Page 58 of Good Girl’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #4)

linc

Linc

What am I bringing for dinner tonight?

Ainsley Mae

Hmmm…let’s do something different.

We’re breaking away from chicken tenders? I feel like this is a definitive step in our relationship.

It really is. But, and I never thought I’d say this, but I think I’m tendered out.

Fair enough. You name it, and I’ll bring it.

You want me to make a food decision on the fly?

We all have to do hard things. I believe in you.

People always think that the football season is a grind, and it is, don’t get me wrong. We’re only in Week 5 and my body is already starting to feel some mid-season soreness. However, the good part of the season is the regimen. Every day I know what I’m supposed to be doing.

And every Monday is the same.

Treatments, lifting, meetings, film review. An early day wrapped up around three o’clock.

Then it’s off to my favorite part of every Monday—taking Ainsley food at work and sharing her break with her.

Yes, it might have started to remind Dipshit that I’m here and he needs to back the fuck away from her, but it’s now become part of our weekly routine.

And since we had an away game yesterday, and I didn’t get back until after midnight last night, I haven’t seen her since Friday.

And that’s just way too long.

Hmm…okay…can we do Mexican? If that’s okay with you.

Look at that! I’m so proud of you. And you never have to ask me if Mexican is okay. The answer is always yes. I could eat a burrito every day and never get tired of it.

Good to know. I really just want chips and queso. But I feel like just ordering chips and queso is wrong, like I’m cheating the system, so I’ll get a burrito too.

Ainsley, what do you really want?

The largest chips and queso on the menu. And like one taco.

Then that’s what you’ll get. See you in a few hours.

Can’t wait. But, and I meant to text earlier, but a baby decided that it wanted to be delivered immediately, are you okay?

I let out a deep sigh, running a hand through my hair in frustration as I sit in front of my locker.

Headlines on a Monday morning should be all good, especially when you have another game with a touchdown.

But somehow, and completely out of left field, a headline sprang up today in a national publication that I didn’t see coming.

Linc Kincaid’s season might be off to hot start. But let’s not forget the man he is.

The column was a hit piece. Painted me in the worst light possible. Brought up shit that I hadn’t thought about in years.

The problem is nothing in it was wrong. Every one of the things that the clickbait columnist wrote happened in my life. I just thought it was all finally in the past.

He pointed out my past history of fighting.

Somehow got confirmation of the fights that I used to get back in high school, which I have no idea who he talked to that knew about those.

And of course, he brought up the infamous fight that ended my draft prospects and kept me a bouncing around as a practice squad player for most of my career.

He even went into detail about how I started boxing in the off season to make some money, which hardly anyone knows about.

As he put it, “once a fighter, always a fighter. So when will we see this side of Linc Kincaid again?”

The man knew everything. And I don’t know how.

He didn’t interview me. He didn’t reach out to the media relations team here or any of the coaches.

Everything was attributed to a “source who knows Kincaid well,” but for the life of me, I don’t know who could go by that title and want to see me painted in that light.

Needless to say, it motivated me for a hell of a workout today. But now I just want to put it behind me, go have dinner with Ainsley, and then maybe, if I’m lucky, have her for dessert later.

Yeah. I’m fine. Katie says she’s taking care of it. And the team’s communications team is doing some digging for me. It’s just…I didn’t do anything, and shit like this is still popping up.

I’m so sorry. What can I do?

Nothing. Just be you, and when I bring you food tonight, pretend it’s a normal Monday. Tell me all about whatever craziness your siblings are up to, and I’ll tell you the shenanigans from the road trip.

That I can do.

And…I meant to tell you about all of this. I want to. My past. More than the column went into. It’s just…I hate talking about it.

Whenever you’re ready, I’m here. Always. But also know, whoever you were then is not the man I know today. I know that. Your teammates know that. So everything else? It’s just a bunch of crap.

Only Ainsley can say the word “crap” and make me smile enough to almost snap me out of my funk.

Crap? That’s a borderline bad word, Ainsley Mae.

If you think that’s bad, you should’ve heard what was going through my mind many times last week.

Woman…are you trying to kill me?

Me? That doesn’t sound like something I would do. But I have to go. See you soon.

I’ll get extra queso.

Best “boyfriend” ever!

I stare at the last message she sent, the quotation marks around boyfriend sticking out like a sore thumb.

Obviously she put them there on purpose.

The purpose is me. I’ve been the one saying all along that I couldn’t give her more than this.

But every day I spend with her—every time I kiss her, every time I taste her, every time she’s in my orbit—I refuse to think about what’s going to happen at the end of this season when she’s not part of my life anymore.

And I hate it. I hate it so fucking much.

“It’s one headline man, don’t let it get to you.”

I snap out of it when I hear Maddox and feel him slap me on the shoulder. “Oh. Yeah. It’s bullshit. I talked to Coach. He knows it’s bullshit too.”

Maddox takes a seat in front of his locker, which is just a little down from mine, but we’re the only two still here besides the coaches and a few players working out with the physical therapists.

“Do you know why he wrote it?”

“No fucking clue,” I say. “It’s not so much that. The thing that’s bugging me is that the writer kept saying that everything was coming from a someone close to me. But I have no idea who the hell that is, and if they are, why they’re trying to do me like this?”

“Damn, really?” Maddox shakes his head a little. “Is it anyone from the team?”

“Not that I can think of,” I say. “Wyatt is the only one who really knows everything about my past. You know the next amount, but I don’t think it was everything that was written.

And the only one who has it out bad enough for me to plant that shit is Rockwell, but again, he’d have to be working with someone to find out about some of those things that happened almost fifteen years ago. ”

The reporter did his homework. He described a fight I got in at school where I bashed a kid’s head into the pavement.

I was thirteen. What he left out was that it was the first day of school after my parents died, and the kid called me an orphan.

I snapped. But again, no one knows that part.

Hell, only a few knew about that fight. Whoever his source was, they know every one of my skeletons. Even ones I thought were buried.

Shit, are there more that I’ve forgotten about? I’m not a paranoid guy, but I can’t help but feel it right now.

“Well, we all have your back,” Maddox says. “I know if any one of the guys here are asked about you, they’re going to tell the truth—that you’re a hell of a teammate and the past is the past.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. I just hope they don’t ask Rockwell.”

Maddox waves my comment off. “Fuck that guy. I hope the rumors are true, and he gets traded. He’s a cancer in the locker room. Plus, he doesn’t have the karaoke voice you have.”

I laugh at Maddox’s successful attempt to turn my mood around. “That was a crazy night.”

“It was,” he says. “Speaking of, how is Miss Ainsley?”

“Good. Really good,” I say as I start gathering my things into my duffel bag. “Actually heading to the hospital now to see her.”

“Really? Mind if I tag along?” Maddox asks as he grabs his bag from his locker. “And I’m not trying to kill your vibe; I just like to go do some impromptu visits every now and then.”

“For real?”

He shrugs it off like it’s not a big deal as we make our way out of the locker room. “I hate seeing those kids like that. Most days, what they have to look forward to is hopefully not getting worse. If I can swing in and brighten some spirits? It’s the least I can do.”

This man is a fucking enigma. One minute he’s bedding half of Nashville and the next he’s making secrets visits to a children’s hospital. He’s the one columnists should be writing about, but instead of his football prowess, they should be talking about what the hell goes on in his head.

“That’s fucking awesome,” I say patting him on the back. “I usually take dinner to her and we eat on her break. If you don’t mind making a stop for food, you’re more than welcome. And maybe I can do some visits after?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says. “And did I hear dinner? What are we getting?”

I laugh as we get our bags and make our way out of the locker room. “She wants Mexican. Specifically queso.”

“Fuck, yeah, I want Mexican,” he says. “Grab me a steak quesadilla. But I’ll eat it later. I’d hate to interrupt date night.”

“It’s not date night,” I say as I pull my phone out of my pocket and find the closest Mexican restaurant to the hospital so I can put in our order and pick it up on the way. “It’s just what we do on Mondays.”

“Yes. Exactly. Monday night date night. It’s quite adorable.”

“You’re an ass,” I say, taking a second to make sure I order my entree, the largest order of queso possible, salsa in case she wants it but forgot to tell me, extra chips because that feels like the safe move, and a taco.

Except she didn’t tell me what kind. Better get a chicken and a beef, just to be safe.

“So how are things going with you two?” Maddox asks as we get into my car.

“All good. We’re getting into a groove. You know, with football season and all.”

“And is this still a fake relationship, or are you two actually dating?”

I shoot him a look, and I can’t hide the shock on my face. “You know?”

“Of course I know,” he says. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

I let out a breath. “I assumed you didn’t. You never said anything.”

“I know when to keep my mouth shut,” he says. “I realized pretty quickly at karaoke that it was a swing in and save the girl moment. Which, maybe I should’ve done it. Maybe Ainsley could be my girl right now.”

I grip the steering wheel tighter and don’t care about keeping my eyes on the road so I can shoot daggers his way. “Back the fuck off, Gallagher.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I’d never now, man.

That’s your girl. I saw the way you were looking at her after the last home game.

How you made sure to FaceTime her before we got on the plane to come home yesterday.

You might still think this is just for show, but newsflash, my tall, pass-catching friend, you’re done for. It’s time to accept your fate.”

“I’m not done for,” I argue as I make the easy drive from our facility to the Mexican restaurant. “Ainsley and I know where each other stand. Everything you’re seeing is part of the act.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Maddox says as I pull into the restaurant. “I’ll go get the food. You think about it. And when I come back out, maybe you’ll realize you’re in deeper than you realize.”

Maddox jumps out of my car, but what he doesn’t know is that I don’t need a moment. I know exactly what I am.

Fucked. That’s what I am.

Ainsley is perfect in every way.

Hell, I think I started falling for her the second she ran into me.

But that doesn’t change who I am. And maybe, if things were going good, I’d be able to think that I’m not who I was. But then there are articles like today that remind me that the guy I was is never far away.

That’s who I am. Who I’ll always be.

And that man isn’t good enough for Ainsley.

So I’m going to take what I can get. Keep being the “boyfriend” and the selfish bastard who holds her as she comes apart in my arms. All while knowing that the only woman I’d ever let in is the one woman I have to keep out.

“Oh shit,” Maddox says as he climbs back in. “You really are done for, aren’t you?”

I nod, because there’s no use denying it. “So fucking screwed my man. So fucking screwed.”