“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, tried again. “Yeah. Fine.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and the fact that Lincoln wanted desperately to reach for it, to see Daisy’s incoming message, was the very reason he reached for his coffee mug instead.

It was time to put a little distance between him and Daisy before he began to want things he shouldn’t dare.

But the phone buzzed again, and he closed his eyes in dismay at the realization that the distance may be too little too late.

He already wanted.

Chapter 12

“Mathis, your attack squirrel is humping my calf.”

Lincoln glanced over from the fridge to where Kiwi was trying to get at the stack of takeout boxes in Jake Malone’s hands.

“Toss her an egg roll.”

“A whole egg roll?” Jake asked skeptically as he walked to the counter, careful not to step on the tiny white dog. “That’s as big as she is.”

“So bite it in half, give her the rest.”

Jake opened the Styrofoam box, and Lincoln saw that the egg rolls were in fact the size of his dog. “Eh, bite off two-thirds. Give her the last bit.”

Kiwi barked in protest at her ever-shrinking portion.

Jake merely rolled his eyes and opened various drawers until he found the silverware. “How about I cut it like a thirtysomething man instead of gnawing on it like a hungover frat boy?”

In response, Cole ambled over to the counter, picked up the egg roll, took an enormous bite, and knelt to offer the rest to Kiwi, who wagged happily. “There you go, baby. Who’s your favorite uncle now?”

“It should be me,” Mitchell grumbled as he helped himself to a beer from Lincoln’s fridge. “I’m the one that took her to do her business. Lincoln, you know they make crap bags in colors other than pink and purple.”

“Sure. But they wouldn’t go with my outfit,” Lincoln deadpanned. He didn’t mention that back when Kiwi was Katie’s dog, his fiancée really had picked the purse-dog’s crap bags to go with her outfits. He supposed in some weird way he was honoring Katie’s memory.

“I’m tempted to take a picture of you right now in jeans and that ugly T-shirt to prove to Riley that you don’t always dress like one of your magazine advertisements,” Sam said, accepting the beer Mitchell handed him. “Maybe then she’ll let me wear my ugly T-shirts.”

“Speaking of advertisements,” Cassidy said, coming out of Lincoln’s bathroom. “I’ve gotta say, Mathis, I sort of thought you’d have made a move on Ms. Carr.”

“Who’s Ms. Carr?” Mitchell asked.

“My new ad exec,” Cassidy answered. “She’s…”

“Hot,” Cole said. “And yes, I can say that, because Penelope said it first.”

“She is hot,” Lincoln said casually, as he set a stack of plates on the counter. “But I’m not interested.”

“Since when?” Jake said around a bite of egg roll, apparently having reversed his decision on gnawing on them like a frat boy.

“Since now,” Lincoln snapped a little irritably. “Seriously, are we here to eat Chinese and play poker, or should I turn on Adele and pour us some rosé?”

“You say that like it’s not a regular thing for you,” Jake said.

Cole began singing the opening notes of “Rolling in the Deep,” with the usually reserved Mitchell joining in harmony.

Lincoln laughed. “Jesus. I need another beer.”

Mitchell complied, and Lincoln was saved from any more inquisition by the arrival of Jackson Burke. The guy had been a part of their friend group for a while now, but every now and then Lincoln had to shake his head in bemusement that he had a former Super Bowl–winning quarterback in his living room.

It had actually been Jackson’s idea to get a poker game on the schedule, guys only. Lincoln had volunteered to host. Not that he particularly loved poker, but he needed a distraction. From Katie. From Daisy.

From himself.

In record time, the Chinese food Jake brought had been demolished, drinks were replenished, and they settled around the table Lincoln had set up with cards, poker chips, and a bowl of greasy potato chips to keep the whole thing manly.

Sam shuffled the cards as Mitchell distributed the chips. Lincoln felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and his heart leapt in excitement that it might be Daisy before he caught himself.

It wasn’t likely to be her anyway. It’d been a week since he’d forced himself to pull back, and she’d seemed to get the hint because he’d hardly heard from her. Lincoln told himself it was better, but damned if the days didn’t seem just a little less bright.

The phone buzzed again, then again, and he realized it wasn’t a text at all, but an incoming phone call. Not Daisy then. They never spoke on the phone.

He pulled out his cell, then froze when he saw the caller ID, his blood running cold.

“Give me a sec,” he said to the guys. Or maybe he didn’t. He didn’t know what he said, only that he somehow made it to the bedroom, his thumb swiping across to accept the call. Kiwi darted into the room with him just as he closed the door.

“Lincoln Mathis,” he answered.

He knew before the caller said a word what was happening. He didn’t know how he knew—it’s not like he expected it, had never let himself even consider this moment—and yet somehow he knew.

Lincoln didn’t move as the doctor broke the news. He didn’t remember hanging up. Didn’t remember dropping his phone to the carpeted bedroom floor, although he heard the thud.