Bastard SEAL: A Bad Boy Forbidden Baby Romance (Contains bonus book Based!) (32 page)

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” she blurted out.

“Don’t worry about it, Brie baby. I’m still going to do my mom’s charity thing.”

“I don’t care about that.”

I leaned back against the pinball machine. “We can’t keep doing this dance, and we can’t keep fucking. There’s only one choice.”

She stared at me, her face a mask of anger. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”

“Seems obvious to me, that’s all.”

“Nothing is fucking obvious about this. But I guess I was right about one thing: you are an asshole.”

“Can’t fight the truth,” I said, shrugging.

“Fine. I’ll keep you updated on the event. Otherwise, I’ll leave you alone.”

“Whatever you want.”

Her jaw worked like she wanted to say something, and I had the irrational urge to walk across the room and kiss her again.

I wanted to take her. I wanted the things that I wanted despite all the reasons not to have them. I wanted her.

She turned and left the room without another word. I watched her go in silence.

I turned back to the pinball machine, slamming the paddles, letting myself get lost in the game. I knew I had blown that up. I had done it on purpose. I was telling myself it was for her own good, but I really wasn’t sure of anything anymore. All I knew was that I wanted her and couldn’t get her out of my head.

But with everything happening, that was the last thing either of us needed.

I slammed the paddle and watched the metal ball zoom across the machine’s face and bounce around, points skyrocketing.

It was better this way. It had to be better this way. We had one more event together, and then we could go back to living our separate lives. I’d heal, finish up the documentary, finish up my parole, and finally go back to jumping.

She could go back to living her normal life.

Better this way. Definitely better.

The metal ball zoomed, and I smashed the paddles. But I mistimed it, and the ball slipped between them.

The scoreboard read “Game Over.”

A
nother few days
of not talking to each other, avoiding glances in the hallways, and showering when I knew he’d be busy. I felt like a petulant teenager in a fight with her mom, except I was avoiding the stepbrother who I wanted more than anything.

I couldn’t get that night out of my head. I had never been touched like that before, with a rough but tender intensity, like I was the only person in the entire world that mattered.

Even when his legs almost collapsed out from under him, he still managed to be the strongest man I had ever met in my life. When I rode him, I felt free and loose and easy.

Nobody had ever made me feel that way before. Nobody had ever come close.

And instead of working my ass off to keep that feeling going, I messed it all up. I didn’t plan on going in there and ending things, but looking at him standing there covered in sweat, I panicked. I was afraid of how badly I wanted him to fuck me right there on the pool table.

I was reckless around him. Neither of us could afford that.

So I acted like an asshole and screwed it up. I was a coward and I wasn’t talking to him and he wasn’t talking to me and I hated every second I had to spend without his perfect arms wrapped around my naked body.

“Paintings are here,” Jules chirped into my ear.

I winced and adjusted the headset’s volume. “Got it. Where do you want them?”

“Table thirty-two, please.”

“Okay, on it.”

I sighed, pushing off the wall where I had been leaning and daydreaming and walking off toward the entrance.

It was hard to believe that the auction was happening already. It felt like it had only been a day or two since Jules had first asked me about it. As I moved through the cavernous auction space with tables lined up neatly throughout the space, I was impressed all over again by her ability to pull something like this off.

Jules may have been a little daffy, but she sure as hell could throw a charity event.

Quickly, I found the paintings she referenced and helped set them up at the designated table. The space was full of people bustling around, putting out flowers and objects, stuff like handmade scarves and signed first editions of famous books. I couldn’t remember what specific charity she had chosen, but I was sure that it was about to receive an enormous donation.

I wandered through the space, looking over the stuff. There were old baseball cards, signed instruments, gift cards to expensive restaurants, and more. Suddenly, I stopped in front of one table and gawked.

In the center was a huge picture of Lincoln without his shirt on, tattoos covering his torso. His handsome face was chiseled and pulled up into his classic shit-eating grin. I blinked, remembering that exact body wrapped around mine, sweating as he worked me.

Laid out around the picture was signed memorabilia. There was a basket full of his clothing line, Based, and a signed parachute bag. There was a signed helmet and the kneepads he wore when he broke the world record. But what caught my attention most was a simple ticket displayed proudly on a pedestal above everything else. The little sign next to it read, “Win a date with Lincoln ‘Based’ Carter himself!”

“What the hell?” I mumbled to myself as I inspected it.

Apparently, Jules had somehow managed to get Lincoln to agree to go out on a date with whoever won that ticket. It was one night only, for a few hours at a nice restaurant, and clearly it was meant for his female fans. I shook my head, completely bewildered, as strange conflicting emotions bubbled up to the surface.

What the hell was Jules thinking? And why did I even care?

“Aubrie, need you at table forty,” Jules cut in through my earpiece.

“Okay, got it.”

I tore myself away from Lincoln’s display, jaw clenched. I knew that the “date” wasn’t really a date, that it was just a fun charity thing for one of Lincoln’s fans. I knew it didn’t mean anything, especially considering it was his mom setting it all up. She wouldn’t exactly pimp him out.

Would she?

I shook my head. I was going absolutely insane.

Over at table forty, there was an older couple setting up expensive-looking canes, clearly for the elderly in the crowd. I helped them unpack and array them out along their space.

In the back of my mind, though, I kept thinking about that picture of Lincoln, and how it didn’t do him justice. It completely paled in comparison to the real thing. I absolutely shouldn’t know that, but I did, and I couldn’t stop dwelling on that fact.

I knew it was going to be a weird night. Between Lincoln actually showing up and trying to keep my distance from him, it was going to be bad enough. But the whole date thing really threw a wrench in my plans.

Still, it was for a good cause. Probably, whatever it was. And the night definitely couldn’t get any worse.

I watched from my seat near the stage as people slowly filled the banquet hall and began to mill about through the table displays. It was a silent auction, which meant that each person wrote their number down on a piece of paper next to the object being bid on, and the highest offer won.

Which was fortunate, because I didn’t think I could sit through a real auction. I was antsy enough and itching to get up and move, and being stuck in my chair for hours would have been hell.

I stood, stretching my legs, and sighed. There was an open bar and a nice buffet over against one wall, and I made my way toward it.

There was nothing better for anxiety than fried food and alcohol. That may not be true for all people, or really anybody ever, but I sure as hell loved chicken fingers, and I wanted a glass of wine.

As I honed in on my delicious meal, Jules appeared out of nowhere, cutting me off.

She looked fantastic, if overdressed, in a floor-length gown and her hair pinned up in a fancy swirl. She pulled it off, though, and made everyone else look like they weren’t trying hard enough. Honestly, I knew it probably took her twenty minutes at most to look like that, which was completely frustrating. She had a glow about her, especially since she was in her element.

And running social events was her element. She was like a whale, and parties were her ocean. She was a schmoozing whale.

“What’s up, Jules?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Do you know where your brother is?”

It took me a second to understand the question. “Lincoln? I have no clue.”

She sighed. “Typical. He was supposed to be here a half hour ago.”

“Want me to look around for him?”

“If you would, that’d be great.”

“Where do you need him?”

“Call me over the headset. I need to show him off onstage a bit.”

“For the date thing?”

“Exactly.”

“Whose idea was that, anyway?”

She laughed. “You won’t believe me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You didn’t make it up?”

“Nope. It was his idea, actually.”

I blinked, taken aback. “Oh. That’s . . . interesting.”

“He’s trying to turn a new leaf. I couldn’t be prouder of him.”

“Oh. Good. Yeah, I’ll try and find him.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Great, thanks, dear. Let me know when you find the sneak.”

She gave me a huge smile and practically floated off out into the crowd, shaking hands and smiling at everyone as she went.

I sighed. The woman was a natural politician. Except I’d be afraid to live in a country where she was in charge.

As I moved over toward the bar and ordered my wine, I couldn’t help but wonder what the heck Lincoln’s ulterior motives were. There was no way he was going through with some charity date thing out of the goodness of his heart. I could practically hear him laughing at the idea and saying how stupid and empty the gesture was. And yet Jules said it was his idea.

He was baffling. I sipped my wine, grabbing a chicken finger from the little tray, as I moved back onto the floor and looked around. I hadn’t seen him come in, but maybe he was lurking around anyway, trying to stay out of the spotlight. That would be a first for him, but apparently he was changing.

As I finished my first loop, chicken finger comfortably in my stomach and my first glass of wine half finished, there was a commotion toward the entrance. I knew even before I started in that direction what I would find.

Surrounded by people and camera flashes, dressed in a perfectly-fitted tux and holding his fancy skull-head cane, was Lincoln and his documentary crew. Jess hung back behind them as the crew filmed his entrance, fans shaking his hand and taking pictures with him, and all through it Lincoln grinned and laughed and played to the crowd like a pro.

He is a pro at this,
I had to remind myself. He pandered to the crowds for a living. He was Based Carter, after all. He had to represent his clothing line.

“Found him. He just came in the front,” I said into my headset.

“Oh, that’s what’s going on. Thanks, dear,” Jules said.

I sighed and turned my back on him and the crew. I couldn’t handle watching it when all I wanted was to drag him out back into the darkness of the night and kiss his mouth and neck and chest.

Back in my spot, I gulped down my glass of wine.

Based Carter. What an asshole. I had no interest in him.

Maybe I could make it true if I kept saying it to myself.

“That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, you can bid on a night with Lincoln ‘Based’ Carter himself! Check out table twenty-nine!”

Jules stood up on the stage and beamed out over the crowd. I had to admit, she looked incredible up onstage, her long legs shimmering under her dress.

She gestured at Lincoln like he was a prized piece of meat, waving her arms toward him. For his part, Lincoln stood there grinning out at everyone, and he looked just as radiant as Jules did, if not more. Despite leaning on the cane, he looked better than he ever had before.

I was shocked, though, that he didn’t make some rude gesture at everyone. I totally expected him to grab the microphone and start making crude jokes. Instead, he just stood there like he was supposed to. I had no clue how Jules managed to do it.

“He’ll take you to the hottest restaurant in Boulder, and afterward you’ll take a nice little stroll through downtown,” Jules said.

Lincoln kept smiling.

“Bid now! Perfect for a man or a woman, for any true fan of one of the best BASE jumpers in the world.”

I rolled my eyes. She was laying it on pretty thick.

“Remember everyone, it’s for a good cause, so go ahead. Trust me, Lincoln Carter is worth it.”

I nearly gagged. She was practically pimping him out. Even Lincoln gave her a little look at that last line. But before he could do anything to ruin her nice speech, she put the microphone back on its stand and ushered him off the stage and back into his adoring public’s waiting embrace. 

Forget him, I thought to myself. Let him get mobbed. I don’t care.

The night had dragged on without incident, mostly just people complaining that pencils had broken or asking inane questions about the different things they could bid on. Since I more or less didn’t know any answers, I started amusing myself by making up elaborate stories for whatever item people were asking about.

Basically, I was bored. And I was trying to do anything I could to keep my mind off Lincoln.

I watched as Jules and Lincoln disappeared back into the crowd, the camera crew following his every step, as I waded back onto the floor.

“Excuse me, miss?”

I turned toward an older gentleman and his wife. Based on the number of diamonds she was wearing, these people were seriously loaded.

“Yes, sir?”

“This package here. This . . . restaurant package. What exactly is that?”

“Well, sir, that’s an exclusive package of the hottest restaurants all over Boulder. It gets you a private room and private tastings with each chef, plus as much wine as you can drink.”

He nodded and murmured appreciatively, glancing at his wife.

“Very good. Very good. I think I’ll bid on this one.”

“Thank you, sir. Your money is going to a great cause.”

Before he could ask me anything else, I walked away quickly. I felt a little bad that I had just lied to him, but I was pretty sure at least one part of what I had said was true. Plus, it really was a good cause, whatever that was.

“Okay, guys, five minute notice!” Jules said over the headset.

That meant things were wrapping up. I glanced at my watch and was surprised three hours had already flown by. I moved through the people and began passing along the word.

When it was done, we shut the books that held the bids and carried them up to the stage. Once there, Jules began to read out the winning bid amounts and the generous donor’s name if they weren’t anonymous.

At that point, though, I was already sipping my second glass of wine and ignoring the whole thing. I was ready for the boring, crappy night to be done with.

Until something Jules said pulled me back.

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Who won the date with Based Carter?”

Some scattered cheers and applause could be heard, and I glanced around the room for Lincoln but couldn’t find him.

“Let’s see here . . .” Jules said, looking over the bid. “Okay, this is fantastic. With a winning bid of five thousand dollars, Miss Misty Springer is the winner! Misty, come on up here.”

Misty Springer? Sounds like a stripper, I thought ruefully.

And then Misty walked onstage, and I nearly gagged. Stripper was probably pretty accurate. She was blond, had huge fake breasts, and was wearing the shortest dress I had ever seen. Her heels were maybe nine inches high, and she giggled and waved at the crowd like she was accepting an Oscar for Best Prostitute.  

I couldn’t take it. Of course Lincoln was going out on a date with someone like her. Of course she had to be young and pretty and easy looking. I threw back my glass of wine, tore the earpiece from my ear, and dropped it right there on the floor.

I turned and walked out.

I didn’t bother thinking about it. I just left. I was done with the night, done with Lincoln, done with everything.