Page 36 of Roses in Summer

Humming at his response, I change the topic. “How’s the shop doing?” When I first met Wolf, I was starstruck by the notorious MMA fighter and well-known tattoo artist. Now? I call him for an appointment each time I need new ink.

“Busy as fuck. Aubs and Trent are on leave until the baby is six months, so I’m stuck with this drill sergeant for another two months.”

“I’m not that bad,” Serena’s voice sings, amusement lighting her words. “He’s been telling this to everyone who will listen, so just ignore him because you’ll hear him say this six more times tonight.”

“Princess,” Wolf growls, sounding like his namesake.

Serena draws in her brows and mimics Wolf’s voice. “Wolfric.”

I can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes my mouth at her tone, so unlike the Serena I first met.

Wolf grunts again, throwing a protective arm over the back of Serena’s chair as he leans back, giving me a perfect line of sight to the opposite end of the table, where Greyson and Ava sit… with Seraphina. “Yeah, laugh it up, Cheffy. You’re about to be fucked, and I won’t hide my fucking amusement.”

“Fucking Dante and that nickname,” I grumble, ignoring the rest of his statement. Looking down at my beer, I lift the mug and drain the rest of my drink to the chorus of Wolf’s chuckles.

14

Seraphina

I try to ignore the tidal wave of emotions crashing into me when I spot him, but it’s useless; I’m an untethered buoy. My mouth goes dry at his appearance, and like a parched woman in the desert, I try to drink in his features, cataloging his heavily tattooed caramel skin, full mouth, and eyes so bright it’s like they’re glowing in the dimmed overhead lights. He’s as attractive as I remember him being, just more polished. Instead of the T-shirt and loose jeans I always saw him in, he’s in a light-green linen button-down, the top three buttons undone, showing off the impressive designs all over his chest. His jeans are fitted, molding to his legs to show just how long they are, and his white sneakers gleam. He’s so put together that I have difficulty reconciling his appearance with the backward caps he used to live in.

This version of Lincoln, the adult version that looks like he has his life together, is foreign yet familiar. The clothes are different, but his long strides and emotionless face are etched in my memory, features that I couldn’t forget even if I wanted to.

“Breathe, Sera. You’re going to pass out if you don’t start breathing soon,” Bianca whispers, speaking in a hushed tone. “He’s just a man.”

Referring to Lincoln as “just a man” is like calling the Trevi Fountain “just a fountain” or the pyramids in Egypt “just a pile of rocks.” There are men, some perfectly acceptable and others horrifyingly gruesome, and then there’s Lincoln, who is in a class all his own.

Or, at least, he was. Now? I’m not entirely sure, except my stomach revolts in flutters and nerves as it always did every time we spoke.

Beside me, I feel Ava stand up and turn my head to watch Greyson and Ava embrace Lincoln. From this angle, I don’t have a clear view of his face, and I refuse to humiliate myself by trying to peer around bodies for better sight.

I wait, unable to discern any part of the conversation, until Lincoln’s laugh breaks through the sound of the crowded bar, hitting me full force. I bite my lip, savoring the sound for a moment before I grab my cocktail and take a healthy sip, letting the cold alcohol cool me.

“I’ll have to carry you home if you don’t slow down, Ser.”

“I’m fine, B.”

“You’re not,” she mumbles, grabbing the drink from my hand and placing it back on the table. “Don’t drink your emotions. Eat some food.”

“I’m not hungry,” I whisper, watching Lincoln make his way around the table. He greets everyone with hand slaps or hugs, taking the time to ask each person how they are and listen to their response.

Reaching forward, I’m met with air as Bianca grabs my drink, transferring it to her opposite side. I can reach across her, causing a scene for confiscating my liquid courage, but I don’t, and I won’t.

“Bitch,” I mumble, earning a chuckle from Bianca.

“I won’t let you make a fool of yourself tonight, Ser. You’re already fucked over him, and it’s been five minutes since he walked in.”

“I am not ‘fucked.’” I turn to face her, ripping my eyes from Lincoln as he speaks with Wolf. “I’m just waiting to say hello.”

“You forget, I know you better than you know yourself. We’re womb-mates, after all.”

“We’re not womb-mates. Stop saying that. People will think we’re twins, and you know how annoyed Rafe gets.” Grabbing Ava’s drink, I take a sip and barely hold back the wince from the spice of her spicy margarita hitting my tongue. “My god, that’s spicy,” I sputter, reaching for a glass of water to relieve the burn. “Will you give me my drink back? I don’t need you to be the beverage police.”

“Fine, but only because your face is turning red.” She slides the drink back in front of me, holding onto it for a moment longer. “Just drink slowly, Ser. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“You know, normally, I’m the mature one in these situations. It’s unnerving to have you playing adult. I—” I shut my mouth, not finishing my sentence, as my eyes meet Lincoln’s bright-green gaze.

His eyes quickly avert, but I can’t help but stare as he bends to kiss Bianca before he stands to acknowledge me. I don’t know if my mind is warping my perception of time or if Lincoln is moving as slowly as I think he is, but it seems as though it takes forever for him to approach me.

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