I didn’t drink that often because I was a feather when it came to alcohol.
No doubt I could easily get knocked on my ass, but that was the result of watching everything I ate for filming. My agent had been strict and in-my-face, reminding me to count calories because the camera was unapologetic.
Sipping my drink, I avoided his intense stare.
“We don’t have to talk about work,” Lincoln said.
I breathed a sigh of relief. Good.
“You know where I’m from. It seems you have me at a disadvantage. Where are you from? New York, Los Angeles, somewhere else?”
“Just outside of L.A.,” I said. “Have you lived here all your life? Do you live in a cabin in the woods?” He looked like the type who avoided civilization.
Lincoln laughed and placed the half-empty glass of beer on the counter beside him. “I’m well-traveled, and I spent quite a bit of time in the military, but I’ve always called Montana home.”
“You were in the military?” I repeated, surprised by his look. I always thought military guys kept their crew cuts, but it was a stereotype.
Lincoln’s eyes softened as he spoke. “It’s been a few years, but I was in the army, special forces.”
“Wow. That’s impressive.” It was no wonder he was built like a statue, perfect in every possible way.
I finished the last of my screwdriver and reached out, my hand touched his bicep. He really was thick. “I wonder what else is thick,” I said under my breath.
Lincoln stared at me.
“Your muscles are thick,” I stammered.
Shit.
Could I blabber on anymore and embarrass myself further?
“You’re hot.”
Apparently so.
I needed to shut up, but I didn’t seem capable of it. The words just kept spilling out past my lips.
He took another swig of his beer, and I made sure every drop was gone from my screwdriver before I gestured over the bartender for another drink.
Lincoln shook his head no. “I think you’ve exceeded your limit.”
“I don’t usually drink,” I said.
The room swayed a bit but more than anything, my gaze was on him. It was as if he was the only one in existence, and nothing else mattered.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You may be right. I should probably go back to the hotel.”
As much as I wanted him to join me, I wasn’t comfortable inviting him over to my place.
I may have wanted to bethatgirl, but I wasn’t her.
“How about I give you a lift home?” He gestured the bartender over to close our tabs and ring us out.
A sheepish grin crossed my face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You driving is an even worse one,” Lincoln said.
He was right, but luckily my motel was across the street and didn’t require me to get behind the wheel of a car. “I’m staying just over there,” I said motioning with my hand.