Someone Like You Page 8

  Is it hard then? Being so handsome you literally can’t keep them away?

  So hard, Wallflower. Last night I cried about it.

  “Oh. My. God.” Whitney’s voice was awed.

  Daisy turned back toward her friend with a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

  Whitney looked fascinated as she held out her hand for the phone. “Gimme.”

  “What?”

  “The phone. Hand it over.”

  Daisy laughed. “No!”

  “So it is a guy.”

  “It is,” Daisy admitted. “But it’s not what you think. We’re just friends.”

  “Bullshit,” Whitney said around a fake cough. “Is this your wedding hookup?”

  “My wedding non-hookup. The best man, but nothing happened. He’s…unavailable.”

  “Oh poo.” Whitney pouted. “Girlfriend?”

  Something like that.

  “Wait,” Whitney said, her eyes narrowing on Daisy. “If he’s got a girlfriend why are you and he sexting?”

  “We’re not sexting.”

  “Fine, regular texting then.”

  “It’s harmless.”

  “Mmm-hmmm,” Whitney said, crossing her arms. “Tell me this. If his girlfriend was to discover his phone, would she look at these texts and find them harmless? I know that smile you had on your face, sweetie. That’s a crush smile.”

  Daisy thought about this as she lowered herself to the barstool beside her friend, absently running her thumb over the edge of her Tory Burch phone case. “It’s not a crush,” she replied, meaning it. “But I’m comfortable around him, and he around me. And I need that right now a hell of a lot more than I need sex.”

  Whitney’s expression softened, and Daisy wondered if her friend suspected more about Daisy’s relationship with Gary than she let on.

  “You know what that tells me,” Whitney said, picking up a fresh toothpick and thoughtfully munching on her greasy snack. “It tells me he’s ugly. Maybe a little dorky, but wicked witty, right? Better on text than in person, right?”

  “Weelllllll…”

  Whitney sighed and pointed toward Daisy’s phone before snapping her fingers rapidly. “Picture. I need to see this guy.”

  “I don’t know that I have any pictures.”

  “Look him up on Facebook. Oooh, better yet, you must have some early shots of wedding stuff, right? Even if the official ones aren’t done yet.”

  “Actually, yeah,” Daisy admitted. “Emma and Cassidy’s wedding website has a place for the guests to submit their own pics. I bet he’s on there…”

  A moment later, Daisy had found a photo someone took of Lincoln delivering his killer best man speech, and handed her phone to Whitney.

  Her friend stared at the screen and then looked at Daisy. “I’m sorry, I think you misunderstood my question. I asked you to show me the guy you were texting, not a stock photo of the hottest guy that ever lived.”

  Daisy laughed. “Sadly, he really is just that good-looking. Better, actually.”

  Whitney began scrolling through the photos, searching for more. She paused when she found one. “Honey, you did good. Those shoulders. That hair. Those eyes. The jawline. That smile. And he’s tall, and the tall ones always have it going on in their briefs, if you know what I’m saying.”

  Daisy rolled her eyes and pulled her phone back. “Yes, Whitney. I know what you’re saying.”

  “So am I right?” her friend said, leaning forward. “How big we talking? Nine-plus inches, right?”

  “You’re impossible,” Daisy muttered, standing and going to the fridge. “You still up for chicken panini for dinner, or are you full?”

  “You got some of that homemade pesto?”

  Daisy held up a Tupperware filled with the bright green pesto she’d made that afternoon.

  “Let’s do it,” Whitney said. “I’ll make us another round of margaritas while you cook and tell me all about the dirty fantasies you’ve been having about Mr. Look-Don’t-Touch.”

  “I haven’t been having dirty fantasies about Lincoln.”

  Not that many anyway.

  “Lincoln. Oh gawd, a great name to go with all that yummy. Sex dreams then. Don’t lie to me, Sinclair, a woman doesn’t spend time with him and not have the most primal part of her wonder about what it would be like.”

  Daisy said nothing as she pulled chicken out of her meat drawer.

  “I knew it,” her friend gloated as she glugged some tequila into the blender. “Awake Daisy might have the lust locked down, but sleeping Daisy wants some.”

  “Sometimes I don’t know why we’re friends,” Daisy replied, setting her sandwich ingredients on the counter.

  “Because I’m right. You had a naughty dream about him.”

  Daisy said nothing as she pulled her panini press out of the cupboard.

  But yeah. Her friend was a little bit right.

  Chapter 11

  “Super-hot new girl started today.”

  Lincoln glanced up from his computer, somehow unsurprised to see that it wasn’t one of his guy coworkers bringing him the news, but one of Oxford’s female columnists.

  Penelope Pope was coeditor of the magazine’s sports section, a role she shared with Cole Sharpe—her boyfriend and one of Lincoln’s best friends.

  The friendly, pint-size brunette was one of Lincoln’s favorite people, even more so at this very moment as she placed a plate in front of him bearing a chocolate donut with rainbow sprinkles.

  “I love you,” Lincoln said around a large bite. “Leave Cole and marry me.”

  “Don’t even think about it, Tiny,” Cole said from the doorway as he ambled into Lincoln’s office, eating his own donut—a boring glazed old-fashioned, Lincoln’s sweets-trained eye noted.

  “Give up now, Sharpe,” Lincoln said, licking chocolate off his thumb. “I’m irresistible. Right, Pen?”

  Her answer was to pull Cole’s head down for a kiss, before nipping a bite of the donut in his hand. She plopped into his chair and blinked at him with huge brown eyes as she chewed. “What now?”

  “Never mind.” Cole and Penelope were about as in love as it was possible to be. Had been since the day Cole first laid eyes on her at a Yankees game more than a year ago.

  “So what are we doing here?” Cole said, taking the chair beside Penelope.

  “Telling Lincoln about the new girl.”

  “What new girl?”

  “The hot one,” Penelope replied.

  Cole narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, shaking his head as though he couldn’t quite place who his girlfriend was referring to.

  Smart man.

  She laughed. “Don’t even try, Sharpe. You were standing right beside me when Cassidy introduced us. Taylor Carr is stunning.”

  Lincoln glanced at Cole with a questioning lift of his eyebrow, merely because he knew it was expected of him. Cole lifted a shoulder in confirmation.

  “Didn’t know we were hiring anyone new,” Lincoln said noncommittally, polishing off the donut and reaching for his coffee.

  “She’s a new account manager over in advertising.”

  “Ah,” Lincoln said. “And I care about this because…”

  Penelope began ticking points off on her fingers. “Long, wavy brown hair. Like really good hair. Gray eyes. Gray, Lincoln. Tall. I’m thinking five-ten, although that could just be the five-inch heels. Figure…wow. We’re talking like thirty-four–twenty-four–thirty-five. Pretty much perfect. Am I right here, Cole?”

  “Yeah, I’m not answering that,” Cole muttered.

  Lincoln barely heard any of this, his attention locked on his phone where Daisy had responded to his picture of Kiwi with a link to a pink-rhinestone-studded dog bed and the note, Diva needs her sparkle.

  He typed a response.

  Kiwi’s going to need more than that trashy bed, Sinclair. She’s still pissed since she learned that her collar was cubic zirconia and is demanding an upgrade. Can’t decide between Harry Winston and Tiffan
y. Thoughts?

  I’m a Tiffany & Co girl myself. It’s all about that iconic blue. And Audrey, of course.

  I’m not going to let anyone put me in a cage.

  Holy crap, Mathis. Did you just quote Breakfast at Tiffany’s?

  He smiled, and hit her with another movie quote. Poor cat! Poor slob! Poor slob without a name.

  You sure you’re not gay? Never known a straight man quite so in tune with Holly Golightly.

  “Mathis.” Lincoln looked up, saw Alex Cassidy standing in his doorway. Despite the fact that he’d just gotten back from a two-week honeymoon with the love of his life, he looked as businesslike as usual.

  Next to him was a woman Lincoln had never seen before.

  No, he mentally responded to Daisy’s text. He was not gay. Because the heterosexual in him could absolutely appreciate that the woman in front of him was as perfect a specimen as it was possible to get. Penelope’s description had been dead-on, right down to the measurements.

  “This is Taylor Carr,” Cassidy said. “Starting today as new sales account executive.”

  Lincoln stood and went around his desk to shake Taylor’s hand, pretty sure he heard Penelope mutter “I’d tap that” under her breath.

  “Lincoln Mathis,” he said, shaking the woman’s hand.

  She had a good handshake, her gaze forthright as she met his eyes. “Nice to meet you. You’re an editor?”

  He grinned. “The sex guy.”

  Cassidy cleared his throat. “The actual section is called ‘Women and Sex.’ And it’s not just sex.”

  “Absolutely not,” Cole chimed in. “A lot of our features are simply pictures of naked women. Tasteful. Of course.”

  Penelope nodded enthusiastically.

  Taylor laughed, the sound low and throaty. It was seductive, and Lincoln was pretty sure it was meant to be. This woman was used to wrapping men around her finger, although there was something refreshing about her honesty. Most women who were so outright sexy tried to pretend that they didn’t know it. Taylor Carr definitely knew it.

  “I did my homework before accepting the job,” she said with a smile. “That beach babe feature you did was quite classy.”

  Lincoln grinned back. “See? Cassidy, you hearing this? That’s what I’m talking about.”

  Cassidy rolled his eyes behind Taylor’s back, and there was a pregnant pause in the room—a moment of expectation, and he knew it all rested with him. Everyone from Taylor to Penelope was eagerly waiting to hear what flirtatious quip he’d throw out next.

  Instead, Lincoln held his tongue. Flirting with women he knew would have no interest in him was one thing. Responding flirtatiously to a come-on in a bar so as not to wound an ego was fine too. But he wouldn’t flirt with a woman with invitation in her eyes that he had to see every day. He had no intention of leading on a perfectly nice woman.

  Taylor’s smile changed, shifting from enticing to merely friendly, and he could practically see the way her brain shifted him from potential mate to colleague category.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said with a nod, smiling at the group before turning and exiting his office. Cassidy followed her, and Lincoln turned back to his desk, just in time to see a sulking Penelope slap a twenty into Cole’s gloating palm.

  Lincoln stepped forward, nipping the crisp bill out of his friend’s hand. “Explain.”

  “Penelope here was sure you’d be all over that,” Cole said, tilting his head toward the way Taylor had exited.

  “And what were you sure of?” Lincoln asked.

  Cole’s eyes smirked up at him. “That your interest is currently tied up elsewhere.”

  Lincoln stilled, his first thought that Cole had somehow found out about Katie. But no. If his friend did know, he was sensitive enough not to have that shit-eating grin on his face. Which meant Cole must be referring to…

  Penelope leaned across the desk, making a grab for his phone. “Is Cole right? Is it Daisy who’s had you glued to your phone for the past two weeks? What’s your passcode?”

  “None of your business,” Lincoln said, plucking the phone from her hand and shoving that and the twenty-dollar bill in his pocket. He had the strangest memory of Daisy asking for his phone’s passcode, and him telling her Katie’s birthday without a second of hesitation.

  Strange, since he counted Penelope and Cole among his closest friends, whereas Daisy was…

  …What?

  What was Daisy?

  They’d texted every day since she’d flown back to North Carolina, and until this moment, he hadn’t thought a thing of it. It wasn’t as though he’d made a conscious decision to start up a long-distance friendship; it had merely happened.

  And yet, somehow in just two short weeks, their bantering about everything from the weather to his dog to Game of Thrones binge-watching had become the highlight of his day.

  Lincoln felt a stab of savage shame. What was he doing? He was engaged. And though nothing had happened between him and Daisy, nothing was happening, he couldn’t deny that he looked forward to her text messages just a little too much, thought about her just a little too often.

  He swallowed. He needed to go see Katie. Tonight. He’d drive up tonight. Rarely did he visit outside of his scheduled last-Sunday-of-the-month routine. Once a month was about all his battered heart could take.

  But he needed to see her. Needed to remember her.

  “Linc. You okay?” Penelope asked quietly.

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, tried again. “Yeah. Fine.”

  His phone buzzed in his pocket, and the fact that Lincoln wanted desperately to reach for it, to see Daisy’s incoming message, was the very reason he reached for his coffee mug instead.

  It was time to put a little distance between him and Daisy before he began to want things he shouldn’t dare.

  But the phone buzzed again, and he closed his eyes in dismay at the realization that the distance may be too little too late.

  He already wanted.

  Chapter 12

  “Mathis, your attack squirrel is humping my calf.”

  Lincoln glanced over from the fridge to where Kiwi was trying to get at the stack of takeout boxes in Jake Malone’s hands.

  “Toss her an egg roll.”

  “A whole egg roll?” Jake asked skeptically as he walked to the counter, careful not to step on the tiny white dog. “That’s as big as she is.”

  “So bite it in half, give her the rest.”

  Jake opened the Styrofoam box, and Lincoln saw that the egg rolls were in fact the size of his dog. “Eh, bite off two-thirds. Give her the last bit.”

  Kiwi barked in protest at her ever-shrinking portion.

  Jake merely rolled his eyes and opened various drawers until he found the silverware. “How about I cut it like a thirtysomething man instead of gnawing on it like a hungover frat boy?”

  In response, Cole ambled over to the counter, picked up the egg roll, took an enormous bite, and knelt to offer the rest to Kiwi, who wagged happily. “There you go, baby. Who’s your favorite uncle now?”

  “It should be me,” Mitchell grumbled as he helped himself to a beer from Lincoln’s fridge. “I’m the one that took her to do her business. Lincoln, you know they make crap bags in colors other than pink and purple.”

  “Sure. But they wouldn’t go with my outfit,” Lincoln deadpanned. He didn’t mention that back when Kiwi was Katie’s dog, his fiancée really had picked the purse-dog’s crap bags to go with her outfits. He supposed in some weird way he was honoring Katie’s memory.

  “I’m tempted to take a picture of you right now in jeans and that ugly T-shirt to prove to Riley that you don’t always dress like one of your magazine advertisements,” Sam said, accepting the beer Mitchell handed him. “Maybe then she’ll let me wear my ugly T-shirts.”

  “Speaking of advertisements,” Cassidy said, coming out of Lincoln’s bathroom. “I’ve gotta say, Mathis, I sort of thought you’d have made a move on Ms. Carr.”

 
; “Who’s Ms. Carr?” Mitchell asked.

  “My new ad exec,” Cassidy answered. “She’s…”

  “Hot,” Cole said. “And yes, I can say that, because Penelope said it first.”

  “She is hot,” Lincoln said casually, as he set a stack of plates on the counter. “But I’m not interested.”

  “Since when?” Jake said around a bite of egg roll, apparently having reversed his decision on gnawing on them like a frat boy.

  “Since now,” Lincoln snapped a little irritably. “Seriously, are we here to eat Chinese and play poker, or should I turn on Adele and pour us some rosé?”

  “You say that like it’s not a regular thing for you,” Jake said.

  Cole began singing the opening notes of “Rolling in the Deep,” with the usually reserved Mitchell joining in harmony.

  Lincoln laughed. “Jesus. I need another beer.”

  Mitchell complied, and Lincoln was saved from any more inquisition by the arrival of Jackson Burke. The guy had been a part of their friend group for a while now, but every now and then Lincoln had to shake his head in bemusement that he had a former Super Bowl–winning quarterback in his living room.

  It had actually been Jackson’s idea to get a poker game on the schedule, guys only. Lincoln had volunteered to host. Not that he particularly loved poker, but he needed a distraction. From Katie. From Daisy.

  From himself.

  In record time, the Chinese food Jake brought had been demolished, drinks were replenished, and they settled around the table Lincoln had set up with cards, poker chips, and a bowl of greasy potato chips to keep the whole thing manly.

  Sam shuffled the cards as Mitchell distributed the chips. Lincoln felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and his heart leapt in excitement that it might be Daisy before he caught himself.

  It wasn’t likely to be her anyway. It’d been a week since he’d forced himself to pull back, and she’d seemed to get the hint because he’d hardly heard from her. Lincoln told himself it was better, but damned if the days didn’t seem just a little less bright.

  The phone buzzed again, then again, and he realized it wasn’t a text at all, but an incoming phone call. Not Daisy then. They never spoke on the phone.