Bad news, that’s what Holt Green is.
There’s no way he should have turned me on with the press of his hand and a whisper of how he’d get lost in my eyes, but he did. My skin tingles for his touch, my legs ready to part if he asked, my lips wet and slick, excited at the thought of his mouth on mine. Basically, he’s turned me into a harlot with one slick answer to a question I thought I’d stump him on.
Swallowing hard, I say, “I thought you said you wouldn’t touch me without my permission.”
In an even deeper voice, he says, “I lied,” just as his thumb strokes along my hipbone.
And just like that my nipples are hard, pressing desperately against the small triangles of my bathing suit top.
If he notices, I’m so screwed.
Unsure what else to do, I gear up and shoot my ass back into him in one smooth push. He releases my hip and buckles over . . . just in time for me to step up to the concession stand and place my order.
There, that should do the trick.
Chapter Five
HOLT
The reason I’m still bent over as Harmony places her order is because I have one hell of a hard-on, and not because she toppled me over.
Fuck . . . she smells sweet like vanilla and coconut, and she looks like a wet dream in that bathing suit.
She looked hot as shit in her Instagram story, but the photo didn’t do her justice. Her smooth skin shines under the blinding sun, enticing me to slide on my sunglasses and stare for hours. The yellow bottoms barely cover her curved ass, giving every guy in the area a great view of the two round globes, and in the front, her small breasts are accentuated by the thin straps of fabric just covering her nipples.
She’s proud of her body and has no problem showing it off.
And honestly, I want to write her a thank-you note for giving us all a sensational view today.
I haven’t felt this kind of attraction to a woman in . . . forever. I’ve had my fair share of one-night stands and a few girlfriends in high school, but they’ve never lit me up like Harmony does with one glance in my direction.
Instead of chasing after her, I give myself a second to recover and carefully watch where she settles with her funnel cake and lemonade. Not too far from where I parked my towel and backpack. Easy transfer. Surely, she didn’t think I was done after her slight push. If anything, knowing how fucking good her ass felt—if only briefly—on my dick, I’m even more determined. The girl has sass and fire. I like it.
Once I feel it’s appropriate for me to stand, I order myself a brat and a bag of chips. During my wait, I observe Harmony from a distance. She’s leaning in, talking to her friend, who looks familiar—I think the other waitress from the diner—no doubt telling her about her run-in with me.
I might be borderline insane, possibly stalkerish—okay, very stalkerish—but I want to get to know this girl. There’s something about her besides her gorgeous looks and up-front attitude that’s drawing me toward her, and I want to figure it out.
Backpack slung over my shoulder and towel draped across my arm, I take my food over to their setup. Without saying a word, I lay out my towel next to hers and make myself comfortable. When her friend spots me, her mouth falls open, and I smile as she lifts her hand to point behind Harmony.
“Why are you pointing? Do you see him?” Harmony asks. “Is he looking at me?”
“Can’t take my eyes off you,” I answer.
In the blink of an eye, she snaps her head to the side. “Wh-what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Finding a comfortable place to sit.” I observe our surroundings. “Crowded, wouldn’t you say?”
She looks around as well and says, “There are at least a dozen other spots you could claim.”
“Yeah, but not with the view this one provides.” I glance down her body and then back up.
“You’re a pig.”
“Because I can appreciate beauty in the wild? That makes me a pig?”
She shakes her head, her natural curls bouncing around her face. “Oh no, don’t you dare spin this. You’re being an intrusive male, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“I actually think that beauty comment was sweet,” her friend says.
“Priya,” Harmony scolds.
“Why, thank you,” I say while leaning over Harmony and holding out my hand to her friend. “Holt. It’s very nice to meet you . . . Priya, is it?”
“Yup.” She fluffs her black hair over her shoulder. “It’s nice to meet you. Harmony hasn’t stopped talking about you since last night.”
“Is that right?” I ask, a giant smile on my face.
Giving in, Harmony sits up and crosses her legs, setting her funnel cake in her lap. “Don’t get your hopes up. It was out of pure hatred.”
“You know what they say . . .” I shrug.
Harmony tilts her head in my direction. “Is there an end to that sentence?”
“I was hoping you’d finish it for me, but I see you’re being stubborn today.” I stretch my legs out over my towel and pick up my brat. Before taking a bite, I say, “You know what they say . . . hate often turns into love.”
Harmony snorts. “Ha, okay. Yup. That’s what this is, the start of the greatest love story of all time.”
“I’m glad you see it that way too.”
“Oh, he’s charming.” Priya tries to pluck a piece of funnel cake off the plate, but Harmony swats her hand away. So of course, Priya keeps digging her own grave, casting me in a beautiful light. “It’s hard to look past the rippling muscles. I mean, who knew there was sinew that wrapped around ribs?”
“It takes a lot of protein and vegetables to get those—brat excluded today,” I say with a wink.
“I believe it. And what about that V in your hips that’s directing my wandering eyes straight to your crotch?”
“You are so embarrassing,” Harmony says, but I catch her glance at my crotch for a brief second.
Look all you want, sweetheart.
“That’s from ab work. Lots of oblique workouts.”
“Would you say you spend a lot of time in the gym?” Priya asks, tapping her chin with interest. I’m pretty sure Priya is doing this on purpose, torturing her friend with questions about me, and I honestly couldn’t ask for a better wing-woman.
“A lot of time. But also a lot of time in the library and on the field. You see, Priya, us baseball players, we’re not the stuck-up assholes everyone thinks we are.”
“Guilty.” Priya raises her hand. “I’m one of those people.”
“I’m not going to say that doesn’t hurt, but I can see that you’re open to a change of heart.”
“Jesus Christ.” Harmony keeps her head down and continues to tear apart her funnel cake, getting powdered sugar all over her fingers. What I wouldn’t give to lick some of it off, especially the light dusting that’s fallen on her legs.
“So open. Please, Holt, change my way of thinking.” Priya props her chin up and blinks rapidly. If I wasn’t so enamored with the brick wall erected next to me—I’m talking about Harmony, did you get that?—then I’d consider making a move on Priya. She’s fucking funny.
But alas, I’m caught up on the girl in the yellow bikini. Which means I spend the next ten minutes describing our practices, our workout routines, our community service, our study halls, private lessons with coaches, and pretty much everything that goes into being a Brentwood baseball player.
When I’m done, I take a sip of my water and pop open my chips, letting Priya and Harmony mull it over.
Impressed, Priya smiles broadly while Harmony stares at the water, her funnel cake long gone now.
I can’t read the purse of her lips or the tension in her shoulders. Is it a good thing or a bad thing? Is she annoyed that I proved her wrong and showed her that we actually are good people? Is she upset she has to give in to liking me? Is she irritated because we’re in public, and all she wants to do is jump my bones?
I’m hoping for the latter.
Jump all you want, Harmony. There’ll be no protest on my end.
Finally, she rolls her head to the side and says, “I still think you’re a bunch of arrogant assholes who don’t deserve everything that’s handed to you.”
Well, there goes my dream of slipping off to somewhere private.
“Pfft.” Priya leans over Harmony and talks to me as if she isn’t lying on Harmony’s lap. “She’s lying. She has this telltale sign when she lies. Her ears move.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Fine, her boobs twitch.”
“They do not,” Harmony says, and I force myself not to stare at her breasts, looking for a lying tick.
“Okay, so she doesn’t have a tell, but I know as her best friend that what she just said was a lie. She’s putting up a front right now because she finds you attractive and dangerous.”
“Attractive, yes,” I say. “But dangerous? Nah, I’m a clean-cut boy, remember?”
“On the outside,” Harmony says, looking me over. “But on the inside, you’re all kinds of danger. Not interested.”
“Well, who’s to say I’m interested in you?” I counter, leaning back on my hands.
“You.” Harmony sits up straight. “You’ve said you’re interested. For the last hour, that’s all you’ve been—interested.”
Yeah. No. In the last hour I’ve been horny, amused, horny . . . and well, horny.
“Clearly, you don’t know how to read people. I’m not the slightest bit interested in you sexually. Now if you want to add me to your friends list, someone you call upon when you need your pussy licked, then by all means, add me to the list.”
She groans and flips to her stomach, lying across her towel and resting her cheek on her hands. “You’re exhausting.”
Priya shyly raises her hand. “Uh, can I get added to that friends list?”
“Self-respect, Priya,” Harmony mutters. “Good God.”
Chapter Six
HOLT
“I’m going to grab a drink. Do you guys need anything?” Priya asks as she stands. From the corner of my eye, past my sunglasses, I see Harmony watch my every move, as if to see if I’m checking out her friend as she stands and shakes sand from her body.
But I’m better than that.
“I’m good,” I say, my eyes trained on Harmony’s backside.
“I’m good too,” Harmony answers. Once Priya is out of earshot, she addresses my line of vision. “So, are you just going to check me out for the rest of the day?”
“You’re lying on your stomach and your bikini bottoms barely cover your backside. Of course I’m going to stare—that is, until it gets to be too painful.”
“Too painful?”
“Yeah, boners hurt if not taken care of, Harmony.” I adjust my glasses and catch her staring at my crotch. “I don’t have a boner right now.”
“But you said . . .”
“Just to get you to check out my penis.”
Groaning, she turns away.
“It’s okay, you know. To hate me but crush on me.”
“I’m not crushing on you, and what happened to the evil asshole from last night?” she asks, soaking up the warmth of the sun on her back.
“He was drunk, so this is the real me.”
“I think I’d rather be talking to the other version of you. He was less annoying. Marginally,” she mutters.
“If I down a six-pack, will that make you feel better?” I ask, lying down with her but keeping my head facing her direction. When I poke her with my finger, she groans again and faces me, giving me a view of her pouty, mauve lips. Full on the top, slightly thinner on the bottom, and perfectly heart-shaped. I could think of some pretty sinister things to do with those lips.
“Yes, please go do that. Maybe you’ll forget where I am.”
“Nah.” I tap my nose. “I’ve got the nose of a bloodhound; I’d be able to find your scent anywhere.”
“Why does that sound so skeevy?”
“Are you picturing me with my nose in your crotch, like other dogs? Because it wouldn’t be my nose between your legs . . .”
“Yeah, I get it. You’d fuck me if I said yes.”
I chuckle. “Yup. But you’d do the same if I gave you the thumbs up.”
She sits up on her elbows, her chest prominently displayed, and I might be seeing things, but is that a shadow of her nipple?
“Please. You have a thumbs up tattooed to your forehead.”
“You’d be surprised how long I can hold out.”
“Is that right?” She pats my forearm and says, “Then let’s have a competition; the first to give the thumbs up loses.” She rolls to her side, shifting just enough that I can see the entire front of her body. “Trust me when I say you’re going to lose.”
“Can’t argue there, because I’m mentally giving you more than just a thumbs up right now.”
“You know, if you want in my pants, the best way to make it happen is to get to know me, rather than bombarding me with sexual innuendos and lewd once-overs.”
“I would hardly say they’ve been lewd once-overs, more like inquisitive.”
“Either way, wouldn’t hurt you to actually talk about something other than my body.”
“If that’s the case, the same things goes for you. Ever since I laid down my towel, I’ve been scandalized by your incessant staring at my crotch. The poor fella is so nervous that he’s started to crawl inside my taint, and if you’ve ever had that happen to you, you’d know that it’s incredibly uncomfortable.”
“Fortunately, I haven’t had that happen to me, given I don’t have a taint.”
“Not true. Women have taints,” I say just as Priya shows up again.
“What the hell did you guys talk about while I was gone?”
I motion to Harmony. “Your friend here doesn’t think she has a taint.”
“Aren’t guys the only ones with taints?” Harmony asks, confused now.
Priya shakes her head and sets her drink in her cupholder that’s buried in the sand. “No, girls have them. It’s between the anus and the vagina.”
“If you spread your legs, I can show you exactly where, Harmony,” I suggest, taking one for the team.
She rolls her eyes. “Once again, walked right into that one. It’s fine. I’ll just feel around for it later tonight when I’m thinking about a shirtless Hendrix.”
Priya sighs before taking a sip of her drink. “Ah, Hendrix. God, he’s so handsome. What I wouldn’t do to ride his face. I want to know what it feels like to have that beard between my thighs.”
Mind exploding over the obsession with Gary Hendrix, because I honestly don’t see it, I ask, “You like Hendrix too? What’s with you two? The guy always has dirt under his fingernails.”
“I’m sure you do too,” Harmony counters.
I hold my hand out to her, flashing my nails. “Clean as fuck.”
“Did you get a manicure?”
“Fuck, no. I might be clean-cut, but I don’t get that shit. I’m a ballplayer.”
She waves her hand about. “Oh, heaven forbid you show an ounce of femininity. It could make your penis smaller.”
I pretend to think about it. “You know, wouldn’t hurt to lose an inch; maybe I ought to get a manicure, after all.”
Priya snickers while Harmony turns away again.
“So, I take it you’re not going to go with me to get one?”
“No way in hell.”
Chapter Seven
HARMONY
Is there a catalog where I can order a new best friend? Those exist, right? You can pick them out based on loyalty, drama . . . snark.
Because I’m in the market for a new one. Ever since Holt sat down next to me, Priya’s been fawning over him. What happened to “I hate baseball players too”?
In all my twenty years of being on this earth, I have never met someone with as quick-witted a tongue as Holt Green.
He has a response for everything—but not just a res
ponse, it’s a comeback, a smart one—and it’s slowly driving me crazy. I want to stump him, but with every chance I take, he always bests me.
And the most annoying part of our bickering is that I’m beginning to like it.
I enjoy the repartee, the back and forth, the stupid challenge he presents. I shouldn’t. I should be running for my apartment, trying to get as far away from this man as possible, and yet, I keep engaging, wanting to see what comes out of his mouth next. Enjoying that he has no shame in staring at my boobs or my ass. That, with him scooting closer and closer until I can practically feel his skin on mine.
Nor can I ignore the way he’s engaging with Priya, how he’s included her despite being interested in me. Even more surprising is that he hasn’t been checking her out. Priya is gorgeous, and her body is divine. It’s rare for any guy to not take a second or third look at Priya when she’s with me. I have to admit, I like that. He’s not as lewd as I thought he was, because a true asshole wouldn’t deny himself a second-option eyeball at my best friend. Surprisingly, he’s smooth and smart and far too handsome for his own good. And maybe for mine.
Rummaging through his backpack, he pulls out a bag of sour gummy worms and tears it open. He holds the bag out to me and Priya and asks, “Do you want one?”
Priya cringes just like I knew she would. “I can’t stand the things, but they’re Harmony’s favorite. She keeps a package in her room at all times.”
“Is that so?” Holt asks, a huge grin on his face. Great. Now he’s going to think we’re sour-gummy-worm friends or some stupid thing like that.
“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” I warn, taking a few from the bag, happy with any of the flavors. I’m not picky.
“How could I not make a big deal out of it? If this doesn’t say we’re meant to be married, I don’t know what does.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Priya says just as a text message beeps on her phone. She opens the message and says, “Oh, Miranda is here. I’m going to go say hi. Think you two can behave yourselves?”
The Strike Out Page 3