Page 38 of Practice Makes Perfect (Pine Barren University #2)

The inside of Declan’s apartment is pulsing—a combination of bass-heavy music, excitable hockey players, and that distinct party scent of spilled beer and too many bodies in one space. I’d normally be fine with this level of energy, but tonight, I’m anxious and clutching my purse strap as we enter.

“You look like you’re about to take the SATs,” Lea says, as if reading my mind. “Relax.”

“I am relaxed,” I lie, smoothing my hands down the black dress I finally settled on after trying on literally every piece of clothing I own.

Lea gives me a look that says she’s not buying it. “You spent an hour changing outfits, which I’ve never seen you do, given you’re annoyingly hot in whatever you wear. And now you’re doing that thing where you look like you’re smiling but you’re actually just showing your teeth.”

I immediately stop said grimace. “I’m just… not myself tonight.”

“Because a certain hockey player will be here?”

“Because I’m dehydrated,” I counter, though there’s no conviction in my voice.

She laughs. “To the kitchen then!”

The path to Declan’s kitchen requires tactical maneuvering through clusters of athletes, sorority girls, and various hangers-on—including several of the girls I heard gossiping about Linc outside the locker room. Thankfully, there’s an army of hockey players for them to feast on.

Already, Rook is telling what appears to be an extremely embellished story to three wide-eyed freshmen girls.

Mike gives Lea and me a wave as he spots us, and actually smiles for once, before returning to his conversation with Declan.

While, for his part, Maine is busy making sure everyone has a drink.

But I don’t see Linc.

Not that I’m looking for him.

The kitchen is marginally quieter, a sanctuary of sorts where I can collect my thoughts.

I pour myself a generous vodka cranberry, my mind deciding as I do that if I’m going to see Linc for the first time since our last lesson—the one where he practically sprinted out the door—I’m going to be full of Dutch courage.

Thankfully, I’m spared further interrogation after Lea spots someone she knows, and I take the moment to myself. After taking a long sip of my drink, I start rehearsing casual conversation starters that I can use later with Linc… if he shows up, anyway.

Hey, remember when you ran out of my apartment like it was on fire?

Nope.

Nice goal today… wanna score with me?

Definitely not.

I’m mid-sip, mid-thought when the kitchen doorway fills with his presence.

Linc.

Oh shit.

Time does that annoying slow-motion thing it does in movies. He’s wearing dark jeans and a simple black button-up shirt with the sleeves pushed up, exposing his forearms. And for the first time I’ve ever seen, he hasn’t shaved, and the stubble along his jaw makes him look older, more rugged.

And shoots straight to the bullseye between my thighs.

Oh shit .

Our eyes lock, and suddenly I’m intensely aware of every square inch of skin that this dress leaves uncovered. And, well, let’s just say that’s a lot of inches. Lea had basically told me to ‘wear it or go naked, because we’re late’, and suddenly I’m realizing there’s not much difference.

And Linc’s eyes confirm it.

His gaze drifts south from my eyes, and then back up again. From my heels, up the curve of my legs, lingering at my hips before continuing upward. By the time he reaches my face, heat has bloomed everywhere his eyes have touched. It’s like he’s already undressed me, memorized me, claimed me.

All without saying a single word.

I set my drink down harder than intended, sloshing red liquid over my fingers. Smooth. He notices too, because the corner of his lips inch up into a smirk, and there’s a twinkle in his eye. But it’s like both of our mouths are frozen, and we’ve forgotten how to talk.

“Hi,” I finally manage, which seems woefully inadequate given the entire novel of subtext passing between us.

He takes a step toward me, and I swear the temperature in the kitchen rises ten degrees with each step. But before he can respond, someone steps directly into my line of sight—a tall, muscular guy with boyish features and a Pine Barrens soccer team hoodie.

“Em, right? Louis’s cousin?” he says.

It takes my brain a moment to shift gears, and realize he’s talking to me.

“Um, yes?” I say. Double smooth.

“I’m Jake Reynolds.” He smiles. “We met at Louis’s party last year.”

“Right,” I lie, having absolutely no recollection of this person.

But, trying to not be rude, I say something vague about it being good to see him, while my eyes dart around trying to locate Linc, who has mysteriously vanished.

“Have you managed to catch a game yet?” Jake inches closer to me, his intentions clear. “Louis is having a great season.”

“She’s been busy rooting for the hockey team,” a voice says from directly beside me, and suddenly Linc’s arm is sliding around my waist, warm and solid.

Squeeeee! My mind helpfully chimes in, even as I lean into his touch.

“That right?” Jake raises an eyebrow, clearly sussing out the unexpected dynamic between Linc and I. “Sorry, Em, I thought you were single and?—”

“All good, man,” Linc chimes in, his tone friendly but with an undercurrent of ‘back off’ that makes my pulse skip.

I’m still unable to form a coherent word, my mind still catching up to his arm.

Around me.

In public.

Squeezing tight.

Double squeeee!

“We’re teaching each other things,” Linc says. “Em’s helping me with French, and I’m helping her with… anatomy.”

I nearly choke on air.

Jake’s eyebrows climb toward his hairline. “No problem, man.” Jake backs away with a knowing smile. “Nice seeing you.”

Once Jake disappears into the living room, I turn within the circle of Linc’s arm to face him. “Anatomy lessons? Really?”

His mouth quirks up at one corner. “Was I wrong?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re stunning,” he counters, his voice dropping to a register that seems to vibrate directly against my skin. “That dress should be illegal.”

“The Pine Barren Fashion Police were busy, so I risked it.”

The smile that spreads across his face makes my knees weak—it’s genuine, reaching his eyes. “God, I’ve missed your mouth.”

“My… mouth?”

“The things that come out of it,” he clarifies, though his gaze definitely lingers on my lips. “No one else sees the world quite like you do.”

The compliment catches me off guard. Most guys comment on my appearance, not on the way my brain works. “ADHD. Makes everything more interesting.”

“Makes you more interesting,” he corrects, his hand still resting on my hip like it belongs there. “So, want a tour of the bedroom?”

Triple squeeee!

This time, my brain is left in the dust, and the word “yes” escapes my lips before my brain can catch up to what my mouth is doing. Linc’s eyes darken at my response, and he smiles like a kid at Christmas, and he takes my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine.

“Follow me,” he says, and suddenly we’re making our way through the crowded party.

I catch Lea’s eyes as we pass, and she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. I send her a look that I hope translates to “I’ll tell you everything later,” though it probably more accurately reads as “Holy crap what is happening help me I’m dying.”

Linc leads me down a hallway, away from the noise and the eyes, and I try desperately to remember how to breathe like a normal human being. My hand in his feels both ordinary and extraordinary at once, like we’ve held hands a thousand times, but each time is still electric.

He opens a door at the end of the hall, glancing over his shoulder with a mischievous spark in his eyes. Then we head inside, and I have approximately two seconds to register the art scattered around the room before Linc’s mouth is on mine.

His hands frame my face, gentle yet urgent, as he kisses me with an intensity that makes my knees weak. It’s not like our previous kisses. This one feels different. Desperate. Real. And when we finally break apart, I’m breathless, dizzy, completely untethered from reality.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I saw you in the stands,” he murmurs against my lips, his fingers threading through my hair.

“That can’t be true,” I say. “You scored two goals. I think that requires at least some percentage of your attention.”

“I’m excellent at multitasking,” he replies with a grin that makes my heart flip in my chest. “Hockey doesn’t take much brainpower. It’s mostly muscle memory. Watching you, though—” he brushes his lips against my jaw “—that takes all my concentration.”

“What lesson is this?” I ask, hating how breathy my voice sounds. “I don’t think it was on the syllabus…”

“The one about saying sorry for bailing on you.” His hands slide down to my waist. “And about hooking up in someone else’s bedroom.”

“And when exactly will I need that skill while dating?” I say, despite the fact that his touch is making coherent thought nearly impossible.

“You go to parties, don’t you?” His thumbs trace circles at my hipbones. “And when you’re dating someone, they’re going to want you alone. You’re irresistible.”

My breath catches in my throat. There’s an intensity in his gaze I’ve never seen before—something beyond desire, beyond the boundaries of our arrangement. It’s exactly what I’ve been longing to hear, what I’ve been imagining him saying in my most private thoughts.

But what does it mean coming from him?

Is this just part of the lesson, or is it something more?

Before I can form a question, his mouth captures mine again. At the same time, his hands slide down my body to the backs of my thighs, and in one fluid motion, he lifts me off my feet. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, and he carries me across the room.

And I feel like I’m floating.

He carries me to the bed, laying me down with a gentleness that contrasts with the urgency in his kisses. He braces himself above me, his arms on either side of my head, looking down at me with an expression that makes me feel simultaneously vulnerable and powerful.

“I couldn’t stand watching that guy ogling you,” he says, his voice almost a growl.

Something in my chest flutters wildly at his words. “The soccer guy? Jake? He wasn’t?—”

“He was, but I can’t blame him,” Linc interrupts, tracing his finger along my collarbone. “Em, I’m sorry I ran out on you the other night.”

“That’s OK,” I say, even though it’s a lie. It confused me, and it still hurts a little bit.

“It’s not,” he says. “I was starting to feel something that I’m not sure you’re ready to deal with, but please know it was nothing wrong with you…”

My grandmother’s words about honesty being freedom echo in my head. I want to ask him what’s changed, why tonight feels so different from all our other encounters. But the questions stick in my throat, held back by fear—fear that naming this thing between us might break it.

Instead, I reach up and pull him down to me, letting my body say what my voice cannot. His weight settles over me, warm and solid and right. He kisses me deeply, his tongue sliding against mine, and I arch up into him, savoring the friction of his body against mine.

“Linc,” I whisper against his mouth, not sure what I’m asking for but knowing I need more.

His hand slides up my thigh, pushing the hem of my dress higher. “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs, trailing kisses down my neck.

“You,” I admit, the word escaping before I can catch it, although I realize it could be interpreted as either wanting sex or wanting more. “I want you.”