Page 101 of Roses in Summer

Lincoln stands up, tucking himself away before zipping his jeans and pulling his shirt back into place. I stare at him as he adjusts, my mouth watering at the expanse of tattoos on his skin, the collection I now know is meant for me, and the way his jeans hang low on his hips. One look at him, and it’s easy to see why his parents encouraged him to model for as long as they did.

But on closer inspection, the calluses on his fingers and the roughness of his hands show that he’s every inch the chef he was always destined to be.

“Ciern, you look like you want me to make good on my threat and toss you over that table.” He steps into me, putting his hands on my hips to pull me forward.

I shake my head and grip his wrists, stilling his playful movements. “No. We need to go back downstairs now. My shift is probably over anyway, not that I did much today.” I raise a single brow at him, clearly blaming him for my lagging work ethic today.

“Hey.” He squeezes my hip. “No regrets, though, right?”

“Do I regret having sex in the library where I work? No.” I shake my head before continuing, “But I also know that it was the least professional thing I’ve ever done.”

He smirks down at me. “Fair enough. Let’s go, ciern.”

—

“May knows. Oh my god. May knows.”

“She probably doesn’t. Maybe she suspects, but I doubt she knows.”

“Did you see the look on her face when we walked back down? Her left eyebrow was raised, and her lips were pursed. She knows, Lincoln. God, I’m going to get fired.” He has the nerve to laugh at me as we walk through the parking lot to his car. “Lincoln, I’m serious.”

“I know you are, but I think you’re fine. She gave me a wink as we left, so even if she suspects something—which I’m sure she doesn’t—she’s fine.”

“I could die of embarrassment. Lincoln—what are you doing?” His hands grip my waist, pushing me into a large oak tree.

“Don’t you ever joke about dying, Seraphina. It’s not funny.” All the humor from moments ago leeches from his voice, and I’m left staring at a very stern Lincoln. His green eyes burn with their intensity, and I nod.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he repeats, eyes flitting between mine. He’s about to speak when drops of water fall between us. Looking up, I see angry clouds move overhead and hear the patter of the drizzle on the pavement. Rain falls around us, and Lincoln releases a small laugh, the humor returning to his voice. “Let’s get you home, Seraphina.”

He releases my waist and grabs my hand, pulling me as we run toward the parking lot and our parked cars.

The rain transforms from a drizzle to heavy pellets by the time we make it, and I dive inside, surprised when Lincoln opens the passenger side door and slips into my car. “Didn’t you drive here?”

“Did you seriously leave your car unlocked after everything that’s happened in the last month?” Angry Lincoln is back, and honestly, I’m getting whiplash at his frequently changing tone.

“It makes it easier to get in.”

“Yeah.” He draws out the word as though I’m stupid. “That’s exactly my point.”

Scowling at him, I turn the conversation back to his car. “What are you going to do about your car?”

“Leave it here.”

My brows furrow at his explanation. “But you’ll get a ticket.”

“Okay. I’ll pay it online.”

“But—”

“Seraphina, let’s drive home before the rain gets too heavy.”

With my key in my hand, I point at him. “Stop giving me orders, Lincoln Simmons.”

“Start being more concerned with your safety,” he fires back.

Giving him one last eye roll, I turn my attention back to my car and slip my key into the ignition, twisting it until the rumble of the engine fills the space. Looking behind me, I back out of the space slowly, careful not to move too fast and risk hydroplaning in the summer storm. With my face still turned, I slam on my brakes when, out of nowhere, a blacked-out Ford Mustang speeds into the lot, not slowing down or accounting for me pulling out of my spot.

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