Page 11 of Missing Linc
“You must be crazy. And you must think I’m crazy, too, if I’m letting you drive like that,” he says.
He’s right, of course. I couldn’t drive even if I wanted to. I guess it’s the obligatory drunken “I can drive” thing that all drunk people have got to do when wasted.
“Fine.” I succumb to reason.
He helps me to the bench next to the bar, and it’s only when he lets go of me that I realize he’s been touching me.
“Whoop whoop,” I say.
Crap. Did I say that out loud?
“What was that for?” Linc asks with that smile.
It’s a damn sexy smile. Fuck me sideways.
“No idea,” I lie.
He gets his phone out and taps this and that before he sits next to me, and of course I lean my head on his shoulder. Because I’ve got class and sass.
“That’s right,” I shout.
Shit. I didn’t mean to speak out loud.
“I’m sorry. I would drive you, but I’ve had as many as you, if not more, so that’s probably not wise,” he says.
“You don’t look drunk,” I say as if that’s an excuse for him to get behind the wheel.
He stares at me for a few seconds.
“I feel it. Trust me,” he says, and a car pulls over in front of the bar. “Your cab is here.”
He helps me up.
He’s touching me again. Whoop whoop. Party time.
“Wait. I don’t have cash. Does he take card?” I say when Linc opens the door.
Linc smiles and puts both hands on my shoulders.
“That’s okay. I’m paying for it,” he says.
“Oh no, no, no. I can’t. I—”
“Don’t worry. It’s fine. I’m your director. I’m meant to look after you,” he says.
“Okay then,” I say, and images of him doing just that flood my mind.
Wouldn’t it be great if he offered to take me home and hold me in his arms?
“Goodnight, Cam,” he says.
God, his smile, his lips are sin. And I’m a sinner.
I lean close and take a good, hard taste of them. His beard scratches my face, but damn me if I can pull away.
So good. They taste so good.
No surprise there.
