CHAPTER FOUR
Lincoln
Shit. I was an idiot. First I'd asked for her age. Then I'd nearly fallen off my bed when she texted back seven — freaking — teen years old. I'd had her pegged at nineteen. How old did that make her sister?
And why did her age matter?
It wasn't like I needed her to be of legal age to work for me.
The cool sheets felt itchy against my legs. Kicking them off, I stared at my phone again. My mind had clearly been on vacation. Had I really said her boss would ride her in the morning?
No idiot, you typed it.
So if someone hacked either one of their phones I'd be going to prison for flirting with a minor!
Great. That was just freaking great.
Why did she have to be seventeen?
I needed to get laid. Plain and simple.
Maybe that was how you knew you were bordering on exhaustion.
You start daydreaming about minors — or obsessing over something as silly as what your name would sound like coming across those lush lips.
"Hellllll…" I pounded the pillow with my fist, then covered my face with the same pillow. It smelled stale, as if it had been sitting in the moving truck too long.
I hadn't been lying about needing something to help me fall asleep.
But first days on set always brought on a lot of anxiety and nervousness.
It was like going to the first day of school all over again. Will they like me? Will I completely suck? Who do I sit with at lunch?
Groaning, I tossed the pillow to the floor and got up to pour myself a glass of wine. At least that would help me relax a bit.
And, hopefully, take my mind off the girl who had no problem texting her words, but for the life of her, couldn't speak them.