Page 24 of Firefly Effect

CHAPTER

SEVEN

EVELYN

Images of Lincoln Reed appear on my phone screen with one tap of my finger. He was easy to research, with scholarly articles and interviews all featured on Duke’s website and his biography the same in every place it pops up, full of the boring info he’s already shared. Nothing new. Nothing exciting. Nothing… real.

He seems to have no social media, and I find no trace of him on any local dating groups, nor do I find a drop of information about his daughter’s mother or details about his childhood. The man’s past is a giant mystery, and as much as I know I shouldn’t care, I’m far too curious to pretend I don’t.

I flip to a new photo—this one of Lincoln at a casual dinner with fellow classmates in Durham. He’s wearing a red polo shirt and tan slacks, his beard is much shorter, and he looks far separated from the seemingly pretentious group he’s surrounded by.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Lincoln Reed, it’s that the man is anything but stereotypical. Every time I think I have him figured out, he throws me for a loop, making me second-guess everything.

Sighing, I lay my phone down on the mattress and stare up at the yellow popcorn ceiling of my studio apartment. My thoughts slip back to the last time I saw Lincoln, before I ran out of his office, before I knew one of us had crossed a line. I wasn’t sure who’d caused it, and I wasn’t precisely sure what the line was, but I knew the session had to end.

Lincoln almost had me.

He got me talking, telling him things I’d never told another soul. What I can’t figure out is what possessed me to confess such dirty details about myself.

Then again, I have no reason to feel shameful for my confessions. He’s supposed to be the professional one. I’m the one who needs help. Clearly.

My core aches, remembering the slow rise in the crotch of his slacks when he thought my eyes were completely closed. He thought he could hide it, but I knew the truth—he wanted me.

My breathing goes shallow as I reach between my thighs, into my underwear, to feed the desire I’ve tried my darndest to stifle, the needs that have been growing ever since I laid eyes on Dr. Lincoln Reed, with his thick beard, dark-rimmed reading glasses, incredible body, and insanely gorgeous eyes that always seem to be following me.

Two fingers move from my clit to my slick opening before slipping inside. I tilt my hips to deepen my reach, and a moan escapes me as my eyes flutter closed. All I see is him. My fingers are soaked, my hips working double-time as I imagine Dr. Reed’s cock driving me to infinite bliss. In that moment, there’s no guilt, no timidity, no regret—just my most erotic fantasies firing off an intense series of orgasms that blast through my body and send me floating on a puffy cloud of happiness.

I’m not sure how long it takes me to come down from that high, but I eventually manage to get out of bed and be somewhat productive. I throw a load of laundry in and tidy up, which isn’t hard considering I have one room, save for the bathroom and single closet. I get ready for work by early afternoon and spend the next couple of hours in my uncle’s office, working on next week’s schedule and preparing an inventory list for my upcoming shopping trip.

My shift at the bar starts at four in the afternoon, and as soon as I walk into Firefly, I can see it’s going to be a slow night. There’s only one customer, a man with a black hoodie zipped up with the hood covering his head. He’s sitting in the back corner of the bar, buried in a book and giving off the vibe that he does not want to be disturbed.

My co-worker for the night, Kyle, is currently typing fast and furious on his phone—most likely texting his girlfriend, who hates that he’s working in a bar. They’ve only been dating for a few months, but he’s completely smitten to the point that he almost comes off as a standoffish asshole to the women who sit down to be served by him. He won’t flirt. Hell, he won’t even make eye contact, and it drives them completely mad.

Chuckling to myself, I sidle up to him and start to clean the dirty glasses he’s left in the sink. “Trouble in paradise?”

He doesn’t even look up, just continues to text. “No. Making plans for this weekend.”

I raise my brows. I don’t usually ask about such plans, but curiosity wins out. “What’s going on this weekend?”

He slides his phone into his back pocket and knocks his hip into mine, bumping me aside so he can take over at the sink. “Janessa’s putting together a birthday party for Armando at our picnic spot on Saturday. Live music, swimming, tubing. You know the drill.” He gives me some side-eye. “You should come.”

Instinct has me shaking my head. As much as I love my co-workers, I’ve never felt the need to spend more time with any of them—not to mention, the picnic spot he’s referring to is far too close to the campground I try to stay away from at all costs. Living in such a small town, that’s nearly impossible. Deep Creek is the hub of entertainment around here, so I’ve been back there on occasion but never to camp. That’s where I draw the line.

“I have to get to the market to stock up and then work a double since you all took the day off,” I remind him playfully.

Kyle rolls his eyes. “Whatever, boss. The market opens at six on Saturday and the party will be going on into the wee hours of the night. You can close for a few hours—Armando will be bummed if you don’t at least stop by.”

Somehow I doubt that, but I try not to play into self-deprecating feelings. And he’s not wrong about the possibility of closing down for a few hours. Since we run on such a skeleton crew, we’ve had situations in the past when no one can work, even on a Saturday. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Kyle’s smug smile nearly makes me regret agreeing to even the possibility. Instead of giving into my inclination to take it all back, I swipe the cleaning rag from beside the sink and leave the bar area so I can wipe down the tables. Even if they look clean, I have to Clorox them at the beginning of every shift. Patrick calls this unnecessary and obnoxious. I just call it sanitary.

I’ve only finished three tables when two figures walk through the entrance. “Francine,” I say, surprised to see the older woman here. And then my focus shifts to the little girl beside her. “And Lucy.” My smile goes wide when I see the adorable toddler in her sparkling-pink dress.

“Evie!” Lucy exclaims with a giant wave.

I wave back then toss the rag onto the table I just wiped down and walk over to greet them both. “What brings you two by?”

Francine shrugs, her eyes wide as she examines the bar in one long sweep. “I just picked Lucy up from daycare, and we thought we’d go on a stroll around town. She saw the books in the window and wanted to check it out.”

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