Holding Out

by Serena Bell

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do. For me, it’s that I’m still here.”

  “Still at R&R, you mean?”

  He nodded. “I’ve tried to leave a couple times, but I always end up back in the same place.”

  She tilted her head. “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Nah. Just—you look at guys like Jake, Nate, Hunter—they know what they’re doing. And I’m the odd jobs guy. Which—Look, I’m not complaining. Jake’s a great boss. But I hear you on the ‘what are you going to be when you grow up’ thing.”

  “Maybe no one knows,” Becca said. “Maybe the trick is just to act like you know. That’s what I’m working on now.”

  “Faking it?”

  She laughed. “That sounds horrible, doesn’t it? I’m not faking it, but—I’ve sucked at the self-confidence thing until recently. Now I’m turning over a new leaf. Meet ‘New Becca.’ Just like the old Becca, but doesn’t take any shit from anyone, including the voice in her head saying, ‘You can’t do this.’”

  Her body language changed as soon as she said, “Meet New Becca,” her shoulders straightening, her chest rising, even her chin coming up a notch. And her eyes met his, dead on.

  Her eyes were very blue, and he had trouble looking away.

  He liked New Becca. Possibly a little too much. And he didn’t think it was just because when she rolled her shoulders back like that, her breasts tipped up appealingly and he could see the shape of her nipples through her bra and T-shirt.

  Although that didn’t hurt.

  What he needed to say next was, “I’d better go. I gotta get up early tomorrow morning.”

  What he said instead was, “Hey. What happened with the date you were supposed to be on tonight?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He held up his hands, palms out. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” He looked around the room for a clock, failed to find one, bulled through anyway. “I’d better go. I gotta get up early tomorrow morning.”

  There. He’d done it. Even though he still didn’t seem to be getting up on his feet.

  “No, it’s okay. I—it’s just kind of embarrassing.” The pink was back in her cheeks.

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  She reached for one of the throw cushions on the couch, wrapped her arms around it, and held it tight to her chest. “The guy didn’t like the fact that I didn’t have a lot of experience.”

  He really needed to get up and leave. But once again, his mouth seemed to have disengaged from his brain, and it was saying something:

  “How much is not a lot?”

  Silence.

  Right. Bad question for so many reasons. “You know what? You don’t have to answer that. It’s really none of my business.”

  “No, um, it’s okay. I have lots of experience in lots of things but no experience in, um, one specific thing.”

  His brain got tangled there for a second over “lots of experience in lots of things.” He wanted a detailed explanation of that. Then he caught up to the end of the sentence. “That one specific thing being . . . ?”

  As soon as the prompt was out of his mouth, he regretted it. How did he think she was going to finish that sentence? Jesus, Ambrose, think before you talk.

  “Intercourse,” Becca whispered.

  The word occupied a lot of space in the dark, quiet living room. And then Griff got his brain unstuck on Becca’s experience or lack thereof, and what exactly it entailed, and put the last pieces together.

  “Wait, and what? He didn’t want you because you’re a virgin? What a dick.” Not to mention an idiot, but Griff wasn’t going to say that. “And an idiot! What kind of moron would turn down the chance to be a girl’s first time?”

  Okay, whoops, he had said it. He really needed to work on the coordination between his better judgment and his mouth.

  “You wouldn’t?” She sounded surprised. In a good way. Pleased.

  Which—uh-oh. Had he sounded like he was volunteering?

  Was he volunteering?

  No. No, no, no, he was not. He’d had sex with a virgin once, and it had taken him to hell, by way of divorce. No way would he do that again, even if the woman in question did not already have a big No Entry sign tattooed across her chest.

  Of course, she hadn’t asked. Wasn’t asking. He was just being a dope. And she was sitting there looking at him with a sad expression on her face, because what kind of assholes had she been dating? He had to at least reassure her that all men were not created equal in the douchebag department. And that there was nothing wrong with being a virgin, at any age.

  “My ex-wife, Marina, was a virgin,” he said.

  Those were not the words he’d intended to say. He’d meant to say something neutral, like, It would depend on the circumstances, of course, but if I was with her and she wanted me to be her first, I wouldn’t walk away from that.

  Becca’s eyebrows went up. “And that wasn’t a problem for you?”

  “No. It was . . . For me, it was kind of a plus. It was, I don’t know. Nice.”

  Way to go, Ambrose. “Nice”?

  “Griff? Can I ask you something?”

  Every cell in his body screamed, Danger. “No,” he said, definitively.

  She drew herself up. Straightened her shoulders. Squared her chin. “But—you don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

  Damn New Becca. He was guessing Old Becca would have folded already. “No to whatever you are about to ask.”

  “You must have slept with, I don’t know, a hundred women? At least?”

  That made him laugh. “Who told you that? Nate?” Nate had an exaggerated idea of Griff’s prowess, and Griff had, admittedly, never tried to set him straight.

  She crossed her arms, framing her gorgeous tits and forcing him to make a conscious effort to keep his gaze on her face. “My point being, it’s not a big deal to you. Sex isn’t.”

  “No,” he admitted. After Marina, he’d gone out of his way to make sure he never did that again—mistook sex for more than it was.

  “So . . . what if you agreed to, um, take my virginity?” Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes were bright. It was a deadly combination. Maybe looking at her face wasn’t the safest idea, either.

  “No.” He stood up. “Becca, no. It’s a terrible idea.”

  “Because you’re not attracted to me.” Her full red mouth formed a little pout.

  Which shouldn’t have been sexy at all, but was. Damn it. He was attracted to her. New Becca was a menace to society. A woman with the courage and confidence to ask a guy a question like that straight to his face—pink cheeks or no—was a turn-on.

  “It’s not that. It’s more everything that goes with it. The fact that you’re Alia’s little sister. And that you dated Nate, so guy code—”

  “Seriously, Griff, we barely dated. He could not be more like a brother to me.”

  “Well, exactly. He’s almost your big brother at this point, and I’m his friend, and he would cut my balls off and stuff them down my throat if I went through with what you’re proposing. That’s if Alia didn’t get to me first.” He realized he’d taken several steps away from her toward the door, and forced himself to stand his ground.

  “They don’t need to know.”

  Those eyes, so eager, were going to do him in. He shook his head. “They would find out. Secrets like that don’t keep. Anyway, I don’t do complicated. And this situation is complicated. Inherently.”

  He should know.

  “It wouldn’t have to be complicated. One and done.”

  He shook his head again, at a loss for words. One and done was usually his favorite phrase, but . . . “What you have to understand is how low my threshold for complicated is. These days, I don’t even stick around for donuts and coffee.”

  “Look,” Becca said. “My virginity is a royal pain in the ass at this point. If I’m seeing a guy, I either have to lie about it by omission—which I won’t do, because that shit always comes back to haunt you—o
r tell the truth. And if I tell the truth, guys are universally weird about it. Like you’re being.” It was her turn to get up from the couch. She crossed to the wall and flicked the overhead light on. Both of them blinked.

  “I’m not being weird about your virginity. I’m being weird about taking the virginity of my closest friend’s almost-sister. Plus, when you’re someone’s first, they get feelings even if they don’t mean to.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re arrogant, Ambrose. What about the possibility that you would get feelings for me?”

  “Impossible. I don’t do relationships.”

  She shook her head and gave him a disgusted look. “I wouldn’t get feelings. I’d know up front what the terms were, and so would you. Plus, we don’t cross paths that often, so we could easily avoid each other. I could stay away from Friday Night Dinners to dodge any awkwardness until things cool off. It would be fine.”

  He was still shaking his head, at a loss for any other words to describe what a bad idea this was.

  “I like you, Becca. I think you’re great. And I am sympathetic about your, um, situation. But I don’t want to die. And Nate would kill me if I went through with what you’re suggesting.”

  That got her. She sighed heavily. And bit her lip again.

  Fuuuck. She needed to stop doing that.

  She paced back and forth a few times, and he was afraid New Becca was steeling herself for another approach. But then she crossed her arms and gave him a dark look.

  “Fine,” she said. “If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone else. Let’s just hope whoever it is won’t do anything you wouldn’t do.”

  4

  Becca woke up as soon as Nate and Robbie came downstairs. She heard coffee being ground and brewed in the kitchen. Robbie babbled, and Nate answered him in earnest grownup sentences, as if he could understand everything Robbie had “said.” It made her grin.

  Nate and Robbie wandered into the living room.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Oh, hey—I forgot you were in here. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

  “I was awake before you came in. Is that coffee brewing?” She sat up.

  “Stay there. I’ll bring you a mug.”

  He came back with a steaming mug that had the logo of his new nonprofit emblazoned across it. Nate was part-time aquatic director at R&R, but most of his time was spent working on his nonprofit, KidsUp, which helped kids in low-income rural communities stay away from drugs and other kinds of trouble. He handed her the mug and eyed the two beer steins still sitting on the coffee table. “Were you double fisting it after we went to bed?”

  Damn it; she hadn’t rinsed out her and Griff’s glasses. “No. Griff stuck around a while after the party.”

  Nate raised an eyebrow.

  She shook her head. “Believe me, there is nothing going on. Griff wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole.”

  Even if I begged him.

  Granted, she hadn’t exactly begged, but in the cold (and sober) light of day, her behavior seemed totally outrageous and embarrassing. She would never be able to look him in the eye again. Luckily for her, she could probably mostly avoid him; she only saw him every few months for a couple of hours at a time, and if she skipped Friday Night Dinners, she probably wouldn’t see him at all.

  She didn’t dwell on how she felt about that.

  “Good,” Nate said. “I love Griff, but he’s not a good guy for you. You’re not his type at all.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? That he’s a player and I’m the Virgin Mary?”

  “I’m just saying, he goes for women who know their way around.”

  She glared at him. “You better not be implying that that’s a bad thing.” She hated slut-shaming. It was the flip side of virgin-worshipping. You couldn’t have one without the other. Madonna, whore: women lost either way.

  He held up his hands, palms out. “It’s not good or bad. No judgment. It’s just what he does. The bottom line is, you and he want different things.”

  “And what does Griff want, in your opinion?”

  “To bang enough women that he forgets his ex-wife. Which, I might add, is a lost cause. He’s totally not over her. I think he’d take her back in a heartbeat if she asked. Even though she is a cold-hearted—”

  Nate looked down at Robbie, who was drooling and whapping his hands up and down happily.

  “She’s not a nice human being,” Nate finished.

  Robbie hooted, by way of punctuation. Nate smoothed his son’s wispy baby hair back off his forehead. “Are you sticking around for the Memorial Day picnic on Monday?”

  Becca shrugged. “Sure. The salon’s closed till Tuesday, so if you guys are okay with having me here all weekend, I can stay and help out with this little goober.” She scrunched her face in Robbie’s direction.

  “If you don’t mind the couch. Trina and Hunter are coming with the girls for the picnic, and they have dibs on the guest room.”

  “Nah. It’s fine. And it’ll be great to see them.” Hunter was the fourth guy in Nate, Griff, and Jake’s group of friends. He and his wife and their girls lived a few hours away but often came down for picnics or other events.

  Becca’s coffee was finally cool enough to hazard a sip. It was terrific—dark and hot. Like Griff’s eyes, the split second after she’d told him she was a virgin, before she’d propositioned him.

  It was that brief look he’d given her, thick with longing, that had made her brave and stupid enough to ask the question. But she’d miscalculated. Or hallucinated.

  “How’s it going with KidsUp?” she asked Nate, before she could think about Griff any more.

  “Mostly really good. But we’re having a hell of a time getting enough homework helpers. You wouldn’t believe the demand that’s coming out of the woodwork. So many of these kids want to do well, but they’re flailing. And their wealthier peers can afford tutors, so kids with money are killing it and kids without money are falling through the cracks.”

  “That sucks.”

  “I know, right? Griff’s been taking on a few kids. He’s really great with them.”

  “I can see it. He’s so friggin’ cute with Robbie.”

  Nate squinted at her. “Don’t get any ideas. Just because he holds Robbie doesn’t mean he’s family man material.”

  She shook her head. “Believe me. I know exactly where I stand with Griff.”

  He’d made that abundantly clear.

  “Becca?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Uh-huh?”

  “Speaking of holding Robbie, if I hand him over to you right now, could you watch him for an hour while I, um, catch up on sleep?”

  She gave him a dark look and took the proffered baby, whose diaper needed changing.

  “Just keep it down up there, okay?” she said sternly, though she was secretly delighted, as always, by Nate and Alia’s happiness. “When you guys go at it, they can hear you in China. You wouldn’t want to scare the paying guests away.”

  He gave her the finger and booked it upstairs.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me, Robbie. But that’s okay, because you’re the only male I understand,” she told her nephew, and was rewarded with a ginormous grin.

  5

  “Do you think he has a chance?”

  Griff, Nate, Jake, and Hunter were sitting at a table in Bottoms Up, watching CJ—a newcomer to R&R—chat up a redhead at the bar. The bar was a dive on the surface—scarred tables, neon beer signs, a menu of rubbery burgers and limp fries—but it played a great selection of country and classic rock, the beer flowed freely, and, for reasons known only to God, twenty-something women seemed to love it.

  Griff shook his head. “No way.”

  “Diagnosis?” Nate asked.

  Griff watched CJ’s moves for a second. “He’s talking too much. I don’t even know what he’s saying, but I know whatever it is, she doesn’t give a shit.”

  “Can you save his sorry ass?”

 
“What am I now, roving wingman?”

  Nate laid his palms open. “I’m just saying, maybe take pity on the dude. He hasn’t gotten laid since he got back.”

  As if on cue, CJ retreated to the table and slumped into the booth beside Hunter.

  “No luck, huh?” Jake asked sympathetically.

  “What were you planning to do if you scored, anyway?” Nate ribbed him. “Let her ride between us in my truck?”

  As always, CJ had bummed a ride to the bar, even though he owned a lean, mean black Ford Mustang Shelby GT350 that none of them had ever seen him drive.

  “Yeah, man,” Griff said, leaning in. “What’s that car for if not to get you laid? If I had a car like that, I’d drive it every chance I got.”

  “Fuck you,” CJ said, and there was an unexpected bite to his voice that made Griff give him a second look. You could feel the other guys flinch back, too, like, whoa. The kid wasn’t a hothead, so what was up with that?

  The truth was, Griff had a soft spot for CJ. It had started one night, two weeks ago, when CJ had frozen and then bolted from the card table during Oh Hell when the guys rapped their fists on the table to place their bets. Griff had watched him go, exchanged nods with Jake, and then chased the kid down to the lake, where CJ stood, staring bleakly at the water.

  Griff had joined him, standing shoulder to shoulder.

  “Hey.”

  No response from CJ.

  “We’ve all been there. Everyone’s jumped a foot for no reason. Everyone’s frozen in some situation where it doesn’t make sense. Everyone’s freaked out, run away, whatever.”

  Griff could have told CJ a whole lot more than that, but he kept his mouth shut. This wasn’t about him; it was about CJ.

  “You’re just one of us now, that’s all. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but you should know that if you do want to talk about it, pretty much any guy here will listen. And understand.”

  CJ didn’t move. He didn’t acknowledge Griff’s words in any outright way. But Griff could feel the tension leaving the kid’s body, inch by inch. Shoulders dropping, jaw releasing, heart slowing.

  CJ had no way to know that Griff was a total and complete hypocrite.