Page 10 of Chronicles of a Rockin' Mess

But I’m cut off when he presses his lips against mine. They are warm and hard against mine. I can taste his minty breath. I’m frozen for a second before I reluctantly pull back, blinking up at him in total shock.

“Lincoln? What? We can’t. No,” I stammer.

“Lark, listen, I—” he starts.

I jump out of the bed. “No. We can’t do that,” I say. I fight every fiber in my being that wants this, wants nothing more than this. But not like this, not with a concussion, not a sympathy fuck, and certainly not with my boss.

“I’m just going to go sit up front for a while. I-I’ll see you later,” I say as I walk out to the front cabin.

I take a seat by Savannah and put my headphones on as I try to process what just happened. Eventually, exhaustion overtakes me, and I fall asleep.

Chapter 6

Imoan as I roll over in bed to see who has just texted me. Yeah, I know it’s Lincoln. It’s always freaking Lincoln. We haven’t even been back two weeks, and he’s already gone and gotten himself a new girlfriend. Plus, ever since our weird plane incident, he’s been acting strange around me. I should really just talk to him about it, but instead, I haven’t said anything, and I let him act like a total ass twenty-four seven. I need to stop being a chickenshit and just talk to him.

“Breakfast” is all the text says. I roll my eyes and sigh.

It’s seventy thirty in the morning, which means his royal supreme leader just finished an early morning workout with Daryll Müther, his trainer. It is the only reason Lincoln gets up before eight in the morning, well, that and because his publicist has scheduled him on a morning show, which he loathes.

I peel myself out of bed and walk to the kitchen. I don’t bother brushing my teeth, showering, or anything else for that matter. Yes, I have to pee like a motherfucker, but, if Lincoln has to wait on his morning protein smoothie, all hell will break loose, and I’d rather not start off my day with that.

“Here,” I say as I walk into his bathroom and hand him his smoothie over the shower door, doing my best not to peek at his exquisite naked body on the other side.

“I need you to double check all the hotels for the next leg of the tour today. I also need you to make sure they fixed that shirt issue. I almost busted out of that thing in Paris. Oh, and write back Gwen and tell her I do not want to do that morning show next week,” he says.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” I respond as I head out and to my room. After peeing, showering, and basically getting my shit together, I head down to the office and start handling all of his requests.

I’m not sure how much time has passed, but he calls me up to his room.

“Sexy song,” he demands. I sigh. This is our game, ever since I came in to find him trying to find the right sex music my second week on the job. Honestly, at this point, I can’t tell if he completely sucks at picking out sex music, or if he actually is a genius at it, and he just likes messing with me.

I take his phone and scroll through the music. I tap on With or Without You by U2.

He shakes his head. I sigh. I tap Truly Madly Deeply by Savage Garden.

“Give me that,” he says with a sigh. He turns on Everlasting Love by Love Affair. I give him a “really” look.

“I’m sorry, Gretchen isn’t going to appreciate anything pre-Spice Girls,” I tell him. “Give me that.”

I take back the phone and put on Rich Love by OneRepublic and Seeb.

“Fine, it’ll do,” he says, taking the phone back from me. His finger touches mine for a split second, and I swear he leaves it there on purpose as though he’s battling a demon.

I look up at him. “You OK?” I ask.

He looks at me intently. “Yeah, I…yeah,” he mutters. He turns away from me and runs a hand through his hair.

“I heard you sing,” he says quietly.

I frown not understanding what the hell he’s talking about. When I don’t speak, he continues.

“At the concert, you got on stage with Magnolia Tear,” he clarifies.

“Oh,” I manage. “I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have done that when I was working.”

He turns and looks at me. “You always said you were bad at singing. I never went to hear you play at one of those coffee shops because I thought you’d be embarrassed. But, Lark, my little birdie, you are amazing. Your voice is…why are you here still?” he finally asks. His use of his nickname for me almost breaks me down into telling him that I’m here because I’m in love with him.

I pause, unsure of what to say.

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