Page 80 of Strictly the Worst

He strums his guitar and the drums kick in and fifty thousand fans start to throw themselves around the sound of their favorite band.

Even in the VIP area it’s getting a little violent. Linc slips his arms around me protectively.

“What was that about?” he asks. I can’t tell from his voice if he’s annoyed or amused.

“Just something I said in the VIP room.”

“Well I’m glad it’s not only me who gets the brush off.” His voice tickles my ear.

I turn to look at him. “You didn’t get the brush off in Exuma.”

He grins. “No I didn’t.”

Then he slides his lips down my neck to the dip of my shoulder, and I spend the rest of the concert in some kind of messed up haze.

CHAPTER

TWENTY

TESSA

“I’m taking you home,” Linc says after the show as we walk through the sultry evening air. Zoe’s friends are with their parents now, so I only have to keep an eye out for her. There are people everywhere. A group of girls walk past us singing a Linebacker song. They’re wearing Linebackers football jerseys and giggle all the way.

“Don’t be silly.” I smile at him. “We can take the subway.”

“My car is right there,” Linc says, pointing to the corner of the parking lot. “The trains are gonna be jammed. It’ll take you hours to get home.”

“Mom,” Zoe says, frowning at me. “Don’t make me ride the subway when this nice man is offering to drive us.”

I glance at Linc. He’s grinning because Zoe called him a nice man.

She’s also wearing a Linebackers t-shirt, signed by the band. Linc arranged for each of the girls to get one.

“Please let me take you home,” Linc says, his eyes still not leaving mine. “Otherwise I’ll have to go party with the band.”

“The band wants you to party with them?” Zoe asks, her mouth dropping open. “Like one of those all night debauched things?” She leans closer, as though she’s expecting more information.

“Yes. And I don’t want to.” Linc’s talking directly to Zoe now, and she’s smiling up at him. Damn, the old Salinger charm works perfectly on thirteen-year-olds, too. “But I want to go to bed with a cup of cocoa and a good book. So please do me a favor and let me drive you both home.”

Zoe looks torn. Knowing somebody who parties with the band is extra kudos. But she also has that selfish gene that most teenagers do.

“I mean, you do look tired,” she concedes.

“I’m exhausted.” He nods, his expression totally serious.

“And you got us the tickets, so I should probably do you the favor.” She’s still teetering between her two desires. I’m trying not to smile.

He shakes his head. “No, that’s not how it works. The tickets were a gift. You said thank you. You don’t owe me anything else.”

Zoe blinks. “I don’t?”

“No. And do me a favor. When you’re older, if a guy takes you to dinner or gives you a gift, remember you don’t owe him anything either.”

Oh. My. God. Salinger is giving dating lessons to my thirteen year old. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

The thing is, I like that he’s making the distinction. How many times when I was younger did I go out for dinner with a guy and feel bad for not putting out after?

“I’d always pay half,” Zoe says and Linc smiles and nods.

---