by Frankie Love
"So then, afterwards, I want her to meet you guys. Show her that I'm a good guy. That I've changed."
"So you want us to lie to the girl you want to win back?" Rachel says. Dark eyeliner rings her eyes, and heavy bangs cover half her face. "That seems like a stellar plan," she deadpans, while rubbing her burgeoning baby belly.
I don't get this girl at all.
"I don't want you to lie, exactly. Just avoid the hot-button stuff."
Rachel isn't gonna budge. "So you don't want us to tell her that you had strippers at your place three weeks ago?"
I take a drink of my vodka soda, swallowing what I could ask her about the rumors constantly circulating about her, before and after she got pregnant.
Instead, I say evenly, "The strippers were there as a present for my friend, Zac Turner, who happened to be in town."
"His girlfriend wasn't too pleased about them, either," Evie says, swirling her drink.
"Damn." I shake my head. "Can anyone go easy on me tonight?"
"To be fair," Cassius pushes playfully, "Ashley wouldn't be too happy about anything."
Ashley Fast is Zac Turner’s girlfriend, though who knows for how long. It’s always trouble in paradise with her, and he’s only last in a long string of guys she can write breakup songs about.
"Because you know everything about Ashley, now that you and Jack Harris are BFF's?" Jude asks, giving his friend a hard time. DJ-turned-songwriter Jack Harris was Ashley’s boyfriend before Zac, and the breakup song about him was a doozy.
"Did you seriously just say BFF?" Evie asks laughing. "My cousin is such a nerd."
"Maybe we could stay on topic?" I wave over a waitress and order another round for the table.
"Okay, homeboy," Cassius says. "We promise to mention that you let Evie stay at your guest house when she was in a jam, and that you're the future godfather to Jude's son."
Jude's jaw tenses as he turns to Rachel. "He's just fucking around, don't worry. No one has been asked to be the godfather."
"I don't really give a shit about that stuff," Rachel says, dismissively. "Besides, I think it’s sorta fucked up to trick that girl into thinking you're a good guy, Holden. Everyone knows you're a man-whore."
"Fuck," Cassius says coolly.
"Everything okay, Rachel?" Evie asks, choosing a softer tone. "You seem a little ... tense?"
Rachel purses her lips. "I just think Holden is fighting for a relationship that died a long time ago. This girl wants to move on, so let her. Friends come and go; just let her go."
Jude looks at her, incredulous. "What about fighting for what you believe in? Fighting for love?"
Rachel studies her seltzer water thoughtfully before answering, meeting Jude's gaze. "I think that's sweet, but it sure as hell isn't real life."
Everyone goes quiet, and in this full, loud restaurant I swear I could hear a pin drop at this table.
"I need to get some fucking air," Jude says. "I got your back when your girl comes to town, Holden. But right now, I need to breathe."
He walks out of the restaurant, and I'm pissed at Rachel.
But also completely sure—of what I want, and what I need to do. Rachel is hella wrong.
I'll fight for Bex.
And I’ll win her heart.
Or I'll die trying.
Chapter Eighteen
Bexley
It's Thursday afternoon—the end of sixth period—and I'm exhausted, hungry, and grumpy.
Basically a shittier version of myself than normal.
"And please don't leave trash in the theater. It's brand-new. And seriously, to all the couples in the class, I know you think it's funny to choose a make-out scene for your onstage performance, but it needs to stay PG or we'll cancel this altogether." I hate the sound of my voice as I give my final announcement to the students. I sound shrill, and old as heck.
But seriously, watching teenagers kiss sloppily in the name of acting is making me ill.
Especially when I’m trying to forget just how un-sloppily Holden kissed. How perfect, in fact, his kisses were.
The final bell of the day rings, and the students are tossing bags over their shoulders and waving good-bye when I see him standing in the back, watching me.
He has a bouquet of red roses and a smile.
There isn't much to say, because honestly, haven't I already said more than enough?
Enough to push him away. To keep my heart safe. Protected.
But he’s back.
Which ... isn't that what I always wanted? Him to choose to come back to me?
Here he is.
"Ms. Maddon, these are for you," he says, holding out the bouquet. He walks toward the front row, where I have a box of props the class used today. Several students gape wide-eyed at him, which makes sense. He is the Hollywood Holden.
Here to see me.
"Hey, what are you doing here?" I ask, pushing down my reflexive response, which would highlight that I told him never to come back.
"I came to bring you some flowers." He pushes them toward me. "Take them. Don't make this more awkward than it has to be."
I take the roses, because the students are watching. "And?" I ask. "Why else are you here?"
"To ask you on a date. This Saturday night."
I set the roses in my box, then pick it up. "A date?"
"Yeah. Lunch, a walk on the beach. Dinner."
"Two meals?" I ask. "That seems like more than a date."
"Call it what you want. I'm not letting you go this easy."
I look at the box in my hands. "I've got to take these to my office."
"Let me help," he says gallantly, taking the box from my arms. "See, I'm so helpful. Because I'm a nice guy. A nice guy who brings flowers, and asks girls out on proper dates." He leans closer to my ear, a cocky smile on his face. "No sexting required."
I don't know what's happening, but I like it. I always wanted him to fight for me.
Maybe now he's ready to.
"My office is in the old theater," I tell him, grabbing my jean jacket and waving him out the side entrance. "You coming?"
He grins, following me to the theater where he and I met.
As I unlock the door and hold it open for him, he inhales deeply.
"It even smells the same," he says.
"Yeah, and it's nearly empty. They hauled everything out this week; it’ll be torn down next month."
"That's so sad," he says, as I open the door to the office I'm sharing with my advisor.
"It's your doing, dork. You're the one who bought the school a new, fancier one."
"True." He leans against the doorframe.
I take the box from his hands, setting it down along with my jacket. I hold up the roses, looking for a vessel. Finding a quart mason jar I've been drinking water out of, I set the roses in it.
"You're so resourceful, Bexley. I bet that's why you're such a good teacher."
"Ah," I say, picking up on his vibe. "So you came here today to try and take back all the terrible things you said about my teaching career?"
He doesn't answer; instead, he grabs my hand. "I want to see this place one last time. Show me?"
I hesitate. He must see it.
"I won't try to fuck you on center stage, if that's what you’re worried about, baby."
"That's not what I'm worried about," I tell him, heat rushing to my cheeks.
"Then what is it?"
"I'm worried I might try to do something with you."
He laughs, surprised at my confession. Walking toward me, he takes one of my hands in his, and pushes back a tendril of loose hair with his other hand. Leaning in, he whispers, "Let me prove to you I've changed."
I nod, raising my chin. His lips find mine in one hot instant. He tastes familiar, forbidden, so close to my heart that I know I could reach out and take him right now.
I pull back, look up into his eyes. "Holden, I'm still so scared of what tomorrow might be like with you. And I know I'm being wishy-washy with my
words and my body, but I can't help it."
"We don't have to decide anything today. Today we can just ... act out what we imagined doing at this theater back when we were kids."
"You're so bad," I tell him, leaning against his chest. His arms wrap around me, and I wonder what would have happened if he had done this four, five, six years ago. If he had just pressed me against him and held me close. Maybe I always just wanted this assurance from him, that he would do anything to be with me.
He kisses me again, softly, and I walk to the theater door, locking it.
I take his hand and lead him through the dark passageway downstairs, beneath the theater, past a prop closet. I stop at the door to the costume room.
"They've cleared out everything valuable, but that green velvet sofa is still there."
He presses my hand firmly against his pants, against the outline of his firm cock. My pussy tightens at the touch. God, it's been a long week. A week where Sami daily berated me for being a total brat. A week where I picked up my phone to call and apologize a thousand times. A week where I wondered if I would ever get another chance.
A week where, in the end, he showed up. With a stiff cock and a dirty mind—and I’ve got a willing pussy and a growing need to have him inside me. Again.
"I'm gonna fuck you so hard, baby," he tells me.
And I believe it. I know I’ll let him.
Inside, the room is mostly empty, as I promised. There are rows of empty clothing racks, but pushed into the corner is the sofa. I lock the door behind us, and we make a beeline for the couch.
We undress silently in the quiet of the room. My black pants and white blouse drop to the floor; his jeans and tee-shirt are discarded, I slide off my panties and my bra. I want to be bare and, in this moment, I want to be his.
I watch as he takes off his boxers, his massive cock taunting me with its thickness. It's like my pussy can see it, knows what it can do, because my cunt starts dripping the moment his veiny rod is in plain view.
I press a finger to my opening, touching myself as he strides to the couch, takes a seat, looking like a fucking king.
"You look so good when you touch your little pussy, baby."
"You like it when I touch myself?" I ask him. "You like it when my pussy gets nice and wet for you?"
"I fucking love it."
"Good." I step toward him, circling my clit with two outstretched fingers, my other hand on my right breast, thumbing my hard nipple. "I've been touching myself this way all week, thinking about you."
"You're so naughty, Bexley," he says, his hand reaching for his shaft. I watch as he makes sure, rapid strokes against himself. I step closer, just a foot away from him now, my feet apart as I move my fingers faster, wanting him to know how much he gets me off.
"I'm not naughty, Holden. Just horny. All week I've been taking baths, letting the warm water cover my tits and my purring pussy. I've used my vibrator, letting it hum against my folds, remembering the way you licked me raw."
"Oh, girl," he says, reaching for me, pulling my ass toward him.
"I'm dripping, Holden. For you."
He smacks my ass, reaches between my legs, feels my slick thighs. He groans against my pussy as he inhales me. My hands run through his hair as his fingers reach my ass, pulling apart my ass cheeks as he licks my tight pussy.
He licks hard and deep, groaning as I release against his tongue. I know his chin must be drenched, because every flutter of his tongue sends flames across my entrance.
I need him, or I swear I'll go up in smoke.
He must sense my mounting desire. He rolls on a condom, and I straddle him on this green velvet sofa that was once filled with our pent-up lust. Now here we are, setting all those repressed fantasies on fire.
I sit on his hard cock, my pussy aching. I can't hold back; I can't wait another moment to be filled with him. I sit on him, hard.
"Ohh, Holden," I moan, wrapping my arms around his neck as I swivel around his massive hardness.
My tits bounce as I move, and I know he loves it. His cock thrusts deep in my pussy; his hands press against my round tits to stop them from swinging as I rock faster above him. He pulls a breast into his mouth, sucking hard, clamping against my nipple. My pussy gushes with pleasure as he sucks harder.
I'm soaking him, and this couch, and I don't care. I fuck him deeper, faster, forever. I grind above him as I come, thrashing against his chest as I release. With my legs spread over him, his eyes searing into mine, there’s nothing I won't give him in this moment.
He's close to release, and I just want more of him. So I stand up and then get on my knees before him. I pull off his condom and stuff my mouth with his cock. It's throbbing—so close to release—and I need to taste his salty manhood pour down my throat. I need to gag on his pleasure rod, and I need to be filled with his seed.
I suck him hard, his balls tight in my hand. It feels like I've done this a million times—not because I'm bored, but because it feels like the most natural thing in the world to be on my knees before him with his cock in my mouth, my lips tight against his shaft as he explodes against the roof of my mouth. As his come fills my mouth, I have this desire to be covered by him.
I pull him from my mouth, letting his come shoot over my bare, bouncing tits, letting his come hit my face, my mouth, my lips, my neck. I want to be drenched in him the same way my gushing release covered his face when he sucked my pussy. He comes all over me, and I'm already fantasizing about his come shooting across my bare ass next time we fuck.
I fill my mouth with his cock again, needing to taste him one final time.
"Oh my fucking god, woman," he moans as I take his throbbing cock from my mouth, climb back into his lap, and wipe my face with the back of my hand. I want to keep those creamy beads on my skin, glistening reminders of the way I was just taken. "What the fuck was that?"
I smile, shocked at the way I just let my inhibitions fly.
"That, Holden, was my way of saying yes. Yes, I'll go out with you on Saturday."
Chapter Nineteen
Holden
She insists on driving her own car, which, okay, I understand. We may have fucked like rabbits in the old theater, but things with us can change in a moment. And maybe she figures if she ends up storming out of my house, this time she'd rather be driving her own car.
Before she comes, though, I call my sister, because my mom has been making a big deal about me getting in touch with her.
"Hey, Catalina." I grab a bottle of water from the fridge, having just finished an intense workout with my physical trainer. "You doing good?"
"Did mom tell you to call, or did you call because you love me?"
"I love you, but yeah, Mom told me to call."
"You suck. But you can make it up to me by letting me move into your guest house for the summer. And next fall."
"You have school in the fall, Cat."
"I'm transferring to film school at U of C, in the heart of LA. Aren't you excited?"
"Excited? Cat, this is little rash, isn't it?"
"Mom says she's moving to LA this fall and this way we can all be there, together."
"When did mom tell you that?"
Cat sighs, exasperated, like I'm a complete idiot.
"She says she wants to be on that reality show Millionaire Matchmaker. She's desperate for a man, Holden."
I roll my eyes, "Listen, she's not going on reality TV."
"Well, she’s moving there. She's listing the townhouse."
"That's crazy," I say, uncapping the water bottle. "Once we're all gone, it's like there won't be anything left in Tolling."
"Except Bexley," Catalina says in a sing-song voice.
"Well, she won't be there long."
"No?"
"Not if I have anything to do with it."
"You're still avoiding my question. Can I move in this summer ... and stay for the fall?"
"Couldn't you move into whatever Mom buys?"
"Eww, Holden. Mo
m wants to move to LA to find a boyfriend. I don't need to hear that."
"Cat, that's way too much information."
"You're telling me. She called me to tell me about match.com, asking for advice on her profile pic."
"Why are we talking about this?" I ask her.
"I have no idea. Listen, I promise I won't cramp you and bitchy-Bexy's style. Promise."
"Don't call her that, Cat."
She sighs. "Okay. Just ... you know how she always was."
I snort. "Do you remember how I've always been?"
"Touché. Guess you're both totally weird. Perfect for one another."
"I'm going, Cat. Great talk," I tell her, sarcasm rolling off my tongue.
"Honest though, Holden. Thanks. This summer is going to be amazing."
"Whatever you say, sis," I say, knowing I never directly said yes.
I hang up, shaking my head, needing to get ready for the date that could change everything.
A few hours later, Bexley arrives in her Volvo, and I tell her my plans for a long walk on the beach. A simple, hand-holding walk where we can catch up. No agenda. We head down the steps off my patio, and we're on the beach in minutes.
"This is good. I wanted normal today, Holden," she says.
"Me too." I lean in, and am rewarded with a soft, parted-lip kiss.
Pulling apart, we smile, the sun on our faces and the sand in our toes. I could get fucking used to this.
"So, did you ever decide on the script?" she asks. She's in a red skirt, a white blouse knotted at her waist, and strappy sandals that she steps out of when we touch the sand. She has on big, black Jackie O sunglasses and those ruby red lips. On every occasion, she looks so fucking chic. I wonder sometimes how a girl like her ever came from a town like Tolling.
"I've been putting it off." I shrug as we walk toward the rolling surf. "I don't have another Johnny Jumper movie for twelve months, so I only have a few more weeks to decide. Time's running out."
"It's awesome you have so many choices, though. For me, with teaching, there are so few drama teacher jobs available. I think I might just end up subbing in Tolling next year, because I don't want to move to some random city for a teaching job."