Not only that. The other, far more alarming reason he hadn’t been able to muster up the energy to dislike Madison, much less hate her, was that his thoughts had been on her sister. And that was before he’d seen Mollie’s long legs and perky breasts on display at 3:00 a.m. Before he’d kissed her in what might have been the most erotic experience of his life.

Not that they’d talked about it. If there was a gold medal for avoiding a topic, he and Mollie were neck and neck.

He rubbed his eyes harder.

Jackson pushed back from his desk, hoping a quick walk to Starbucks would clear his head. But Lincoln Mathis appeared in Jackson’s doorway before he could escape for a much-needed espresso.

“Hey, Mathis.”

“Aww, look at us all being friends,” Lincoln said, punching his shoulder.

Jackson grunted, although secretly he was a little pleased. In the past few days, since he’d gotten sucked into the vortex of Lincoln and his friends, he’d felt a little less ostracized. People smiled at him in the hallway, and he smiled back. They weren’t all going to lunch and happy hour yet. Jackson wasn’t even sure he wanted that. But he no longer felt like the loser who played with dirt on the side of the playground while the other kids were on the swings.

“Was just about to head out to Starbucks, but if you need something—”

“I’ll come with,” Lincoln said, as though this were an obvious solution.

“Uh…okay.” Because what else could he say?

The two of them walked toward the elevators, Jackson watching in bemusement as Lincoln had something to say to everyone they passed. Literally everyone.

“Is it hard?” Jackson asked as he punched the button for the elevator. “Being this popular?”

“Why do you think I’m tagging along for some caffeine? A man gets tired giving off all this charm,” Lincoln replied. He said it with a smile, but Jackson gave Lincoln a studying glance, wondering if there wasn’t something beneath the surface.

Cole Sharpe was charming too. So was Jake. But there was something easier about Cole and Jake’s charm, as though they’d come out of the womb with a one-liner and a smile. With Lincoln, though, there was a deliberateness. As though he’d made a conscious decision to craft himself into this likable ladies’ man.

Suddenly Jackson was having second thoughts about putting Mollie in Lincoln’s path. Instinct told him that while Lincoln would be a perfect gentleman, he wouldn’t be able to fully appreciate everything Mollie had to give. He wouldn’t understand that she—

“Hey, so I wanted to talk to you about your girl,” Lincoln said, as though reading Jackson’s thoughts as the two men stepped into the elevator. “We’re still on for tonight?”

Every instinct in Jackson’s body itched to make up an excuse—to say that something had come up, or Mollie had backed out. But Mollie hadn’t said anything about their late-night kiss changing her mind about going on a date with Lincoln, and Jackson was trying to be okay with it. Trying being the operative word.

Lincoln lifted an eyebrow at the expression on Jackson’s face. “You know it’s supposed to be the actual people going on the date that get cold feet, right? Not the one doing the matchmaking?”

“Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?” Jackson asked.

Lincoln smirked, but let the conversation drop. “You know, I’ve gotta say, I think this is the first time I’ve picked up a date from another man’s house. You going to be there? See us off, maybe remind us of her curfew and then list all the ways you’ll dismember me if I don’t get her home in time?”

Jackson laughed as they stepped off the elevator. “Screw you.”

As always, there was a line at Starbucks, but Jackson was surprised to find that the line went faster than usual when there was someone to talk to. Jackson looked on in bemusement as Lincoln chatted up the women in line in front of them and the women behind them, managing to get three different phone numbers without any of the women getting snippy with the others.

“So what’s your story, Mathis?” Jackson asked once they’d gotten their drinks—doppio espresso for Jackson, caramel macchiato with extra caramel for Lincoln.

“My story?”

“You know,” Jackson said, gesturing with his cup to the duo of women Lincoln had just winked at. “The lady-killer routine.”

“You looking for tips, Burke?”

“Hardly,” Jackson said with a snort. “Count me in the women-are-more-trouble-than-they’re-worth category.”

“Ah, the gruff, cynical bachelor cliché. Let me guess—you drink beer and watch sports too? Maybe cook a mean steak?”

Jackson took a sip of his coffee. “Well, let’s see, I’m a former football player from Texas, so…yeah, pretty much.”

“None of which explains the hating-on-women thing.”

Jackson snorted. “I’ve been married. You’ll understand when some minx tricks you into walking down the aisle.”

Lincoln’s hand froze for a split second as he was bringing his sugary, frou-frou coffee to his lips, and Jackson felt a stab of panic that he’d just said the worst possible thing to the man who was the closest he had to a friend in this city. Lincoln looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

Fuck. Had Lincoln been married? If he had, something had gone seriously wrong, because the man looked destroyed.