Free The Player's Club: Lincoln by Cathy Yardley

you do all this, Lincoln?”
    “It’s a long story.”
    “I’ve got time,” she answered quietly.
    It was tempting, he admitted. And because it was, he shook his head.
    “Maybe I can show you,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Up for having some drinks in Marin?”

6
    AN HOUR AND HALF LATER, Juliana was sitting in the bar of Frantoio, an upscale restaurant in Mill Valley. The place was nice, she thought, sipping a light Pinot Grigio that she was making sure Lincoln paid for. It looked like a villa in Florence; it even had a working olive-oil-production section, apparently. She sort of wished she could have dinner, but that wasn’t the point of this exercise, apparently.
    She glanced over at Lincoln, who was barely touching his Stone Pale Ale. Instead, he was looking around at the other diners.
    “So why am I here, again?” she asked softly.
    Lincoln sent her a sideways smile that had her heart speeding up a little. She crossed her legs, shifting her balance on the bar stool and forcing her body to calm down.
    “You can’t participate in any of the player activities,” he pointed out, “but you can help a fellow pledge. Right now, I get the feeling he’s going to need some moral support.”
    Other pledge? Oh, she remembered. The sweet, nerdy guy in the other folding chair. She couldn’t even remember his name. “Well, we’re not painting anything, and this isn’t the Taj Mahal,” she said, “so I guess he’s going to open up to that girl he’s in love with.”
    “And from what Tucker tells me, he’s nervous as hell,” Lincoln said, with a sympathy that surprised her. “By the way, thanks for, ah, adjusting your look. The last thing Terrence needs for this challenge is a bunch of photographers around. He’s queasy enough.”
    “No problem,” she said, even as she squirmed. She’d thrown a sweater over her dress and put her hair up; even wore a pair of squared-off glasses that she bought as a gag, to look more “intellectual.” It was a little disconcerting to actively try to avoid attention, though.
    Lincoln sent her another sidelong glance, and she felt her body tingle to life. Apparently, demure worked for him. She felt her lips curve into a smile, felt herself lean toward him like metal to a lodestone....
    Just how hot do you think he’ll feel about you when he finds out you’ve got a hidden camera on you?
    That thought was like being doused with a fire hose. She sat back on the bar stool, chastened. The camera was attached to a pin she had on her dress. Tonight’s challenge might be boring, but it was proof that she really was in with the players…and who knew? Maybe she could get something salvageable out of it.
    She knew Lincoln was wiggy about paparazzi, and she doubted he’d ever come on board with signing a video release. Still, this wasn’t going to be used for the show. She just needed the green light. The ends, as her father always said, justified the means.
    She was pretty sure he’d stolen that from someone. But he was an actor, after all—it wasn’t theft, it was craft.
    “Here’s our boy now,” Lincoln murmured.
    She glanced over and saw Terrence walk in, nerves screaming in every gesture, every stride. He was wearing a T-shirt that said The Force Is Strong with This One.
    “God,” she whispered. “Couldn’t one of you have dressed him before sending him?” Lincoln looked more closely at Terrence after her comment, then winced, sighing. But when Terrence met his gaze, Lincoln smiled with encouragement, nodding and giving a discreet thumbs-up.
    “Where’s the girl?” she whispered, taking a sip of her wine. “His high-school crush?”
    “Over at that table, the blonde,” Lincoln said. “Don’t look.”
    She rolled her eyes, then sized up Terrence’s target. About twenty-five years old, she noticed, dressed in a knee-length red skirt with matching jacket and a white silk tank. Her hair was cut razor sharp and her cosmetics were flawless, albeit a little