Page 7 of Good Girl's Guide to Love
I got a misleading photo on the internet that could fuck up my world.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” I say, tossing the iPad back to Katie. “It’s so out of context it’s almost funny.”
Except it’s not. Because the Fury made one thing clear to me when they picked me up last year—and doubled down on it when they signed me to a one-year deal in the offseason—no fights. Not one. If I do, I’m done. Contract void. I’ll be back home in Detroit, delivering pizzas and praying that some schmuck will start a semi-pro football team that I can join to make a few bucks.
“I know you didn’t do it,” Katie says softly. “If you’d fought any of your teammates, I’d have heard about it immediately. And I know you’ve changed, Linc. I see you doing it every day.”
I appreciate her faith in me, but then again, I do pay her to say things and think like that. As my publicist, it’s literally her job to keep me on the good side of the news, and if I do get in trouble, to make sure I’m in good graces sooner rather than later.
It was a smart suggestion by my agent to bring her on board. I’ve never been in a place in my career where I actually have something to lose, so knowing that Katie has my back is reassuring. Because I guarantee you, if this photo got out and she wasn’t on my team, I don’t know if I’d be handling it as calmly as I am.
“You’re taking care of it?”
She nods and pats my leg for emphasis. “It’s already handled. I’m trying to dig into who took the picture and who gave it to the gossip blog, but this isn’t anything. Coach McAvoy knows nothing happened. Your teammates have vouched for you. I just wanted you to know in case it comes up during the podcast interview.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Just doing my job,” she says, with a shrug, like she doesn’t know how invaluable she is right now. “You just relax. Let me take care of everything. And luckily, in this case, it wasn’t anything we couldn’t put out in five seconds. Plus, today was a good day. If anyone reads this garbage of an article, they’ll forget about it in three seconds when pictures from today start rolling out. And judging by the notifications I’m already getting, that ball has already started rolling.”
“I know,” I say. “It’s just…things have been so good. No trouble or anything. I just…every time I think I’m getting past the ‘bad boy Linc Kincaid’ persona, some shit like this pops back up.”
She shakes her head and reaches over, grabbing my hand. Sometimes I forget how touchy feely she is. “It was a few photos, Linc. Please don’t worry about it. That’s what you pay me to do. And I’m happy to do it.”
I nod as I move my hand away from Katie’s, letting my head fall back against the window.
She’s right. It’s just one picture. And I’ve kept my nose clean since I arrived in Nashville last season. This was just a blip. A fake one at that.
But even as much as I try to convince myself, there’s that little worm in my brain telling me that nothing has changed. I’m still Linc Kincaid. The troublemaker. The rule breaker. The bad boy of whatever team I’ve ever played on. And no matter how many hospitals I visit, or how much time passes, that title will never leave me for as long as I live.
guide to love rule #140
There’s nothing worse than being the odd man out. Well, that and wet socks, blue cheese dressing, and bad sex.
3
ainsley
“Did that all just happen?”
I look over to Quinn, and I can’t blame her for asking the question. The last hour would be unbelievable if I just didn’t witness it for myself.
But here at The Joint—the hometown bar where each of us have spent our twenty-first birthdays, countless family nights out, and some very not-family-friendly nights too—we as the Banks family helped Porter—the owner of said bar and my sister’s former situationship turned roommate turned love of her life—run off his mother, who was trying to extort money from him in exchange for custody of his niece, whom he’s been raising.
I can’t imagine saying all of that out loud. Just thinking about that insane run-on sentence is hard to wrap my head around. Then again, we’re the Banks family. Chaos seems to follow us. But in the end, we always seem to come out on top.
And take those down who’ve done us, and the ones we love, wrong.
“I still can’t believe all of that actually worked,” Porter says as he sets down a round of drinks for everyone at the long tablein the middle of the bar. Except me. I don’t drink. I tried a few times in college, the first being on my twenty-first birthday.
I puked for two days. Just hearing the word Jägermeister makes my body shake.
I tried again, but I just don’t think alcohol agrees with me. And why would you do something that’s not working for you? If it’s not broke, don’t fix it. That’s my motto. Which is why I stick with cranberry and club soda with a lime. It’s quite refreshing.
“Everyone, I’d like to propose a toast.” My brother Simon stands up and holds his glass of bourbon in the air. “To Quinn and Porter. May this be the worst thing your relationship will have to endure and from here on out it will be nothing but smooth waters. And to my family, can we please not do this again? I’m getting too old for this shit. Cheers!”
Everyone at the table laughs as we clink glasses and take sips of our drinks.
“I kind of don’t want it to be the last time,” Stella, the baby of the family, says. “It’s fun creating diabolical plans and making assholes realize that karma is, in fact, a bitch.”
