Page 52 of Behind the Bench

I’m gonna kill her. I’m going to fucking kill her.

I look around the bar, searching for my soon-to-be-dead ex-best friend and find her at a table near the stage, huddled close to Hunter. Their heads are so close together and their bodies are shaking as they clearly laugh their asses off like the idiots they are.

“Oh, she is so fucking dead,” I say as I jump off my barstool, ready to storm over there and wipe the smile off Sadie’s face. I take one step before I feel his fingers wrap around my wrist.

My breath catches as the stupid jolt of electricity I feel whenever Lincoln touches me works its way up my arm and then all the way down to my toes

Seething, annoyed by him stopping me and the obvious attraction to him that I can’t tamper down, I turn to glower at him. “Let go of me, Scott.”

“Ooo, pulling out the last name. I like the way that sounds,Coach.” He finishes off his bourbon before standing up from his barstool and moving closer to me. The way this man towers over me at six-three is infuriating but it turns me the hell on.

God, the line between lust and hate is starting to blur by the second. The more time I spend with Lincoln, the more confused I am about how I’m supposed to feel.

“Listen, I’ve heard you sing. I totally get why you wouldn’t want to put that out there.” My eyes narrow, wondering why the hell he’s bringing that up right now. Seeming to notice how nervous I truly am, his eyes soften and his thumb begins slowly tracing circles over my wrist. “Breathe, Coach. Before you go over there and beat the shit out of our best friends, just take a second to breathe.”

I do as he says because, apparently, I am completely under this man’s spell whenever I’m about to lose my shit. He is the calm to my fury and it confuses the hell out of me.

Lincoln continues to move his thumb over my wrist in small circles while I mirror his breathing and find myself almost completely calmed down.

“Okay, I’m calm. Now can I go over there and tell my best friend how I feel?”

I’m not sure if I’m imagining things, but I swear I see this man smile. He actuallysmileslike this whole situation is funny.

The nerve of this guy. After hearing about the most embarrassing moment of my life, he has the audacity to think this whole thing is funny. Just when I thought we were getting along, flirting, and having a good time.

Lincoln Scott is an ass.

The look of determination on her face has the corners of my lips tipping up. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at how disgruntled she is over this.

“What’s so funny? You’re not pissed they signed us up for karaoke?” she scolds while pulling her arm free of my hold.

I immediately feel the loss and itch to reach out and grab her again. Fighting every urge to haul her into my arms, I put my hands in my pockets and give Ellie a proposition.

“The way I see it we have two options. We can sit back down on our barstools, I’ll order us another round of drinks, and we can pretend like those aren’t our names they called for karaoke.”

She interrupts me, because of course she does. “That one. I choose that option.”

Ignoring her, I continue. “Or, we can wipe the shit-eating grins right off their faces by getting up on stage and singing our little hearts out.”

Ellie looks surprised before she seems to contemplate my words. She chews on the corner of her lip, and I imagine those lips somewhere else completely. Somewhere like around my cock. I almost forget everything and throw her over my shoulder right there, but she surprises me by her next words.

“You’re sure as hell no Riley Green, but let’s fucking do this.” And then she’s grabbing my hand and pulling me on stage.

Yes, ma’am.

“And you look like you love me.”

Ellie and I finish the last line of the song together and the whole bar erupts. As soon as the music cuts off, Ellie turns and wraps her arms around my neck, hugging me hard. “Thank you for getting me up here, Coach.”

When she pulls back with a huge grin on her face, I realize just how close our faces are together as I stare down at her. We must realize we’re on stage in front of a crowd at the same time, both stepping back.

Every single person in the bar, which seems to be abouttriple the amount there was when we got on stage, is on their feet giving us a standing ovation. Cheers, whistles, and even a bra gets thrown on the stage. The Cracked Mug is wild. I grab Ellie’s hand and we take our bow.

Ellie is just as pumped up as I am and seems to be riding the high as she takes her seat across from me. “Oh. My. God. I can’t believe we just did that! Did you see everyone on their feet? That old biker chick threw her bra at us! Like, actually took off her bra and launched it on stage like we’re at Coyote Ugly or something. This is the best night of my life!”

I think I’m dreaming, because all of a sudden Ellie has launched herself out of her seat and warps her arms around my neck. Again.

This must be what heaven feels like.

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