Love Me Like I Love You

by Willow Winters

  His lips part, and the muscles in my face begin to ache with the force I’m using to hold my smile in place. I put my phone inside my small wristlet, averting my eyes. He wraps a hand around my upper arm, steering me off to the side and into a corner, away from prying eyes.

  “Magnolia, I can explain.”

  A cynical laugh breaks free. “My word! I know you’re not about to use that clichéd intro to your excuse on me.”

  He sputters, and the desperation drips from his every word. “I was drunk, and it didn’t mean anythin’. I swear!” If this isn’t egregious enough, he quickly tacks on, “Plus, I used protection.”

  Bless his little heart because he just hammered the final nail in his own coffin.

  I grab his beer and chug every disgusting drop of the heinous liquid before thrusting the red Solo cup at his chest, suppressing my gag reflex and praying my poor stomach will forgive me for making it suffer through that wretched beverage.

  “Well, I reckon I’m done here.” I slip around him with a “See you ’round,” and don’t look back as I rush through the throngs of partygoers.

  My heart thumps so erratically, I fear it might beat right out of my chest. It seems to take a century before I finally make it to the front door, all the while ignoring the male voice calling my name.

  Fool me once. That’s all it takes for Magnolia Mae Barton. Except I have a bone to pick with that old saying because, in this case, the shame is on both of us. Him for doing what he did and, in the process, bringing shame to me, if the looks and hushed whispers from the others are any indication.

  Once I cross the threshold and step outside, the humid air is a welcoming change from the stifling air-conditioning inside.

  Well, that and the cheating ex-boyfriend.

  Spotting a gap in the group of partygoers enjoying the warm night along with those outside to smoke, I squeeze through only to stumble into a hard wall of muscle. I mutter an apology and move to step around him, only to be stopped by his voice.

  “Shortcake?”

  My head jerks up at my nickname, and my eyes collide with a familiar pair of brown ones. Hollis peers down at me curiously.

  “You okay?”

  I give a short shake of my head. “I need to get out of here.” Good grief, the desperation in my voice fuels my anger.

  Without a second thought, his palm falls to the base of my spine, and he guides me away from the large house. We barely make it more than ten steps when I hear, “Please, Magnolia! You’ve gotta listen to me!”

  My body instantly tenses at Preston’s voice, and without looking up at Hollis, I utter a hushed plea. “Please keep walkin’ with me.”

  The hand at my back becomes more supportive, and we continue until we make it to the sidewalk. Every footfall that sounds from behind us, growing closer, has my breath quickening in desperation for something to stop him. To prevent him from reaching us.

  As soon as the soles of my sandals make contact with the sidewalk, Preston reaches for my arm, tugging me around to face him. “Magnolia, wait—”

  Hollis whirls around on him, and I swear his broad chest and shoulders appear to dwarf Preston. His features are severe, tense, and anger radiates off him in waves. “Back. The. Fuck. Off.”

  His eyes dart back and forth between Hollis and me, before settling on me and a myriad of emotions flickers across his face. “Look, if we can just talk… I swear, she didn’t mean anythin’ to me.”

  I turn back around. “I said I’m done.” I start walking, focusing so intently on not tripping on the uneven parts of the sidewalk that I barely miss the muffled, “Fuck!”

  The sound of flip-flops slapping along the concrete walk signals to me that Hollis is catching up. I don’t slow my pace that, quite honestly, resembles that of someone aiming for a gold medal in the power-walking Olympics.

  My best friend falls into step beside me, and we don’t talk. He doesn’t pry for information and doesn’t try to make small talk. And I realize just how well he knows me.

  Only someone who’s known you for a little over a decade, someone who can pick up on the nuances of your personality, knows how to navigate a situation like this. And for me, that someone is Hollis Barnes.

  Still ensnared in my own thoughts, I don’t pay attention to the way he types out a quick text. To the way he steers me up the stairs and guides me to his floor. He unlocks the door and ushers me inside with a “Don’t worry. He won’t be comin’ back here tonight.”

  I nod, wrapping my arms around myself, suddenly feeling vulnerable. When he pulls me toward him, tugging on my arms and placing them around his waist, I settle my cheek against his chest with a sigh.

  He smooths his hand along my back in soothing strokes, lightly pressing a kiss to my hair. He couldn’t possibly understand how much I appreciate this—how much I appreciate him right now. He makes the humiliation a little less suffocating and my molten hot anger less oppressing.

  “I really thought he was different. That he wouldn’t do this sort of thing.” My breath hitches, and I hate how fragile my voice sounds. “I should’ve known better than to think he wouldn’t go and sleep with some random girl on spring break.” At my words, his firm chest feels like it tenses even more beneath me.

  “You know what the worst part is?” I whisper, my cheek against the smooth fabric of his simple cotton T-shirt with Auburn University printed on one short sleeve and Aubie, our tiger mascot, pictured on the other sleeve. He smells like safety and comfort. And like a best friend should, he knows that my question was rhetorical and remains silent, waiting for me to continue. “I swear I had an inklin’. I mean, I thought about sleepin’ with him, but it just never seemed like the right time.”

  The hand at my back stutters a split second before resuming its soothing pattern of strokes. A long beat of silence passes before he speaks, his voice low and tender. “If it didn’t feel right, then you did the right thing.” Then he speaks against my hair in the barest of a whisper. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  I swallow hard and close my eyes, attempting to muster bravery for my confession. “Does it make me a horrible person that I’m more upset that he made me look stupid? And not because I’m heartbroken?”

  He eases us apart, and I fix my eyes on the center of his chest, vulnerability surrounding me. With his index finger under my chin, he nudges up, forcing me to meet his deep brown eyes. In a gentle tone, he says, “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I whisper back.

  Raising both hands, he cradles my face. His deep brown eyes flick over my face, and affection lines his features. “You’re not a horrible person. I don’t reckon you could ever be anythin’ less than perfect.”

  I twist my lips derisively, and when I shift a fraction, I catch sight of his slight wince and narrow my eyes. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice his right hand.

  I gasp. “Hollis, your hand!”

  My eyes dart up to his, and he shrugs off my concern. “It’s nothin’.”

  I take hold of his wrist in my hands to get a better look. His knuckles are beat up from here to kingdom come. In a flash, it dawns on me. He punched Preston. On my behalf.

  I pinch my eyes closed, still cradling his hand in mine. “Hollis.” His name spills from my lips in a breathy wisp.

  “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” His deep voice, the threaded steeliness in his tone indicative of his remaining anger toward Preston, wraps around me like a safeguard. I open my eyes and find him staring down at me. “I’m sorry, Shortcake.” Remorse etches his face. “I thought he was a good one.”

  He feels bad for introducing us. “It’s not your fault.” I hold his gaze for a long beat until he finally gives a curt nod. Then I switch gears. “Now, we need to get this”—I tip my head, gesturing to his hand—“cleaned up.”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  I squint at him sternly. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”

  A huff of a laugh breaks free, and he shakes his head. “I think there’s one stuffed in t
he back of my closet.”

  I point at him. “Sit and I’ll get it.”

  His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Yes, ma’am.”

  By the time I finally uncover the first-aid kit, I’ve disrupted Hollis’ closet a bit and a few well-worn cotton shirts have slid off the hangers. I replace them on the hangers aside from one.

  “For heaven’s sake, this shirt is the softest thing I’ve ever felt.” I emerge from his closet grasping the kit in one hand and the shirt in the other.

  He wrinkles his brow. “It’s older than sin.”

  A thought hits me. “Do you wear it a lot?”

  At my hopeful expression, he laughs. “You can have it as payment for this.” He holds up his battered hand.

  A few minutes later, I’ve cleaned his wounds and applied some antibiotic ointment. Ignoring his grumbling, I insist on wrapping his knuckles with nonstick gauze, and something flickers in my memory.

  I realize the last time I bandaged up my best friend was that night long ago. My eyes drift from his hand up to his forearm and I run my fingertip over the area that now shows no evidence of the cut from his mom. His other hand snags my wrist and my eyes dart up to find him watching me curiously. I place a quick, light kiss to his bandaged knuckles and gather up the first-aid kit.

  Replacing the kit and ensuring his closet isn’t a god-awful mess, I turn to find him lying on his side on his bed that’s flush against the wall, his head on the pillow, and a watchful expression on his face.

  I gingerly lower myself on the mattress, face-to-face with him. He rests his bandaged hand on my hip and, as though this simple contact comforts him, his eyes fall closed even though it’s clear to see the self-recrimination in the crease between his brows and slight tic in his jaw.

  I take advantage of this moment to study him. A small smile tugs at the edges of my mouth as my eyes trace over his features. He’s changed from the young boy who made a little girl—a girl who never fit into the world that stressed perfect appearances—feel true acceptance.

  The boyish curves of his face have given way to sharper, more distinctive lines of a young man. His lanky build has grown into lean, honed muscles that slink together with inherently smooth movement. His dark hair is longer on top and shorter along the sides, and I know without touching it that it’ll be as soft as it was years ago.

  Regardless of the changes in Hollis’ appearance, some things remain the same. He still has the biggest heart and the kindest soul of anyone I’ve ever known. I reach out a fingertip to trace that troublesome crease between his brows before veering off to run the pad of my finger over that scar bisecting his eyebrow.

  His eyes flash open, locking with mine, and my breath catches in my throat at the intensity in his gaze. I pull back, but he catches my wrist gently and draws my hand close to press a light kiss to the center of my palm.

  My lungs seize, and I swear my heart skips a beat at the sensation of that tender kiss. As quick as it happens, he startles me with his sudden question.

  “You know what we need to do?”

  “Nooo,” I draw out the word slowly. “What’s that?”

  “We need to get outta here. I mean, after all, you’re all dressed up with nowhere to go.” His eyes spark with excitement. “And I know just the place.”

  “This is…not quite what I was expectin’.”

  I stare—gawk, if I’m being honest—at the most dilapidated bar front I’ve ever seen. The Pink Elephant—or ink Elhat, according to their sad excuse for a sign with multiple letters missing—looks as though it’s a front for something much seedier than just serving alcohol.

  Hollis chuckles. “Ye of little faith.” With a wink, he adds, “Trust me?”

  I stare at him with wide-eyed apprehension. “Right now, I’m not so sure.”

  His grin is wide and makes him even more endearing. Even if he is trying to coerce me into entering the seediest bar around. “Come on, now. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  I flick my eyes to the darkened windows of the bar. Good Lord, the tint is so dark, you can’t even see if the lights are on inside. “The worst that could happen?” I give him a skeptical look. “I reckon I could get an STD just by—”

  He dips his head closer and levels me with a look. “Never thought you to be judgmental and close-minded like your mama.”

  Ouch. Well, that just flat-out stung, but now that I think about it, Hollis has a point. Just because I’ve never been inside a place that looked like this one shouldn’t necessarily mean anything bad.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I dart another curious glance at the door of the bar. “How’d you find out about this place?”

  His expression softens, and his lips quirk slightly. “I was at the junkyard lookin’ for a part for the truck and came across this gentleman. Got to talkin’. He told me about this place.

  “Turns out he owns a garage where he does body work and offered to let me use his equipment after hours.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and lowers his gaze to his shoes. “Said I reminded him of his son.”

  “Aww, that’s sweet.” I pause at his somber expression. “Does his son live far away?”

  As soon as I ask, his lips turn down, and I instantly know I won’t like his answer.

  “He died overseas. Army.”

  I reach out and lay my hand on his arm. “Oh no! Poor thing.”

  “You’ll like Mr. Ted.” His eyes brighten when they rise to meet mine. “He’s a straight shooter.”

  “I can’t wait to meet him.” With a bit more pep in my step, I start for the door, but Hollis’ hand on my wrist draws me to a stop. I toss him a questioning look.

  “Anytime you want to leave, you say the word, ’kay?” His eyes hold mine with such intensity, my breath hitches. “You’ve had a rough night, but I wanted to try to get your mind off things…” Hollis darts a quick glance at the door before returning to me as if he’s second-guessing bringing me here.

  “And I’m grateful for this.” My soft voice seems to echo in the night air. The blaring of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama” ekes out even from behind the closed door of the bar.

  A corner of his mouth tips up. He holds out a large palm and waits for me to place mine in it. When I do, he doesn’t immediately start for the door. I look at him. His eyes crinkle at the corners. “To turnin’ this night around.”

  I smile up at him, allowing my eyes to trace his features. The way he always looks at me as if I’m something precious. The way he smiles at me, not just with his lips but eyes, too. The comfort of his hand holding mine.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Hollis

  “This is the best night ever!”

  Magnolia swings her arms out in childlike glee like only a person with low—wait, who am I kidding? More like zero—tolerance can. She nearly knocks over Mr. Ted’s beer.

  I’ve been watching over her the entire time. She’s had a total of two screwdrivers which she happily announced didn’t “look like urine, unlike beer.”

  She even made friends with the scary biker sitting at the far end of the bar giving off serious loner vibes. She managed to get him to dance to Toby Keith’s “I Love This Bar,” to everyone’s amazement.

  Mr. Ted and I exchange an amused look above her head. She sits on the barstool between us, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the worn bar.

  “Young lady, I reckon it’s time for you to start headin’ home before you end up howlin’ with the coon dogs later on.”

  Mr. Ted’s right. I need to get her out of here and back in her bed. Otherwise, she’ll be hating life in the morning.

  She sways slightly in her seat. With a bright and carefree smile, her expression is an extreme contrast from earlier. “Mr. Ted?” Her expression sobers, and she leans closer to the older man, lowering her voice. “Isn’t Hollis just the best?”

  I look away and take a long drink from my bottle of water because even though I know she’s tipsy, I don’t do compliments well.r />
  “He’s a good one, all right,” the older man agrees.

  “He’s my best friend,” she continues as if I’m not right beside her, listening to every word. “Do you know he was my first kiss?”

  My entire body freezes. We’ve never brought it up since that day long ago. I can’t help it. I turn my head to the side to watch her. She doesn’t pay me any attention, but her eyes take on a faraway look.

  “I wasn’t his first, mind you, but he was mine. And it was one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever done for me. I thought I was fixin’ to be like that girl in that movie…” She snaps her fingers a few times, brow furrowed in thought, and I swear she’s the cutest thing I’ve seen. Suddenly, her entire face lights up. “Never Been Kissed! That’s it!” She grins and props her chin on her hand with a loud sigh. “But Hollis saved me.”

  Mr. Ted eyes me over her head, and it’s easy to detect the humor in his voice. “Good thing he was around.”

  “That’s the God’s honest truth.” She lets out another sigh before she straightens abruptly. “Hey, Mr. Ted?”

  “Yes, Magnolia?” he says with the practiced patience of someone who’s dealt with countless inebriated folks.

  I take another drink of water just as she says, “You reckon he’d help me get rid of my virginity, too?”

  I choke and sputter so much the guy beside me thumps my back. Finally, I get myself under control and use one of the bar napkins to wipe my mouth. I draw in a deep breath, trying to ready myself to face her after that.

  “Time to head out, Shortcake.”

  I need to get her out of here. Especially if she plans to keep spouting off questions like that last one.

  Relief floods me when she nods with an “Okay,” before turning back to her new friend. “Now, Mr. Ted. Don’t you forget about me, ya hear? Because if I play my cards right, Hollis’ll bring me back.”

  I gently take hold of her arm and guide her off the stool and a few steps toward the door. She continues talking to him.

  “And don’t forget to add a little sugar to your collard greens next time you make ’em,” she calls out while I walk her, step by step, until we’re at the exit.