Page 207 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

Sorry to hear you’re sick, doll

Why don’t you message Linc yourself?

Me

I don’t want to bother him

I watch the screen with a galloping heart, but nothing comes through. I don’t know whether to be thankful or worried. I know I’m going to have to pull up my big girl panties tomorrow, but today, I want to block out the world and hide from my embarrassment.

* * *

Dad’s writing in his office, James is in bed, and I’m sketching on the couch when a soft knock sounds at the front door. I glance at the time. Ten. It’s late for someone to be at the door. Maybe if I ignore it, they’ll go away.

I focus back on my sketch. Even though I didn’t go to work today, I’ve spent the day adding to my portfolio. Lincoln wants to photograph some of my sketches and post them on the studio’s Instagram page to gauge interest. He thinks I’ll be ready to tattoo my first person next month at the rate I’m progressing on the fake skin. I feel giddy thinking about the day I tattoo my first real person.

A louder knock jolts me. Damn. I drop my sketchpad and climb to my feet, then pad to the front door. Looking through the side glass panel, I almost fall on my ass when I see Lincoln standing on my porch, his back to the door.

Shit!

What should I do? Do I ignore him and pretend nobody’s home, or do I face the music?

He knocks again, and I glance over my shoulder.

I don’t want Dad coming to investigate and I guess it’s better to get this over and done with now, instead of at work tomorrow in front of Ken. Pushing my shoulders back, I suck in a deep breath, finding my fortitude. I swing the door open and quickly step outside, quietly closing it behind me. I definitely don’t want Dad to overhear this conversation.

Lincoln spins around, his eyes scanning me from head to toe like he can see what’s going on inside my body, and I realize I look very different from how I dress for work without my teased hair, makeup, and dark clothes. Instead, charcoal leggings hug my hips, and a soft pink sweater falls off one shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” I ask quietly, folding my arms across my body.

He pushes his hand violently through his hair, and his shoulders drop as he releases a harsh breath. “Soph.” My name shatters across his lips almost painfully. “I-I was worried about you. About what happened. I don’t want you to leave. I know how important this job is to you. It’s something you were born to do, and I don’t want to jeopardize that because I couldn’t keep my hands or dick to myself.”

Air leaves my lungs in a whoosh, and the stiffness in my muscles dissipates at his pained expression and the sorrow in his voice. “Lincoln,” I murmur.

“No. Let me finish. I’m incredibly sorry, Sophie. I have no excuse. No explanation for my behavior.” He holds out his hands, palms up. “I’ve never done anything like that before, and I don’t expect you to believe me, but it’s God’s honest truth. I’ve been pissed at myself all day, and I don’t blame you for staying away, but I hope you’ll come back. You’re too talented to give up your dream, and I don’t want to be the asshole who gets in your way.” He steps closer like he can’t bear the distance between us and tilts my chin up. “Sophie,” he says my name with a deep rumble that vibrates through my body and makes a direct hit at my core. “I need to apologize for putting my hands on you. It was inappropriate, and I don’t want you to think I do that sort of thing with my employees. It’s never happened before, and I assure you it won’t happen again. You’re safe working with me.” Well, that’s a little disappointing. “I’m not some handsy asshole who takes advantage of women.” I wouldn’t mind being taken advantage of by him. Sigh.

I nod the best I can with his knuckle supporting my chin. “I know that.” And I do. I’ve never once felt a creepy vibe from him. He scans my face and nods sharply. I expected him to be angry; I never anticipated this, and I’m unsure how to deal with it. I blink quickly and swallow to hold back the sting of tears threatening to escape. “I was always coming back tomorrow. I just needed today to get over my embarrassment,” I whisper into the night.

He moves closer still, like he’s as drawn to me as I am to him, and his familiar cologne wafts around me, easing my anxiety over the situation. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s me who should be embarrassed. I’m old enough to know better, and I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you in a vulnerable moment. It was so far beyond wrong.”

He doesn’t deserve to carry all the burden. I rest my hand over his tattooed forearm, growing more settled now that part of me is touching part of him. “It wasn’t entirely your fault. I was wrong, too.” I drop my eyes from his. “I’m insanely attracted to you, and I wanted what happened between us to happen.” I lick my parched lips. “I’ve wanted it for a while.”

He groans and almost looks defeated as he throws his head back to look up at the night sky. “You can’t say shit like that. I’m trying to do the right thing here, Shortcake.”

I shuffle closer until we’re almost touching. I don’t know where my bravado is coming from, but I grip it with two hands and hold it tight. “The right thing was when you had your head between my legs, and I was crying out your name.”

“Fuck! Don’t do this to me.” He takes a step back and another and another until he’s standing on the grass. “Please come back to work tomorrow. I promise to keep my hands to myself and behave in a strictly professional way.”

Disappointment is a nasty bitch, but I nod. “I’ll be there.”

“Good.” He jams his hands into his front pockets.

“Goodnight, Lincoln.”

“Goodnight, Soph.”

Thirteen

Sophie

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