Page 2 of Good Girl's Guide to Love
Now that gets my attention. Not the tattoos—those have never really done it for me. But seeing Marcus, a sweet ten-year-old who’s been in and out of this unit for most of his life, smile? That I’ll stop my paperwork for.
“You play dirty,” I say with a sigh as I stand.
“One minute isn’t going to kill you,” Mia says as she grabs my arm, hustling me down the hall toward Marcus’s room. “And this view is worth being a few minutes late for.”
“I swear if I’m even one minute late, I’m going to?—”
I don’t know what the last part of my threat was going to be. It doesn’t matter, because at this moment, I know I’m going to be late. And the worst part? I don’t even care.
I stand in the hallway, peeking in the room to see Marcus’s megawatt smile. He’s talking and laughing and handing his phone to the man who currently has my jaw on the floor.
Because holy mother of molasses, this man is hotter than a sidewalk on a July Tennessee day.
“That’s what I thought,” Mia whispers, apparently reading my mind. “Now aren’t you glad you came over?”
I nod and force my jaw back into place. “Who is he?”
“That, my friend, is Linc Kincaid, the Fury’s newest tight end. And boy does he live up to his position. I mean, look at that ass…that’s Nashville’s ass.”
I rack my brain, going through the few Fury players I know. Which is just a few, and one of them has been retired. I’m not a football die hard by any means, but when you grow up in a house where football—specifically the Nashville Fury and the Tennessee Volunteers—rule, you learn a thing or two just for survival purposes.
I also learned over the years that big games come with parties and snacks. And I never turned down snacks.
“I’ve never heard of him,” I whisper as I watch him sign autographs for Marcus.
“He got signed midway through last season,” Mia says, who knows more football than my brother. And that says a lot. “He wasn’t even on a team. Had a ton of potential coming out of college, but got into it with some players at the draft combine. It was a nasty fight that he started. Killed his draft stock. He’s been on a few practice squads over the years, but has a bad reputation because he apparently has a hell of a temper. Always getting in fights and shit.”
“Really?” I ask, really only understanding a little bit of what she said. And what do combines have to do with football? “But look at him. He doesn’t seem like the type.”
“Oh sweet, sweet, Ainsley. Always wanting to see the good in people. What I’d give to have a day wearing your rose-colored glasses.”
I turn my head away from my gawking to glare at Mia. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I love you, and I love that your heart is so big it overflows from your soul. But with that comes you always wanting to see the good in people, even if it’s not really there.”
“I don’t always do that.” Keyword in that statement is always. “I knew my sister’s ex-fiancé was a pile of garbage long before she did.”
Mia gives me a slow clap. “Congrats! You’re now a proper cynic.”
“Listen, you can be your glass-half-empty self all you want. I’m going to continue believing that everyone is good until they prove me otherwise. And right now? I’m going to think that about Linc. Because all I see is a professional football player making a kid’s day.”
“And that’s where we differ.” Mia pulls me in closer, like somehow that’s going to give me a better view of the room. “What I see is the newest bad boy of the Fury, who needs a new start. So he goes with the team on a public relations visit to the children’s hospital. That smile? Fake and forced.”
I look a little closer at their interaction, and while what she’s saying makes sense as a possibility, I’m just not getting that vibe from him.
The smile he’s giving Marcus is big and bright. I don’t know what they’re talking about, but whatever it is, both of their faces are animated. I know I should be watching Marcus—he doesn’t have a lot of good days anymore—but I can’t. Linc Kincaid is by far the most attractive man I’ve ever seen in real life.
His dark brown hair is perfectly styled, his locks just long enough to be swept back off his handsome face. The corners of his eyes are crinkled from the smile and laugh he’s sharing with Marcus. His jawline is defined, so sharp it could cut glass. My eyes travel down, landing on biceps that are threatening to bust through the fabric of his T-shirt. His skin is tanned, but you can still see every drop of ink on his left arm. It looks like a full sleeve, and even though I’ve never understood the big deal about tattoos, I can’t help but want to get a closer look at the details.
“Oh my!” I don’t mean to audibly gasp, but I can’t help it when Linc stands from Marcus’s bedside. Holy smokes, he’s tall. At least six-foot-five. I didn’t know men could be that built and also be that tall.
How would that even work…logistically…
“Damn...” Mia says, breaking me from my not-pediatric-floor-appropriate thoughts. “Is our resident good girl having some naughty thoughts right now?”
I shake my head, needing to get a hold of myself. “I was just observing. That’s it. No thoughts what-so-ever.”
“So you don’t think he’s hot. He’s here because he wants to be. I’m sure it’s all true.”
