from you. Your tongue licking my clit. Your fingers making me squirt. That massive cock of yours stuffed in my throat and pussy. I used to crave your cum in my mouth, or painting my face and body. We never got around to you fucking my ass, but if we did, I bet you’d stretch that, too. Would you like that, Linc? To tear me apart?’ He nods, in a trance, but I don’t wait for a verbal answer. ‘But the thing about wanting things is…we don’t always get what we want, do we?…or in my case, deserve.’ I forcefully push him away, making him bump into the guy next to him, causing beer to spill. ‘Excuse me.’ I clamour past him and the rest of the fans, bolting up the bleachers without looking back.

I’ve left my wallet and keys on the floor, so at some point I’ll have to show my face again, but right now I need respite. An escape. I spot the bathrooms and head straight for them. The game is in the thick of it, so I don’t expect many patrons to be here, which benefits me just fine.

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