Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  She lets out a loud sigh. “Of course, I am.”

  I screw up my face in disbelief. “How is that an of course? You’ve been datin’ Dallas for what? Almost two years?” I toss her a look of disbelief. “I honestly thought y’all would’ve done it by now.”

  I swear I can practically feel her prickle with defensiveness. Her voice takes on a prim and proper tone. “Just because people date in high school for a while doesn’t mean they’re fixin’ to just…drop their drawers and knock boots.”

  God, she sounds like she belongs back in Scarlett O’Hara’s day right now. So self-righteous, her Southern accent growing thicker.

  “Well, then I reckon I should tell you we dropped our drawers last night, but no boots were a knockin’.” I attempt a joke before realizing in horror what I’ve just confessed to.

  Shit.

  The silence is now deafening.

  Finally, when Magnolia speaks, her voice sounds hollowed out and small. “I reckon that was a little more information than I needed.”

  I scrub a hand down my face, frantically scrambling for a way to salvage this conversation, but I come up empty. I pull in her driveway, then shift to put the truck in park. I always get out and open the door for her—her and Charlotte both, for that matter—but I stop with my fingers resting on the door handle, not yet pushing it open, and turn to blurt out, “I’m sorry, Shortca—”

  “No worries! I’ve gotta go. Thanks for goin’ with me.” Then she bounds from the truck with a speed that rivals the time she ran the bases during her best hit at a baseball game one summer.

  Leaving me sitting here with my hand still on the door handle.

  I watch her go because that’s all I can do. I’m not welcome in her house, even if I wanted to chase after her and apologize.

  She disappears inside, and I back out of the drive to head around the corner and turn onto my street, making an immediate turn into my driveway.

  As soon as I turn off the ignition, I let my head fall back against the headrest with a soft thump.

  What a colossal mess.

  Magnolia

  SENIOR YEAR OF HIGH SCHOOL

  April

  It took a few days for Hollis and I to get back on track after that awkward conversation on the way home from the dress shop. I’m pretty darn certain every molecule in my body sighed in relief at getting my best friend back one hundred percent again.

  Next month, we graduate. My mother’s making me endure a final summer etiquette camp before I head off to college. I admit, I’m dreading it more than usual and not just because Lora Ann will be there, fresh with insults to sling at me like always. It’s really because I don’t want to miss out on this last summer with Hollis before everything changes. It sounds dramatic even to myself, but I feel it in my bones that once we head to Auburn, our friendship will shift. And that worries me.

  I walk over to my bookshelf, my bare feet soundless on the plush carpeting. Reaching behind a large stack of books—collector’s editions by Shakespeare and Hawthorne and other classics that my mother approves of—I withdraw what’s tucked behind them and hold it in my hands like a priceless treasure.

  In a way, it is.

  The model car Hollis repaired for me is one of the sweetest gifts I’d ever received. All the expensive gifts in the world pale in comparison to this. Because not only did he give me something meaningful, but he also committed time in making it for me.

  With a wistful smile, I replace it where it stays hidden and safe. Just as I back away and move to check my reflection in the floor-length mirror, my phone vibrates from where I left it on my bedside table. I hurry over to it, expecting a text from Dallas telling me he’s on his way. He should be here soon since we’re all meeting here to catch the limo to the dance.

  Instead of Dallas’ name, though, it’s Hollis.

  Hollis: Psst! Open your bedroom window.

  I frown, wondering what the heck he’s up to. When I raise the blinds and see Hollis standing outside my window in his tux, all breath lodges in my chest.

  His easy grin makes me smile. When he holds out his arms and does a slow turn for me, like he’s modeling, I roll my eyes with a little laugh before quietly unlatching and sliding open my window.

  “What are you doin’?” I hiss quietly.

  He moves closer and gestures for me to step aside. His hands grip my windowsill, and far too flawlessly, he swings his tall body into my bedroom. As soon as he plants his shiny black shoes on my carpet, he smooths down his tux.

  “How do I look?”

  Handsome as all get-out. That’s my initial thought. It’s funny how you can practically spend every day with someone yet not really see them. Every so often, I’m jarred by the fact that with each day, Hollis becomes less of a boy and more like a man.

  His shoulders are broader, his muscles thicker, but not in a bodybuilder kind of way, and he’s grown even cuter. Dark scruff that would make most guys look messy and unkempt sprinkles his jawline, but it actually makes Hollis more attractive.

  “You look handsome.”

  His eyes sparkle before he surveys me from head to toe. Something indecipherable flickers in his gaze before he twists his lips in a disappointed frown.

  “What?” I glance down at myself, wondering what could possibly be wrong.

  “Somethin’s just not right.” He shakes his head. “You can’t go to prom like this.”

  Alarm spreads through me. “Wh—” My response is cut short at the sight of what he pulls from his pants pocket.

  A packet of cherry Pop Rocks.

  I deflate in relief and swat at his chest playfully. “Hollis Barnes!”

  His wide toothy grin is infectious, and he snakes an arm around my waist to tug me in for a hug. He ducks his head and dusts a little kiss to my temple. “You look beautiful as always, Shortcake.”

  I close my eyes, relishing in the comfort of my best friend. “Thank you.”

  “All right, now. Open up.” I back away and watch as he tears open the candy. I open my mouth, and he shakes some Pop Rocks onto my tongue, and instantly, the crackling starts.

  He shakes some into his mouth, and then, crackling candy in our mouths, we grin at one another as though we’re sharing the world’s biggest secret. Once we’re finished with the candy, he glances around, as if looking for something.

  “What’d you need?” I ask.

  “Where’s the purse you’re bringin’ tonight?”

  My brows slant together as I wonder why on earth he’s asking that. But it’s Hollis, so I grab the small wristlet purse hanging from its strap on the handle of my closet door. I hold it up to show him, and he waves me over, holding out his hand for it.

  Suspiciously, I place it in his large palm. He flicks the clasp to open it and reaches in his pants pocket, withdrawing another packet of Pop Rocks. He drops the packet inside my purse, closes it, and hands it back.

  His lips part as if to say something more, but his phone chimes once, and he reaches in his back pocket. He reads a text message and then responds quickly. With an apologetic expression, he leans in and drops a kiss to my forehead. “Gotta run and pick up Charlotte. See you in a few.”

  “Okay.”

  When he’s halfway out my window, I rush over and whisper-hiss, “Love you, Hollis.”

  He pauses, head turning back to me, and his expression sends a rush of warmth through my veins. “But not like that,” he finishes with a sweet smile. Then he’s gone, striding quickly through the backyard without a backward glance.

  I close and latch my window and right my blinds. Afterward, I gingerly sit on the edge of my bed and open my purse to stare down at what he placed in it, and I think back to Grandpa Joe’s recent sermon on unexpected blessings.

  That summer when I was eight, I never expected I’d get my own version of a guardian angel and best friend.

  With a small sigh, I close my purse and set it aside. Time to touch up my makeup before Dallas gets here. My mother and Roy want to take
pictures before the limo drives us to the convention center, where our dance will be held.

  As I add a little more lip gloss, I try to give myself a pep talk about later tonight. Dallas and I have talked about taking things further, and I think I’m finally ready. I mean, I love being with him, and even though he’s headed to the University of Alabama and I’m going to Auburn, I feel like maybe we can actually keep the relationship going. It’s not like we don’t have email and FaceTime and everything.

  I stare back at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. “Tonight, you won’t be a virgin anymore,” I whisper.

  I’d be lying if I said a mix of trepidation and excitement wasn’t plaguing me right now.

  Tonight has been magical. Dallas has been so sweet, and we’ve slow danced to practically every song the DJ has played. He’s kissed me dozens of times, and they’ve been little tender ones that make me want more.

  Charlotte is a blast to be around, and we’re dancing like crazy people and singing at the top of our lungs to Taylor Swift’s “Picture To Burn.” The guys are chatting off to the side of the dance floor, their amusement evident as we dance like madwomen and laugh at each other’s antics.

  When it ends and fades to the DJ’s voice who says, “We’ve got a slow one, now, dedicated to Shortcake.” I jerk, my eyes immediately finding Hollis, whose mouth tips up, and he winks at me. “Shortcake, wherever you are, this one’s for you.”

  Coldplay’s song “Everglow” begins playing, and suddenly, it’s like something surreal happens. The edges of my vision grow hazy when I focus on an approaching Hollis. I tip my head to peer up at him as he takes my hand in his and places his other at my hip. We settle into an easy slow-paced sway, our bodies moving as one.

  I stare up at him in wonder. “You remembered.” After that day in the dress shop, I hadn’t brought up how I’d asked him to promise to save me a dance.

  With a slightly confused look, a faint smile touches his lips. “Of course I remembered.”

  For whatever reason, I release his hand to bring it up and rest my palm on his firm chest under the guise of first smoothing down his shirt. He’s since discarded his jacket, like Dallas has. His body heat radiates through the fabric. The hard muscles of his pecs beneath my hand make me wonder how it would feel without the barrier between us.

  That wayward thought has me sucking in a sharp breath, and I avoid his eyes. He drops his head to bring his lips to my ear. “He behavin’ himself?” He leans back, waiting for me to meet his concerned gaze. When I merely nod, relief is evident in his features. Then he ducks his head again. “Remember to be safe tonight.”

  I nod as heat floods my face. Hollis always acts like a big brother, but when the song nears the end, and he covers the palm I have on his chest with his own, I become transfixed by the sight of our hands together.

  Unable to look away, I swallow hard as a foreign sense of awareness spreads through me. Hollis’ callused fingertips, slightly stained with grease even though I know he scrubs himself clean after working on his truck, have me riveted to such an extent that I don’t realize when the song has ended and bled into another until the large hand at my back breaks through the haze.

  Hollis backs away with a quick wink before slipping his arms around Charlotte. Dallas steps in front of me, blocking my view, snapping me from the odd trance.

  Hollis is my best friend, and my lingering sadness over so much change occurring soon is clearly messing with my mind.

  That must be it.

  Hollis

  PROM NIGHT

  “You’re killin’ me.” My whispered groan fills the silence of the bedroom.

  Charlotte’s on my bed beneath me, the fabric of her prom dress hiked up to her waist, baring her tiny panties. She clutches my ass, urging me to grind against her. My dick feels like it’s about to burst free from my pants.

  “But what a way to go.” She watches me with a half-lidded gaze.

  I place an openmouthed kiss on her collarbone, then nip at it before running my tongue over her skin. She rocks her hips against me, grinding against my dick, and I barely stifle a hoarse groan.

  “I want you, Hollis.” The way she says this catches my attention, her words working their way through the haze of lust clogging my brain.

  I rise up to peer down at her. We’ve talked about it, but I’ve never pressed the issue. Especially since she basically told me her first time was shitty. I’ve always left the ball in her court. I respect Charlotte too much.

  “Are you sure?” I rest my weight on one forearm. With my other hand, I trace her jawline with my thumb. “You know I’m not—”

  She presses a finger to my lips, stopping me. “I know you’re not trying to pressure me.” Her eyes soften. She drops her arm before raising her head to dust a kiss on my mouth. One edge of her lips quirks upward. “And tonight’s been perfect.”

  It really has. I place a kiss to the tip of her nose before drawing back. “If you wanna stop at any point, just say so.”

  She nods before tugging me back down, and soon, our mouths seal over one another, kisses turning more heated, wetter, deeper. She guides me in unzipping her dress, and when we carefully pull it from her, I struggle to draw air into my lungs.

  She’s so damn sexy in her lace bra and panties. I quickly strip off my own clothes down to my boxer briefs, and I try to take things slow, try to ease into it, but she wants no part of it. She unhooks her bra and shoves off her panties, dislodging me from on top of her in the process.

  I flick an amused look her way. “In a hurry?” I reach over to check the time on my phone. “Still a few hours before curfew for you.”

  Her fingers slip inside the waistband of my boxers, and she starts sliding them down. My dick juts out, and she draws in a sharp breath.

  I slip off the bed, slide my boxers the rest of the way off, and kick them to my bedroom floor. Before I can take my spot on the bed again, she reaches out and takes me in her hand.

  “Fuck,” I breathe out.

  Her smile is full of mischief as she sits up and runs her tongue along the tip, darting along the top to lap up the moisture there. I thread my fingers in her hair and my grip tightens when she fits her lips around my length and glides her hot mouth up and down in agonizing strokes.

  Shit, there’s no way I’ll last if she keeps this up. I’ll be a one pump chump, and I can’t have that embarrassment hanging over me. Especially not for my first time.

  I tug her gently, steering her back from me. Looking down at her lips, wet and slightly reddened from my kisses, I say exactly that.

  She lies back and tells me to hurry up and get a condom. When she spreads her legs, baring what I’ve become well acquainted with these past few months, I can’t help but lower my face between her thighs.

  With my lips fastened around her clit, I gently flick my tongue against it, just enough to drive her crazy. Her hips rock, and I slide a finger inside her, groaning when her wet heat clenches me tight. She clutches my shoulders.

  “Hollis, please.” Her breathless whispers sound pained. “I need you now.”

  I slide on the condom and press inside, inch by inch, trying to ensure I don’t hurt her too badly, but she just groans. “Hurry up and do it already.”

  I hesitate, but the look she gives me tells me she’s serious. I thrust deeper and freeze, panicked at her expression when her eyes pinch shut. “Shit, I’m sorry, Char—”

  Her eyes flash open, and she tugs my head down to whisper against my lips, “Don’t apologize. It’s just… I need to get used to you inside me.”

  Shifting slightly as if she’s testing how things feel, it makes me sink even deeper, and she bites her bottom lip with a tiny moan.

  “You feel so good,” I whisper against her lips. Fitting my mouth to hers in a hungry kiss, I drive in and out of her.

  I barely hold myself off, but when I reach between us to work her clit, and she hits her orgasm, I let go. Afterward, we lie in my bed, heaving like we’ve just run a
marathon, and gaze at one another with a knowing smirk.

  A long while later, after I sneak out of my room to grab a snack for us—and simultaneously pray I won’t encounter my mom—Charlotte insists on going at it again, citing scientific research purposes.

  I’m hesitant since I heard girls can be tender down there afterward, especially since this was like her first time all over again—and I tell her this—but she persists. “We need to make sure the first time wasn’t a fluke.” Her smile is full of naughtiness.

  Of course, I have no choice but to prove her wrong.

  And I think I succeed, if the way her inner muscles clench around me during her orgasm is any indication.

  The second time with Charlotte is slow, gentler because whether she wants to admit it or not, I caught the little wince when I pushed inside her. I try to take my time and make it good for her.

  Once I drop her off at home and sneak back into my house, I strip off my clothes and slide into bed. The sheets still smell like us, and a satisfied smile tugs at my lips. Tonight was pretty damn awesome.

  Just as I drift off to sleep, a niggling thought sprouts at the back of my subconscious that I did something I shouldn’t have.

  Or maybe that I did something with the person I shouldn’t have.

  A few weeks later…

  When I pull onto my street on my way home from school, my first thought is how glad I am that only a few weeks of school are left.

  The second: How relieved I am not to have a shift at the country club tonight after having worked later than usual last night.

  As soon as I realize my usual spot in the driveway is taken, I slow, my tired brain wondering who the vehicle could belong to.

  Until it dawns on me.

  I rush to park and get out of my truck, moving around to survey the shiny Chevelle that’s obviously been the recipient of some serious TLC.