stood, and Angeline felt woozy looking up at him. He began gathering the discarded bottles. “Most of these are yours.”
“That can’t be right,” she said, trying to focus her fuzzy and somewhat incoherent memories. “I don’t normally drink that much.”
“Good to know,” Lincoln said. “But I think your family dinners are more upsetting than you allow yourself to believe.”
“Why? What did I say?” Angeline’s heartbeat sped up, despite the sludge a night of drinking had deposited in her veins.
“Nothing that bears repeating.” Lincoln dropped the bottles into the recycling bin underneath the sink.
“No, really. I need to know what I talked about.”
“Tell me where the coffee is.” Lincoln gave her an assessing look. “Then I’ll give you a play-by-play of all the beans you spilled.”
Angeline’s stomach churned and it wasn’t from the hangover. If her drunken self had told Lincoln about her music career...
“Check the pantry, third shelf. Coffee filters should be there, too.”
While Lincoln busied himself in the kitchen, seemingly making as much noise as possible, Angeline dragged herself into the bathroom, soaked a washcloth in cold water and buried her face in it. This—the morning-after hangover—is why she didn’t usually indulge in more than two drinks in one night.
Dampening the cloth, she glanced into the mirror and jumped back. Her bloodshot eyes were a little puffy, but her hair...yikes! What a tangled mess.
And Lincoln thought she looked adorable? Definitely, the man needed glasses.
At least nausea didn’t accompany the hangover, but if she didn’t take a painkiller for the pounding in her head, it might split open.
She fumbled through the medicine cabinet for ibuprofen and downed two caplets with a glass of water. After scrubbing her face and rinsing the funk from her mouth, she tackled combing her hair. Seriously, how did she get so many knots?
Emerging from the bathroom, Angeline looked much more presentable than when she’d gone in. Her nose twitched at the rich, robust aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, and she followed the scent all the way to the kitchen.
Lincoln handed her a big cup filled nearly to the rim.
“Thanks.” Holding the ceramic mug between both hands, she took her first sip. The heat sloshed down her throat ahead of the flavor. The more she drank, the more the tightness in her body began to ease.
“I would’ve made breakfast, but your fridge is nearly empty and so is mine.”
“I’m not usually up this early. On the occasion that I am, I grab a pastry from the bakery.”
“Sweets for the sweet,” Lincoln said. “I’ll remember that.”
“I’m not really sweet.” She tried to glare at him over the rim of her coffee cup, but his sleepy eyes and soft smile were just so cute.
“Difference of opinion then.” He poured a cup of coffee for himself and sat on the bar stool next to her.
“Okay,” she said, swiveling toward him. “You spill the beans. I want to know every word I said to you.”
“I don’t have that much time. You became quite chatty after that third beer.”
“Why did you let me keep drinking?”
“You have pretty, white teeth, Angel. And they looked very sharp when you snarled at me for trying to pry the bottle of Jack from your hand.”
She-wolves didn’t blush from embarrassment, but Angeline certainly felt mortified at her lack of self-control. “Why didn’t you leave?”
“Clearly, you were upset. And drinking the way you did, I wasn’t going to leave you alone. Something could’ve happened to you.”
“Did anything happen?” They were both fully dressed when she woke up, but she really didn’t remember much about last night.
“No,” Lincoln said without hesitation and holding her gaze. “You drank, said a lot of nonsensical things, and then you fell asleep. I stayed in case you got sick.” He lifted the coffee cup to his mouth to drink.
“You’re a good guy, Lincoln. Thanks.” Angeline swallowed another mouthful of coffee, too. “So what sort of stuff did I talk about?”
“Your mom. You miss her a lot.”
True, Angeline did miss her mother. And she missed how differently her life would’ve been if her mother hadn’t been murdered during a mugging.
“You also kept saying if I were Tristan, you would tell me a lot more.” Curiosity edged around the uncertainty glimmering in his eyes. “Sounds like you and Tristan have been more than just friendly neighbors.”
A subtle tension crept into Lincoln’s body and his gaze left her face.
“No.” Angeline shook her head. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”
“It’s okay,” Lincoln said. “I don’t need an explanation.”
He might not, but Angeline’s instinct pushed her to clarify. “Tristan is like a brother, but closer than my own. He knows things about me that my family and other friends don’t.”
“Maybe you should’ve called him last night instead of inviting me in.” Lincoln carried his cup to the sink.
“Tristan has a mate now.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“I don’t expect him to be my confidant anymore. It wouldn’t be right.”
Lincoln finished rinsing out his coffee cup. “I guess you’re in search of a new one and I didn’t cut the mustard.”
“I barely know you.” How could she trust him the way she trusted Tristan, who’d been there for her for most of their lives? “Is it true that you’re retiring from the Program?”
“That’s what people keep telling me.”
Not exactly the answer she wanted to hear.
“Well, who knows?” She shrugged. “If you stick around long enough—” They might eventually become friends...good friends...really good friends with full moon benefits.
“I’m not planning on it,” he said abruptly. “Neither should you.”
Well, if that wasn’t a door being slammed in her face...
“Thanks for playing watchdog last night.” She walked to her front door and opened it. “But I’m in control of all my faculties now. Time for you to leave.”
He dried his hands on the dish towel, walked to the door and stepped outside into the breaking dawn.
“Angeline.”
