CHAPTER 11 LINCOLN

I should get back to my hotel room.

I've got an early morning tomorrow, and I need to get a good night's sleep ahead of my big speech.

But I don't want to go back. I don't want to face her when all I want to do is take her in my arms and remind her why we were once so good together.

So instead I'm sitting in the lobby bar with my agent, Sean Ryan, listening to him drone on and on about different potential business ventures that really don't interest me, and this is after I spent the last hour schmoozing with the current coach and some players here at the university.

It's got my mind wandering to what does interest me, though.

I've never needed to give much thought to what I want to do after all this.

I make a good living. The offer that came from the Aces was more than generous.

But still, when the time comes and I no longer want to do this anymore, or if I can't…what comes next?

I'm not going to coach until I die. It's a huge commitment to coach at all, and at some point I'll want to do something else. I'll want to retire and maybe travel the world. I'll want some side hustle to keep me busy. Coaches don't get the same kind of time off players do, but we don't put our bodies through what players do, either—and still, most of the players I know have side hustles and other interests.

I've never had a side hustle. What are my other interests?

It's always been football first and football only. I never really had any other interests, hobbies, or talents aside from sports.

I have a degree in business, which is a good background to have as a coach, though I often think psychology would've been a better fit.

Still, neither of those interests really narrow down the field of what comes next.

Broadcasting, consulting, analysis, commentary, executive roles…they're all possibilities.

At thirty-six, I should know the answer to this, shouldn't I?

Instead, I feel like I'm floundering a little.

The goal was always head coaching, and here I am. I've hit the goal. So now what? What comes next?

I have no idea.

Sean has been with me for my entire career. I've known him a long time, and I know he's offering ideas based on what he thinks might interest me.

But the only thing interesting me at the moment is the blonde up in my hotel room.

I can't think about anything else except how her lips felt when they were moving under mine.

"Do you need to practice your speech on me?" Sean finally asks.

I shake my head. I probably should. I haven't shared any of it with anybody yet.

But I don't really want to.

I just want to end this conversation so I can get back upstairs to her before she goes to sleep and it's too late.

Even my own thoughts are confusing where she's concerned. One minute I want to stay down here and avoid her, and the next I want the chance to talk to her to try to figure out what she's thinking.

It's a mystery.

She is a mystery.

"Speaking of the speech, I should head up to bed. I've got an early morning and need to go over everything one more time," I tell Sean. I drain the rest of my whiskey.

"Of course. Thanks for meeting with me. It's always a pleasure."

I nod and shake his hand, and then I stand and head toward the elevators.

My heart races as the car carries me closer to her, and it's downright thundering by the time I unlock the door and open it.

I find a television flashing over a dark room, and when I glance at the bed, I see her snuggled under the covers fast asleep.

On my side of the bed.

I missed my window.

I take a quick shower, resolved to the fact that I'll be sleeping on the wrong side of the bed tonight, and I slip into bed beside her after throwing on a t-shirt and pair of shorts even though my preference is to sleep in just my boxer briefs.

I lie on my right side, facing away from her, but I find I can't fall asleep.

I turn so I'm lying on my left, and the scent of orange blossoms drifts to my nose.

Looks like it's going to be a restless night here in my hotel room.

I guess I fall asleep eventually because my alarm wakes me bright and early at six.

And my arms are around her.

Shit.

She's snuggled into me, her back against my front, my hard cock trying to slip into the sweet nook between her ass cheeks.

Down, boy. I nearly mutter the words aloud.

Instead of gently shifting so I can turn off the offensively loud alarm on my phone, she wakes, feels my cock in her ass, and practically jumps out of bed.

"What the fuck, Lincoln!?" she screams at me.

"What?" I ask, sitting up and rubbing my eyes as I grab my phone to silence the offending alarm.

Her eyes fall to my abs.

Oh, right.

Last night, I got in bed with a shirt on. About an hour later, I ripped the shirt off and threw it on the ground. I was hot. It was restrictive. Boom, sleep.

I glance down, too, and I can't help my smirk when I catch her gaze.

She rolls her eyes. "Please God, don't ask me something cheesy about how I like what I see."

I lift a shoulder. "I wasn't going to ask. The way your jaw dropped tells the whole story."

"You just walk around with those things locked and loaded?"

My brows draw together. "I wouldn't say that, exactly, but I do try to lead my team by example, which means healthy eating and regular workouts during the season."

"You're not in season," she spits at me.

She's got a point, and I'm not sure why we're fighting over my abs. Maybe because it's covering the real thing she wants to fight over, which is my cock seeking entrance to her body. Any hole. I'm not picky.

She wants it, too.

It's futile to pretend she doesn't, to pretend I don't, to act like neither one of us is curious about how it would feel now after years apart, years filled with different experiences for each of us.

But it doesn't matter—not right now, anyway.

I need to get ready for my commencement address.

I hop out of bed and practically run into the shower. My cock is throbbing now between being so close to her and then her getting all feisty on me with those eyes lusting after my abs, and I need to take care of it in the shower. Speaking of locked and loaded, I can't walk around with this thing raring to go all day.

So I give myself a moment of release in the shower. I grab my cock and stroke it, forcing myself not to moan as I pretend it's her hand fisting me in the shower.

I think of her gorgeous eyes, those golden flecks. I think about what it felt like to have her tongue brushing against mine and how it would feel if it was my cock in her mouth instead of my tongue.

I think about sex with her.

I think about all the things, but when the idea of a future where we could freely be together enters my mind, I force it out just as I start to come.

I whisper her name as white come pulses out onto my fist, and just as I'm finishing up and ready to wash it all down the drain the bathroom door opens.

I freeze.

"Did you call me?" her voice asks.

Shit. I whispered it, didn't I?

Apparently not.

"Nope!" I yell, my voice definitely an octave higher than usual as I make sure to face away from the door just in case she can see me with my hand still on my cock, and that's when her eyes meet mine in the mirror.

There's no way in hell she doesn't know what I was just doing to myself.

And maybe I should be embarrassed about that.

Or maybe it's time to finally admit the truth to her—the one that I've finally come to terms with.

I want Jolene Bailey.

Any way I can get her.