Fuck Lincoln Knight.

There. I said it.

Not many men in my life have made me cry or feel so shitty about myself. Nicolai was one of them, and Lincoln is a close second. But I kind of feel like I have no one to blame but myself. After all, he just wiped pizza sauce off my chin and I had to go ahead and tell him how much I want him. Of course he was going to jump at that chance, he’s a man. And men aren’t about to say no to a pretty girl giving them fuck-me eyes.

And the sex.

Oh, the sex.

It was so fucking good. His big hard body pressing mine against that car, fucking me like the man he is. Hard and deep. No foreplay. Just raw, brutal sex.

It was out of this world.

I don’t regret it. I needed it.

What I do regret is letting him see how much it hurt me when he told me it could be any woman in my position. Basically, I’m nothing special.

That sucked.

I’ve fought my own demons with insecurity for so long after Nicolai. And now, here I am, feeling the same way because of one comment a douchebag man made. And yet, I know deep down Lincoln isn’t Nicolai. He has a good side; if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be helping me.

But dammit.

It hurt what he said.

I’m sitting on my couch, brooding. Ellie invited me over to her house earlier for a few drinks but told me Lincoln would be there as Slater had invited him. I wasn’t going. All we’d do is fight and ruin it for everyone else. Besides, I don’t even want to see him. The worst part? He hasn’t even tried to call. To say sorry. Nothing.

Men don’t say sorry.

Another thing I’ve had to learn the hard way.

A knock sounds at my door, and I look over.

Lucy is at work, but maybe it’s one of her friends. I’ve told all mine that I’m busy.

I get up, putting my glass of vodka down, and walk over to the door, opening it to see Lincoln standing there. He stares at me, as he always does, slowly taking me in, and then he steps forward, curling his hand around the back of my head, and bringing me in until his lips smash against mine. He kisses me and, for a few moments, I’m too stunned to do anything but stand there, not really sure what’s happening.

But his lips. Man. They’re good. They taste like beer, and Lincoln, and fresh fucking air. And I want to taste more of him. So I kiss him back, my hands going up to those big biceps, curling around them, kissing him until both of us are panting. Only then does he pull back and say, “Sorry.”

I blink.

Did he just say ... sorry?

Sorry?

As in an apology?

As in, I’m sorry for hurting you?

I blink.

“What?”

“Only sayin’ it once, sweetheart. Now get your things, you’re comin’ back to Slater’s.”

I blink again.

“What?”

“Didn’t stutter, we’re goin’ back to Slater’s, you and I, together, right now. So get ready.”

I get ready.

I’m not about to say no. Hell no I’m not. Lincoln Knight just came to my door, kissed me, and said sorry. Now he’s taking me back to Slater’s, with him. Together. I’m a sassy, smart-mouthed girl when I want to be, but I’m not stupid. When a man apologizes and makes this effort, you damn well shut your mouth, be appreciative, and accept it.

Or I promise you they’ll never do it again.

I rush upstairs and get changed in the quickest time ever, then I run a brush through my hair, thankful it is always really nice, I’m lucky like that, and then rush back downstairs. Lincoln is still waiting, this isn’t a dream, and we’re going out. I’m not entirely sure why my tummy is stirring? Lincoln and I barely see eye to eye, but I could swear my body is telling me something different, that maybe there is something, that maybe ... Lincoln and I have a thing.

Then I stop and frown.

Last time my body told me that, it ended really badly for me.

I read it wrong.

So wrong.

And I ruined my own life.

Maybe Lincoln doesn’t like me at all, maybe he’s just being nice because he’s helping me and we need to get along.

“Stop fuckin’ thinkin’ and let’s go. It’s all good.”

I revert my eyes to his and hold them. Be smart, Shania. You don’t have to do anything silly, just be smart. Act normal. Be normal. You made a mistake once, doesn’t mean you’re going to make it for the rest of your life. Lincoln is being nice, and he’s doing the right thing. Accept it, and be done with it.

The end.

“Yeah, let’s go.” I smile, walking out the door and toward his truck.

“You’re fine, I’ll lock it,” he mutters behind me.

“Thanks!” I call.

He snorts, and then joins me in the truck.

I try not to stare at him as we drive toward Slater’s place. But it’s hard. He smells so damned good. And his arms are bulging out of his shirt. And his skin is so bronze. And oh fucking god, I’m crushing on fucking Lincoln.

This is why you don’t screw men, because you get attached to them, even if you really don’t want to. It’s like your body goes hey, we had sex, let’s like him, a lot.

No.

Dammit.

I focus on the road.

What is wrong with me? My brain has some sort of glitch, I’m sure of it.

Or maybe Lincoln and I have a weird connection, I mean, we have spent a lot of time together. Sure, it’s mostly fighting, but it’s time all the same.

Stop.

Dammit.

I grit my teeth and think of something else, anything else.

“So which girl made you come over and say sorry?” I say, looking to him.

I’m only teasing, but I’m hoping to redirect my thoughts right about now.

“Charlie.”

Oh.

I feel like I’ve been slapped. I was only joking, I didn’t actually think he got told by someone to say sorry to me. So he wasn’t going to say it, he got told to say it. That changes everything, and the soft feeling that was fluttering around in my chest crashes into my gut and frustration takes its place. I honestly thought he was being genuine when he turned up at my doorstep. I thought he meant it.

But he was told to do it.

If he wasn’t told to do it, rather simply, he wouldn’t have.

I look out the window.

God dammit.

That’ll teach me for feeling anything.

Ever.

~*~*~*~