Page 36 of The Captain

“Lincoln, what the hell?”

I shrug, still feeling the sting on my shin, but when I look at her and see her eyes welling with tears, the sting on my shin is absolutely nothing compared to the way my heart breaks at her tears. “This seems to be our thing.” I gesture around the bathroom and finally see a glimpse of a smile on her face.

“Couldn’t have picked a cleaner place to confront me?” she asks, crossing her arms and protecting herself from the talk we’re about to have.

“That can be arranged,” I say, taking a step closer to her. Even in her heels, I tower over her by a good four inches. “Though you’d have to actually answer the phone.”

She bites her red-painted lips, and I can’t help the way my eyes track right to that spot. I want to bite that fucking lip.

“Lincoln, you brought a date.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and I see the devastation on her face. “How can I believe a word out of your mouth when the proof is right in front of me?”

I smile at her, taking another step to her until our bodies touch. She takes another step back until she’s pinned to the counter where the sinks are.

“You don’t remember Jo?”

Cassie frowns, and then her face falls as something dawns on her. “That’s not the girl you—”

“What? No! Fuck no.” I run a hand over my head, frustrated that I seem to have fucked this situation up more than I know how to fix it. “It’s Josephine. My cousin. She’s a bridesmaid.”

“Josephine?” Her brows furrow before a memory hits her. “Oh, right. She was only like fifteen when I met her.”

“No, she’s a year younger than me. She looks young for her age.”

“Oh,” she says, planting her hands on the counter behind her and unintentionally accentuating her chest. I don’t dare look down, no matter how badly I want to.

But I’m still standing precariously close to her.

“I don’t know how to handle this, Muscles.” Her words are quiet and soft, and her use of my nickname helps the tension release from my body, and my hands come to rest on the outside of hers, bracing myself around her, but boxing her in.

“I don’t either,” I admit, my head so fucking close to hers. I just want to lean down and kiss her again. Just once.

“Lincoln.” Her breath picks up, and I watch her eyes, they beg and plead for me to do something.

Does she want me to kiss her? Does she want me to be the one who takes control and shows her exactly what it was like when we were together?

“Sunshine,” I whisper, a question in my voice that I don’t have to voice because she nods, just barely, and it’s enough for me to lean down and take her lips with my own.

She opens for me, and her arms come around my shoulders like they used to. My arms hold her lower back, and my right hand comes up, cradling her head and guiding her the way I want her.

She tastes like smooth whiskey and the cherry she ate out of her drink, and I moan when I finally taste her again for the first time in weeks, months. God, how I missed this fucking crazy woman.

The last time we’d been together, neither of us knew it was going to be the last time. I didn’t get to savor it, I didn’t hold her tight enough or kiss her long enough.

I wasn’t going to make that mistake again. Never.

Wait. No. This wouldn’t be the last time I kissed her.

I plan to kiss her every day for the rest of our lives. I plan to kiss her when I’m signed to a pro team. I plan to kiss her when she finally publishes her book. I plan to kiss her when she’s wearing white and we’re standing in front of our friends and family.

I plan to kiss her when I’m about to take my last breath.

Cassie was my end game. Final. I would never lose her again.

Banging interrupts us, and Cassie pulls away, panting into the space between us, her eyes slightly glazed over, and I squeeze her to me, ignoring the banging on the bathroom door.

“We should go out,” she whispers against my lips, and I couldn’t stop myself if I tried to, when I lean in and kiss her fucking delicious lips again.

“Tell me something first,” I say when I’m finally able to pull away. “Tell me that this wasn’t some goodbye.”

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