Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  I close my computer and relax against my chair. The late afternoon sun warms my face. The rays are amplified by the pool rippling in front of me.

  The fresh air helped clear my head. After I worked outside all day with my computer on my lap, I felt like I was in high school again. All I needed was a boom box.

  “I appreciate your help in moving all this around,” I tell Yancy.

  “Of course, Miss Gibson.”

  “We’ll talk soon.”

  “Goodbye.”

  I end the call.

  My eyes fall closed in the bliss of a workday well done. There’s nothing like it.

  I grin.

  Except for the bliss of a night well done with Holt.

  A laugh escapes my throat as I think about how stupid that is. Yet it’s true.

  My phone rings from beside me. I pick it up and look at the caller ID.

  Sienna.

  “Hey,” I say, shielding my eyes from the sun.

  “Well, don’t you sound chipper.”

  I shrug. “I’ve had a good day.”

  “And …?” she prods.

  “Well, I slept in. Had a great cup of coffee followed by a long, hot shower.” I hold back a laugh about how much I needed said shower. “Then I worked all day by a gorgeous pool and listened to the birds chirp, and I got a ton of stuff done. It’s been a good day.”

  “Better,” she says. “But you left out all the Holt stuff.”

  I shift in my chair. “I actually haven’t seen him since about three this morning. I’m guessing he’s been at work.”

  “So this happiness is residual. This is a good sign, Blaire.”

  Is it?

  Of course being happy is a good thing. It’s much better than the alternative. But is being happy in this situation truly a good thing?

  I don’t know.

  “I don’t know about it being a good sign,” I say. “But it feels nice not to feel like the world is sitting on my shoulders for once.”

  “That’s how I feel with Walker.”

  I snort. “He could barely write checks to pay his bills before you came along.”

  “Well, I do it for him now, so he still can’t do that,” she admits with a laugh. “But being around him makes me feel safe. I can mess up—you do remember how I met him, right?”

  I laugh as I remember Lance explaining how Sienna damaged Walker’s truck. “I do.”

  “So, yeah, you get it. You know what I mean.”

  I think about my time with Holt, and I do kind of get what she means. If I feel anything around Holt, it’s … that. Confident enough to be myself. To speak my mind. To share my wounds.

  To be me.

  Still, I don’t know if it’s a good thing.

  “When are you coming home?” she asks.

  “I just got off the phone with Yancy. She said my building should be opened by the end of the week.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  I wiggle my toes.

  “Blaire?”

  “I … don’t know. I mean, I’ll go back to Chicago. He’ll be here running his empire.”

  The words hang in the air. It’s not a new concept. It’s been the plan from the beginning. It’s life. Even so, it feels different today. It feels … sad.

  How did I get myself into this mess?

  Because it’s a mess. Or it will be if I don’t get a hold on things now.

  “Maybe a long-distance relationship will work,” Sienna offers. “Have you thought about that?”

  “No. And I think you’re thinking too seriously about this.”

  “Tell me this—do you want to do a long-distance relationship with him? Would you if he wanted to?”

  I bite my lip.

  I don’t want to answer her. I want to avoid this topic and move on to something less intrusive. But last night’s events roll back through my mind. Holt’s words about Sienna do too.

  She’s a good friend to have.

  As nervous as I am to admit—I want to have a friendship with Sienna. I’m not sure what that looks like, really, but it’s been fun talking to her without any pressure. It makes me feel more connected to my family too.

  It would be fun to have a girlfriend to talk to about things like men too. Maybe we could grab lunch sometimes. We could even make Christmas cookies like my mom used to do with her friends.

  Right?

  If I want to have that type of rapport with her, I’m going to have to share things about my life.

  Things like this.

  I take a deep breath. It feels like my chest has been cracked open, and I’m just waiting on someone to check out my insides and decide if it’s worthy or not. All of a sudden, I’m transplanted back into elementary school and wondering if the girls will like me.

  It’s ridiculous. I know that. But I can’t help it.

  “Would you?” she asks again.

  Would I?

  Despite the impracticality of making a long-distance relationship work with Holt, I know I would try. I’d at least commit to giving it a trial period to see what would happen.

  The idea makes me squirm.

  “If he wanted to have that sort of a relationship with me, I would,” I say slowly.

  My cheeks heat as I look up at the sun and wonder if I just jinxed myself. Even if I didn’t, I’ll probably recall this moment later in a rush of humiliation when it becomes apparent that he wants nothing of the sort or doesn’t want to work it out.

  “I would try,” I say hurriedly, building in an out for later. “I don’t know if it would work. It doesn’t seem feasible.”

  “You never know until you try.”

  “True,” I admit. “Which is why I said I’d give it a shot. But this whole conversation is pointless to begin with because we aren’t in a relationship now. We’re just …”

  My voice drifts off as I fail to come up with the proper term.

  What are we doing?

  Saying that we are having a multi-night stand doesn’t seem accurate anymore. I don’t recall having that kind of pillow talk we shared last night with other men I slept with.

  But I don’t know what to call it.

  “It’s okay not to know,” Sienna says. “Sometimes things get super messy before they get cleaned up. I mean, Walker practically hated me at first.”

  I laugh. “I don’t think he hated you.”

  “Eh, I think he did.” She laughs too. “And then we had the whole thing that had to get taken care of—which we don’t need to talk about.”

  I wince at the bitterness in her tone.

  “Anyway,” she continues, “I think you’re in a good spot with him. It’ll work out if it’s supposed to.”

  “Yeah.”

  She sighs. “Listen—unless you’re fucking like rabbits and not doing anything else together, he must like something about you, or he would’ve asked you to leave.”

  “I … Well, we’ve only slept together once since I started staying here. While that feels like a travesty, maybe it’s a good thing.”

  “Oh, wow.”

  “I don’t know what that wow means, exactly,” I say, wincing.

  She laughs. “It’s a good thing. It means that he’s not just using you for a booty call.”

  “If he is, he doesn’t need a lot of booty.”

  She laughs harder. “Now that would be a travesty. If you can hook up with a man like that, he better want all the sex. Otherwise, it would almost be rude.”

  I shake my head and grin. “You’re right. But you know what? I like him more because he doesn’t want all the sex despite going to bed every night completely frustrated sexually.”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine.”

  “But that’s why I’m in this predicament,” I say. “I can walk away from sexual encounters like nothing. There are no strings, no attachments. If they cop an attitude the next day or never want to see me again—what do I care? They’ve served their purpose. But with Holt …”

  Sienna sighs softly.
“You like him, don’t you? As in, really like him?”

  My heart thunders in my chest.

  I know the answer to this question. There are many things I like about Holt. The fact that I’m still here, at his house, was my first clue. I couldn’t stand most men this long.

  But if I admit it out loud, would it change things? Would I look at him and think about confessing it to Sienna? Would he notice something different and back away?

  “I just …” I clear my throat. “He’s pretty great.”

  “I’ll say it for you. Yes, Sienna. I like Holt.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re such a brat.”

  She giggles.

  “Look,” I say, moving around in my seat again, “I don’t know what he’s thinking. We had an interesting night last night. We talked. We talked about a lot of really personal things, and I think it’s warped my brain a little bit. I’ll get it all situated inside my head today, and everything will be fine.”

  “You don’t have to rationalize yourself out of this, Blaire. It’s okay to like him.”

  “I know. It’s just not … feasible. And I think he thinks the same thing. I mean …”

  I think back to the things he said about Kendra. And how his work always comes first and he doesn’t have room in his life for a relationship.

  “Why did you ask me to stay?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know,” he says. “You’re strong. You hold your own. You’re gorgeous and intelligent, and I enjoy talking to you. And it probably didn’t hurt that you live a thousand miles away.”

  Yet here I am, like a stupid girl, pining for him in my own quiet way.

  So foolish.

  “I need to go, Sienna,” I say quickly.

  She must read my tone because she sighs. “I’m here if you need me.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m going to say it once more—I’m here if you need me. You can call me at any time. You can text me. Or email. Or send a smoke signal, but I don’t really know how to read those.”

  I grin. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  “It’s what friends do.” She pauses to see if I’ll respond, but I don’t. “Bye, Blaire.”

  “Goodbye.”

  I hold the phone in my hand and look at the water. It ripples back and forth with a levity that I wish I could absorb.

  “Don’t get yourself all messed up,” I whisper. “You’re a grown woman. You’re capable of enjoying this week and going home and resuming your life in Chicago. You are in control.”

  Saying it aloud helps.

  I turn to pick up my computer to go inside when my phone buzzes in my hand. I look down.

  Holt: Want to do something fun tonight?

  Holt’s words are printed across the screen.

  My heartbeat quickens as I type out a response.

  Me: Depends on how you define fun.

  Holt: I might have tickets to the Kelvin McCoy concert.

  I gasp.

  Me: You do not.

  Holt: I might.

  Me: I might be jealous!

  Holt: I won’t be out of the office in time to see the opening acts. But if you want to see the headliner, I’d love to take you.

  Me: Are you sure?

  Holt: Yes or no, Blaire.

  Me: YES

  I dance around the chair in a very un-me-like move. I’ve never been to a concert before, and if there is one band I’d like to see, it’s Kelvin McCoy.

  Holt: Great. I will pick you up around eight. If you want to see the openers, my cousin Larissa would be happy to let you go with her and I could meet you at the stadium later.

  Me: I’m happy just to see Kelvin McCoy!

  Holt: … with me. You’re happy to see Kelvin McCoy with me. Right?

  Me: Yes, with you. But Kelvin McCoy!

  Holt: I heard he’s a dick in real life.

  Me: Don’t ruin my vision.

  Holt: Be ready at eight.

  Me: I will. Thank you!

  Holt: You’re very welcome.

  I grab my computer and race to the shower.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Blaire

  Berridge Stadium is boisterous.

  Throngs of people are packed into the baseball stadium. Chords of music play intermittently over the speakers set up on either side of the stage in the outfield. A giant screen, black for the time being, is stretched out behind the platform that Kelvin McCoy will take in a matter of minutes.

  Holt leads me down the aisle toward a baseball field that’s been turned into a country music concert. I dodge elbows from inebriated attendees and dirty looks from women who see Holt first, only to realize that I’m right behind him.

  He looks and smells incredible. How a man can look this good after working for twelve hours—or more—is beyond me.

  His ass fills out the back of his tan dress pants. Broad shoulders stretch the fabric of his blue and white striped shirt. The collar is undone, and his tie is missing, and I can’t imagine how women get any work done around him all day.

  I’m watching him and not where I’m going when a foot juts out in front of me from the side. The edge of my heel catches on it, and I plummet forward.

  “Ah,” I squeak as I slam into Holt’s back.

  He turns, surprised, and quickly wraps one arm around me.

  I look up to find him searching the area around me.

  “What happened?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  His eyes find mine, and he grins. “Well, pay attention before I get into a fight.”

  My skin burns with the intensity of his gaze. It’s almost electric tonight.

  Our conversation on the way over was friendly and fun. He gave me crap about my love for Kelvin McCoy and Beau McCrae, a country music singer who’d just finished his set. I teased him about being jealous. Despite the airy banter, something was different.

  I felt it. I think Holt did too.

  My brain told me it was because I put it into the universe that I would consider something more serious with him. I’m seeing things I want to see. But then he brushes his hand against mine or dips his fingers into the small of my back, and I swear I feel an intimacy to his touch that I haven’t felt before.

  “Don’t get into a fight until after we watch Kelvin McCoy,” I tell him. “I don’t want to be thrown out of here too soon.”

  His grin turns mischievous. “What do you like about him so much?”

  It’s a simple question that has an easy answer. But it’s hard to think about anyone else while my body is pressed into Holt’s. Despite being in a stadium full of people, it feels like just the two of us.

  I bite my lip. “His voice is dreamy.”

  Holt rolls his eyes. “He sounds like a cocky teenager.”

  I slap his chest and ignore the way it doesn’t give. It only makes it worse that I know how spectacular it is undressed.

  “Let’s get to our seats before you miss the show,” he says.

  He sets me back on both of my feet. But before he turns around, he grabs my hand.

  My eyes flip to his. He looks as surprised as I feel.

  “Just so you don’t fall again,” he mumbles.

  “Right.”

  His hand is large and warm. His grip is sturdy and reliable, just like I know him to be.

  Don’t get swept up in this.

  I ignore the legions of music fans on either side of the walkway. I block out the way my hand tingles from being tucked into Holt’s. I do my best to activate my guard and not read too much into anything—but it’s difficult.

  It feels so natural.

  Holt shows a uniformed man our tickets before we descend the last few steps. The man nods as I pass.

  We stop at the bottom row. The only people closer to the stage are the people standing on the field.

  “Oh, wow,” I say. “How did you get these tickets? They’re fantastic.”

  He drops my hand and runs his t
hrough his hair. “Connections, I guess.”

  “You must have some good connections.”

  “You could say that.” He looks over my shoulder. “Whatever is said tonight, please understand I have no control over them.”

  I furrow my brow. “What? Who? What are you talking about?”

  I’m not sure if he’s going to laugh or wince. Either way, he slips by me and into the row of seats. I follow along and sit in the empty seat next to him.

  “We didn’t think you were coming,” a familiar voice says from the other side of him.

  I peer down the aisle.

  The man I met at the Landrys’ the first night I met Holt—Oliver, I think it was, sits beside Holt. A young woman with gorgeous blond hair is seated next to him. Two men who are variations of Holt and Oliver smile back at me from the other side of the girl. An older man and woman sit at the end. The woman looks regal in an approachable way with her large pieces of jewelry and plain black T-shirt. The man is dressed like Holt and has the same warm smile.

  “You brought her,” the woman says, clearly thrilled to see me.

  My cheeks heat as I take in this … situation.

  These people are his family.

  My attention shifts away from the curious faces to the man who brought me here.

  Holt looks at me and forces a swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. The look on his face is half-smile, half-wince as he tries to read the look on mine.

  I lift a brow and try not to look as shocked as I feel.

  “I should’ve warned you, huh?” he asks.

  “Maybe a word or two would’ve been kind.”

  He wrinkles his nose. “Sorry?”

  That does it. I can’t be irritated with him when he looks at me with a mixture of adorableness and heat. It dissolves my anxiety and confusion and leaves me laughing.

  He turns to his family. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Blaire Gibson. Blaire, this is Oliver, Larissa—our cousin—Boone, and Wade. At the end is our mother and father, Siggy and Rodney.”

  “Darling, it is such a pleasure to meet you,” Siggy coos. “I’m sorry I’m so far away. I’d love to welcome you with a big hug!”

  “Oh, a wave will do,” I say, giving her my best smile and thanking the heavens I don’t have to hug her.