Cage
Sorry. Mr. Wigglestein knocked up Janey Lowery’s corgi, Louise, and the Lowerys did not want to breed “porgis”。 So, it’s a real shit show over here. They think it should have been up to her to make that decision.
Up to Janey or the dog?
Georgia
Her body. Her decision.
Cage
Yep. We’ve heard it all already. She feels Louise, the two-year-old corgi who eats her own shit, should have had a say before Mr. Wigglestein went and humped her in their backyard. This is my life.
Hey, it’s a bitch’s world; we’re just living in it.
Hugh
<laughing face emoji>
Georgia
Damn straight. <fist-pump emoji>
Cage
So, is New York his top choice? Inquiring minds want to know.
If any of you mention where I’m going, I will shave off your eyebrows and cover your face in Sharpie graffiti while you’re sleeping. This is top secret. Nothing will ruin a reporter’s career faster than chatty siblings.
Finn
Damn. You are terrifying when you’re making threats, Brinks.
Hugh
Because you know she’ll follow through.
Georgia
Damn straight. I’ve told Maddox he can’t tell a soul anything you tell us. He wants to buy season tickets for all of us wherever Lincoln is going to play.
Don’t do anything yet. I will let you know right before I break the story.
Cage
How generous of you. What are you going to do, tell us a whole two minutes before you tell the whole world? You don’t think you can throw us a bone and tell us maybe a week early?
Hugh
Did you really go there? You’re a brave man. First, you’re fighting for the rights of a knocked-up corgi, and now you’re lecturing Brinks?
Sleep with one eye open, Dr. Puplovin’。 And keep your mouths zipped.
Georgia
LOL! My lips are sealed. <kiss emoji>
Cage
Take it down a notch. Who am I going to tell? I don’t like anyone enough to discuss this with them, and frankly, I’m not sure I like any of you today. And Gracie doesn’t care about football. Mr. Wigglestein doesn’t give two fucks about where Lincoln is going to play; he just wants to be balls deep in Louise, and I’ve been forced to separate them while they’re both here with their owners, who are having meltdowns.
Finn
Where are you?
Cage
I’m in my office, taking a breather. It’s a fucking Jerry Springer show out there. And now, my sister is threatening me when I just asked a simple question.
The pilot came out to speak to us, and the flight attendant said she’d be bringing us pastries and mimosas shortly.
Sorry. I’ll have to plot your demise later. We’re taking off, and I was just offered a mimosa. No chatting about where I’m going. Love you guys.
Several emojis came flying across my screen, but I turned off my phone and looked up to see Lincoln watching me. He sat directly across from me, as the two rows faced one another. We were the only two people on this plane, aside from the two pilots and the flight attendant.
Lincoln had been more distant these last few days, since our long chat out at the cove. We’d gotten to know one another that night, but then he’d been more reserved the following morning.
All the flirty banter had halted.
It was my job to follow his lead. I wanted this story.
No. I needed this story.
So, he was in control when it came to how much he wanted to share.
We’d spent the last few days running, swimming, and in the gym. I’d never seen anyone work out as hard as he did. And I respected the hell out of it.
There were a lot of athletes out there who had a ton of natural talent, but they didn’t put in the work.
Then there were the athletes who worked hard and were committed.
And then there was Lincoln Hendrix.
The man was next level.
It was no wonder that he was the GOAT of the NFL.
He deserved the title, and that wasn’t always the case in professional sports.
The hardest worker didn’t always win, but this man—he’d earned it. I hadn’t said those words to him yet because he spent most of our time together aggravating me. But I’d softened a lot since we’d started working together. It didn’t really matter that he was hot and cold and serving me up a hearty dose of whiplash day after day. I was getting to see the day-to-day life of the best player in the NFL, so I was grateful.
“Is your family okay with you traveling with me?” he asked.
“I’m a grown-up. Of course, they are. And don’t worry, they won’t tell a soul that we’re going to New York. I’ve threatened them with their lives,” I said, just as the plane started moving.
He chuckled. “You don’t need to threaten anyone on my behalf. I’m not worried about people talking. I’m just not talking until I have something to share. But word will get out that I’m in New York because it’s inevitable. And everyone already suspects I’m leaning that way.”
“And would they be right?”
“Yes. I’m not ready to go on the record with that, but the story that you’re writing isn’t going to print until after I make the final decision, so you can include this conversation in your article if you want to.”
“Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?” I asked. My gaze narrowed as I studied him.
He barked out a laugh. “Am I not usually nice to you? I thought we were past that.”
“Well, you’ve been a little weird since we were out at the cove last week.” My hands gripped the armchairs on each side of me as we left the runway and the ground behind us. My stomach dipped as we took off.
“Relax. We have the best pilots out there.” His eyes locked with mine. “How have I been weird? We’ve been working out every day, and I’ve answered your three questions each time you’ve asked them, haven’t I?”
Our flight attendant approached, handing us each a mimosa, but Lincoln requested a black coffee instead. I ordered a chai tea latte and then stared awkwardly at my lovely champagne flute, unsure if it would be unprofessional to drink it. This was work, after all. She set down two baskets of pastries in front of us and left to go get our hot drinks.
His lips turned up in the corners as he watched me. “Drink it. You’re fine. I just have a bunch of meetings and need to be on my game today.”
He was always on his game, wasn’t he?
I took a sip of the sweet citrus and bubbly. “Okay, then. It’s delicious.”
“Answer the question,” he demanded.
I paused when our hot drinks were set in front of us, and I thanked the flight attendant before she stepped away.
“Well, we were very chatty that night. You know, sharing things like normal friends do. But then the next day, you were all business again.”
“We have a working relationship.” He uncuffed his sleeves and rolled them up, exposing his muscled forearms. I’d never noticed a man’s forearms before, but Lincoln’s were—spectacular. Unfortunately, his voice was harsh, and it rubbed me wrong.
It was like a wrestling match with him. I’d go from being totally turned on to completely annoyed with him.
“Well, we also spend a lot of time together, and when you share things, there can be a friendship there. Or didn’t your alien leaders teach you that?” I raised a brow.