Page 15 of Blindsided

Trevor blinked. “Who’s Franklin?”

I laughed at myself. “I combined Francis and Lincoln. It worked in my head.”

Brax smirked, his eyes rolling back at the same time. “You are so fucking dramatic.” Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned toward me. “But you’re right about my dad being right. As much as it pains me to admit, the man gives good advice and has never led me astray.”

Trevor giggled at his boyfriend’s words. “That had to have been hard to say. I’m thirty-two and still refuse to admit my parents give good advice.”

Brax pushed at Trevor’s shoulder. “Behave yourself, or I’m going to be tucking you in for a nap.”

Trevor shuddered. “That’s not as fun as what I wanted to do.”

“And on that note!” I slapped my hands on my thighs as I made to stand up. “I’m going to shower and get out of here. Mind if I borrow a car for the evening?”

Brax and Trevor both laughed at my reaction, but Brax stood up and headed to the wall by the back door where the keys to their vehicles hung. “Take my car. It will be easier to fit in the garages downtown.”

“Thanks.”

He nodded firmly. “Anytime.” Sobering, he dropped his voice and leaned forward to speak quietly. “Seriously, hear him out. Time changes people. Who knows what he was dealing with.”

I tried to sound indifferent but ended up shaking my head. “Sure, but time doesn’t change the fact that he gave me a completely different name.”

Brax shrugged. “Hear him out. Don’t let a past hurt fuck up your future. At least he’s the owner, not the GM or head coach. Odds are my dad will be talking with him a lot more than you will.”

Brax’s words got me through my shower and into the car. They played on repeat until I handed the car keys to the valet and walked in to find Lincoln in a secluded section of the fancy restaurant in a suit and tie that was more appropriate for a gala than a dinner between… I didn’t even know what to call us.

Not even three days earlier, I would have called us history, but watching him anxiously flipping the butter knife over and over while he waited for me had memories of college coming to the surface. Nervous, awkward conversations in our rooms. More awkward scenes early on in our discoveries. The anxiety of going too far or not far enough.

Watching Lincoln as I made my way toward his table, none of that felt like history. It felt like it had just happened, was still happening. Instead of fond nostalgia, frustration built inside me with every step.

By the time I’d closed the distance, I was reminding myself of Tom and Brax’s advice. “Hear him out, hear him out, hear him out.” The words played on repeat in my brain the last ten steps I took until my shadow crossed in front of him and he raised his head to look at me.

Truly taking him in for the first time, I had to admit he’d only become more gorgeous since college. His black hair had grown slightly on the top and he’d shaved the sides. He’d used something in his hair because the waves that had always been unruly in college were gelled into perfect finger waves, not a single hair out of place. In the low lighting, the single candle flickering in front of him on the table made his dark eyes dance.

Fear, uncertainty, and confusion played across his face, little lines of tension creased the corners of his eyes, and he struggled to meet my gaze. He swallowed hard then uttered a single word. “Easton.”

CHAPTER 7

LINCOLN

I still couldn’t believe I’d agreed to meet Easton for dinner. It had been nerve-racking waiting for him to arrive, but once he had, I wished I’d had more time to prepare myself.

Eight years, nearly to the day, since I’d seen him last and he still had the ability to make my heart skip a beat. The years had changed him. He wasn’t the young man I’d known in college. Scars marked his cheeks—at least what I could see of them around his long, full beard. He’d barely had ginger scruff back when he’d been drafted. Now it was so long it covered his neck. His hair had been slicked back, though not necessarily styled.

He still had a thing for tight-fitting T-shirts. The black one he was wearing fit him like a glove and hugged his chest, stomach, and arms. The sleeves stopped high on his biceps and accentuated the numerous tattoos he’d added to his arms over the years. The wooden St. Andrew’s cross on his forearm was still there, though it had faded and an intricate devil-like figure had been added to the cross.

I hoped the devil didn’t represent me.

After too long, I looked him in the eyes. They were still a piercing blue but lacked the warmth I remembered from so long ago. They were cold, his expression closed off and his jaw set. “Lincoln? Or is it Francis?” Even his voice held a chill that made me want to wrap my arms around my body despite the restaurant being a touch warm.

I had to force myself to gesture toward the chair he was standing by. “I deserve that.”

He sat but didn’t say anything. A thought that he would have made a fantastic business negotiator flitted through my brain. I would not have wanted to be facing off against him in a deal. Unfortunately, where we’d found ourselves was probably worse than a negotiation. I had to find a way to not only talk to him but also to make him want to be the assistant coach.

If Daisy had hammered anything into my head when I’d mentioned I was having dinner with Easton, it was that I needed to get my shit together and grovel if I had to.

The tension had built so high I started to squirm before Easton finally spoke. “So who are you?”

Straight to the point. “Francis Lincoln Lewis-Barrington. Second in line to Barrington Holdings.”

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