Page 6 of Good Girl's Guide to Love
I shake my head as I grab Caden’s hand. Mostly because I’m trying not to fucking cry.
“Nah, you’re mine,” I say. “When I was your age, I…let’s just say I know what it’s like to be in a situation you didn’t ask for. And you’re handling it much better than I did. So while I’m flattered, how about we be each other’s?”
Caden nods and we do our handshake one more time.
“I mean it, you get better,” I say as I stand up. “We’re going to need you at a game this year.”
“Hell yeah!”
I laugh and give Caden one more goodbye before making my way to the nurse’s desk. On my way, I pass two of our defensive linemen and ask them to stop into Caden’s room. There are about ten of us here today, so I fill them in and ask them to pass the word along to the other guys. But I have another important thing to do before my time is up.
Katie seems to have left me alone, so I try to nonchalantly look for my new favorite nurse. I have a feeling she was on her way out, judging by her words of “leave, car, go,” and the cup collection and tote bag she was carrying, but it never hurts to look.
I hate that I didn’t get her name. Now I have to go ask her coworkers who the beautiful blonde was with rose-colored cheeks and eyes I could get lost in.
Rookie move, Kincaid. Rookie move.
I’ve normally gravitated to brunettes, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Being a professional football player, I’m around beautiful women more than most. But never in my twenty-eight years have I seen a woman more naturally beautiful. I don’t think she had on an ounce of makeup. Her hair was in a long braid that looked like it had been through it, strands poking out everywhere. But her eyes. Holy shit those eyes were a color of blue I’ve never seen before. I’ve never seen the ocean, but I have to think that’s what it would look like. I caught myself staring at her a few times, which I only got away with because she was just as frazzled as I was, only hers manifested into the cutest way.
And I don’t even know her fucking name.
I start heading to the desk where I see a few other nurses, but before I can get there, I see a familiar head of blonde hair step in front of me.
“Ding-ding, Linc. Time’s up. We gotta go.”
“Come on Katie.” Do I sound like a toddler having a tantrum? A little. And I know I pay her to keep me out of the news and to run my schedule, but today she’s even more Type-A than usual. “I’m done visiting rooms, but I need to make one more stop. It’ll take five minutes.”
“I really wish I could let you, because I know how much you love things like this, but we can’t today.” I stand with my arms crossed, full pout, as she pulls out her tablet, also known as my life schedule. I hate that fucking thing. “We have an hour to get you across town for a podcast interview, and you know traffic is just going to be horrendous. And, something’s come up that I need to talk to you about. We need to go. I have a car ready downstairs.”
“What happened?”
She shakes her head and tries to give me a reassuring smile. “Let’s talk about it in the car.”
Feeling like I’m in trouble—because usually I am—I hang my head as we walk down the hall and step into the empty elevator. Katie doesn’t say another word, instead spends the entire elevator ride typing something on her phone. But that’s not unusual, the woman’s job as a publicist is to be chronically online. But I can’t be in too much trouble, because she’s not swearing at me. Katie’s more on the prim and proper side. Hair always in a bun or off her face. Doesn’t swear unless I’m really, really, in trouble. And is always smiling. Like always. Sometimes I wonder if her mouth hurts.
“Good job today,” she says, finally making eye contact with me as we drive away. “And as it turns out, we can use all the extra good press we can get.”
The good mood I was in just twenty minutes ago is now completely gone. “What does that mean?”
She lets out a sigh and places her hand on my leg, like she’s trying to comfort me, before handing me her iPad. “This came out while you were at the hospital. And before you say anything else, I’m already taking care of it.”
I grab it out of her hand and stare at the massive headline in a bold font:
HONEYMOON OVER? Nashville Fury’s Linc Kincaid might be back to his old ways.
“What the fuck!”
I scroll past the first few sentences of the article—I’m just going to assume that whatever it says is bullshit—before stopping at the first picture I see.
There I am, fist cocked back. I take a closer look, trying to remember where I was, or what I was doing. My teammates areall around me, and not just the few I hang out with on a regular basis, but the entire team.
Then it hits me. This was our last night of training camp. Coach told us to go have fun, so the captains arranged for us to go to one of those adult arcades.
An arcade that had a boxing game.
I remember it vividly now. A bunch of us were trying to get the high score, but our punter wanted it more than anyone. Something about getting his girlfriend a rare Pokémon plush from the prize counter. And since I’m the guy in the locker room who is known more for fighting than football, I took it upon myself to show him how to pull back for a proper—and powerful—punch.
He got the high score.
