Talkin' Trash
Page 12

“You owe me,” he said.
That was true…but I didn’t owe him this!
No good could possibly come from this, I just knew it.
“Come on,” Linc cajoled. “You told me at lunch that you didn’t hate me.”
It was the lip that he curled downward into a pitiful pout that had me wavering.
I frowned. “I don’t hate you, Linc. But, I don’t particularly like being in the spotlight, which because of your job and who you are, is exactly where I’ll be.” I looked down, then without meeting his eyes, I whispered my biggest fear. “I also don’t want to be screwed over in the end. You may not intend to hurt me, but I just know that you will.”
He glowered. “I’d never, ever hurt you.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Your words hurt me when I thought we were going to have something. You didn’t mean to hurt me, but you still did. That’s what I’m saying. It’s inevitable. You won’t even mean to do it, but it will happen. And I don’t think pretending to be your fiancée will help anything. The media isn’t stupid—they’ll know if we’re faking. They follow you around enough that they’ll notice if I’m not around. It’s not something we can just say and not do.”
He crossed his arms. “I never said that I didn’t want to have a relationship with you, because I do. You may not be my fiancée, but you’ll damn well be my girlfriend.”
I snorted. “I won’t be your girlfriend.”
I couldn’t.
I’d barely recovered from having him pull out of my life so abruptly last time. If he did it again, I would for sure never recover.
Which was why I’d never let him get that close again.
A person knew their limits, and my limit was Linc James—or at least what he made me feel.
“Linc…” I stood up.
He did, too.
I felt a shiver run down my spine.
“It’ll be fine,” he promised, coming closer.
I didn’t believe him.
But that smile of his did me in every time.
All he had to do was curl those perfect lips upward and aim that smile at me, and I was putty in his hands.
“There are ground rules,” I relented.
He whooped in excitement. “You’ll do it?”
“I’ll be your pretend girlfriend,” I amended. “And nothing more than that.”
He studied me for a long few moments, and then that stupid smile of his slowly lit up his face again.
“We’ll see,” he challenged.
I shook my head. “We won’t see anything. I’m giving you three months. I have one more final to take tomorrow, and I’m off for the summer. In the fall, we have a public break-up, and by that point, they’ll be able to see that we’re not having a child together…deal?”
I offered him my hand, and he took it, but didn’t let go as he said, “I’m going to try really hard to change your mind.”
I smirked at him. “You won’t.”
Chapter 8
Wait for someone that tells strangers about you.
-Text from Conleigh to Linc
Linc
Day 1
“I have to go to an end of the year banquet,” he said. “I need you to come with me.”
“Why?” she asked, sounding tired.
I looked at my watch and frowned. “Why do you sound like something the cat dragged in?”
She snickered. “Because I am?”
“Con…” I hesitated. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she murmured. “I just came into work after studying all night long for my final.”
“I thought that you had the day off?” I muttered. “We were supposed to go on our first date today.”
“Our first fake-date,” she corrected me. “And I’m sorry, but I’ll have to cancel. They called me into work because that stupid stomach flu is going around the ER employees. They offered me a bonus if I came, and since I can always use the money, I agreed. Only, I’m tired as hell from staying up all night, hungry because I didn’t get a chance to eat lunch before I went in, and mentally worn out from staying on alert to avoid stupid Tyson who was following me around all shift.”
I found my heartbeat accelerating at hearing about that little prick doing anything to her—even following her around or looking in her direction.
“Oh,” I sighed. “I’ll cancel my reservations then. Do you have time to talk about the banquet, or do you need to go?”
She murmured something to someone who must have been near her, and then I heard what sounded like wind. Was she outside?
“Sorry, I went out the ambulance entrance. Give me two shakes to get around the building. They have a helicopter here waiting for a transport.” She huffed, sounding out of breath.
The wind in the background sounded murderous, and I wondered who the pilot was that was flying them out.
Ezekiel was a pilot for the local flight crew, Angel Transport. Zee was also one of the original members of the club, right along with Bayou—our club president.
Zee was a jack of all trades and had three jobs. Full-time he worked for both Angel Transport as their helicopter pilot, and he was also a member of the bomb squad that was utilized—should the need ever come up—by all the law enforcement agencies in the surrounding area. He also worked part-time, picking up shifts at the sheriff’s department—usually on weekends—to keep up his peace officer’s license.
Oh, and let’s not forget on the days he wasn’t working he painted, tattooed and was generally an artistic motherfucker.
The roar of the wind grew quieter on the other end of the line, and I assumed that she’d made it around the building.
Needless to say, Zee was an overachiever.
My assumption was answered moments later when she said, “Okay. There. What’s up?”
“There’s a banquet I have to go to this weekend, and I was hoping you’d be able to go with me,” I repeated my earlier comment.
“Oh,” she paused. “Is it formal?”
Why did I get the feeling that she was repeating “please don’t be formal” in her head while she waited for my reply?
I grinned. “Formal.”
She growled in frustration.
“Linc,” she whined. “You know I don’t wear dresses.”
I knew what I was about to say was a low blow, but it was a hundred percent true.
“You wore a dress for Tyson McFuckface,” I countered, sounding hurt.
And I had been hurt…at the time. But it was more than obvious to me now that she’d only worn the dress because of me, and not McFuckface like she’d implied.
“Shit,” she breathed. “I’ll have to find someone to help do my hair.”
I frowned. “Do your hair, but not help you find a dress?”
She paused. “I’ll need someone’s help with that part, too.”
I chuckled. “I’ll ask one of the guys who their wife uses. How’s that?”
“I have friends and all, but they’re just about as useless as I am when it comes to girly stuff,” she murmured. “I think Pru might be worse at it than me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with her hair down before, to be honest.”
“Pru?” I asked. “The girl that you work with?”
“Yes,” she answered, sounding surprised. “You remember me talking about her?”
I did. “Yes, ma’am.”
The sound of the wind picked up again, and she groaned. “Ack. I just got sand in my eyes.”
I held the chuckle in, thinking that she might not find her situation as amusing as I did.
Moments later, the roar picked up even more, and the only thing I could hear was Conleigh’s low cursing as if from a distance.
It was at least a minute later before the sound was far enough away that she was able to speak again.
“You okay?” I asked once I could hear her.
“Yes,” she groaned. “I think I got something bad in my eye. It really hurts.”
I felt my stomach flip at the thought of her being hurt.