“Ignore her,” I say, turning the knob to my bedroom. I give the place a quick onceover. I was in such a damn hurry to get back to the living room, I forgot all about the errant bras and panties that might be lying around. God forbid he sees what really goes on underneath my clothes.
“All clear?” He whispers directly into my ear, and a shiver runs up my spine. Holt has the power to melt my bones simply with the sound of his voice.
“All clear.” I pull him in by the waist as he glances around the tiny cube of a bedroom. “Just a dresser and a bed.”
“Sounds like one piece of furniture more than we’ll be needing.” Holt presses into me with those heavy glazed eyes. I doubt he notices there are walls in the room let alone furniture. It’s pretty clear the only thing he’s interested in is me. And I’m damn glad about it.
I pull him over to the mattress, and we sit across from one another as I unscrew the cap on the whiskey.
“I think we should play a game,” I say. “I take a hit and tell you something about myself and then you do the same.” I want to know everything about Holt, beyond the obvious. Holt has me captive in ways I didn’t think were possible. I want to crawl inside his mind and see what makes him tick. He’s a good person, sensible and gorgeous, but I’ve always known those things. I want to linger in the shadows of the deepest darkest part of him and see what makes him the person he is today. And if I’m right, there’s something lurking back there that he’s not so eager to share. I guess we have that in common. And, in some small way, I’m opening the door for him to find things out about me as well. Although I doubt he knows the right questions to ask. Hell, I hardly know those.
He inches back, inspecting me with a playful curiosity. “I like this game.”
My lips meet the edge of the bottle, and I take a smooth drag.
“Whew!” I give a violent shudder as the burn trails down to my stomach. “That’s some good stuff. Strong as gasoline.”
His dimples flash as he leans in. “You drink gasoline often?”
“Only when my mother tries to offend the boys I’m dragging to my bedroom.”
His brows arch in amusement. I think we both know he’s the only male who’s ventured through that door since, well, ever.
“Okay, I’ll go first. I was once the captain of the West Hollow Brook cheerleading squad but got kicked off just before the last game for getting high behind the bleachers.” Jemma was involved in that fiasco, but, then, she was present for just about every other fiasco in my scholastic career, so I don’t see why not.
“You?”
“That would be me. Your turn.”
He takes the bottle from me with that I’m-going-to-bed-you look in his eyes and a quiver erupts between my legs. Holt Edwards has me trembling for him at the drop of a smile. Who ever thought another person could have so much power over me?
Holt throttles the neck and takes a few good swigs.
He lands the bottle on his knee as his shoulders lift a second. “Seventh grade. I once got kicked out of the mall for running away with a shoe. In my defense, it was on a dare, and I willingly gave it back.”
“Just one shoe? That’s not practical.”
His brows swoop low giving him that demonically sexy look that has me spinning with or without any alcohol.
“Nothing about me is practical, Iz.”
“Are we practical?” I think I’m ready for that bottle again.
“Do we have to be?” He slides over the whiskey, and I take a quick sip.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Maybe.” I feel it coming like an animal senses an earthquake rumbling, long before the tremor ever hits the surface.
Holt digs into me with those unearthly pale eyes. “What has you running scared?”
And there it is. I take another bitter hit from the bottle, and let the fire race all the way down to my gut.
“So—you want all of my secrets on a platter.” I blink a smile as the room starts to sway. “You tell me yours—I’ll tell you mine.” I’ve long since suspected Holt has been harboring his own issues.
Holt takes the bottle and indulges in one last swig before settling it between his legs. He looks over with a devilish grin, and suddenly I’m very damn thirsty for whiskey.
“Why do I feel like you’re changing the subject?” I reach down and cradle the bottle, letting my fingers graze over the blooming hardness in his jeans. “Hello there.” I glance down as I move the whiskey to the nightstand.
“He can’t quite hear you.”
“Maybe I’d better bring my mouth a little closer.” I run my tongue over my bottom lip and the smile slopes right off his face. “Secrets?”
“How about we focus on the here and now?” He scoots over and pulls me onto his lap. His breath warms my neck with the strong scent of whiskey. When I was little, I would open that old bottle my mother keeps as a shrine and take in its scent. It always reminded me of fresh cut wood, of a forest, a man, but oddly never of my father.
Holt holds the scent of a country meadow, earthy and raw. His fingers dig into my flesh as he massages his way up my thighs. I roll my head and give a soft groan until it feels as if I’m falling right through him. Holt and I don’t need liquor. We can get drunk simply off each other. Holt is the only high I’ll ever need.
“I’m sort of liking the here and now.” My heart thumps, wild and rabid as it tries to break free from its cage. I reach up and run my fingers over his rough stubble. Holt is handsome as hell, kind, and I’m pretty sure he’d kill for me. He’s my pot of gold, that’s for sure. I wonder if he’d want to live in this room with me forever. How could I ever explain that those were the terms I promised my father, but, more so, that I’m the reason my mother would be alone forever—that I could never abandon her to that fate after she sacrificed so much for Laney and me.
“What’s running through your mind?” He smears my lips with a juicy kiss.
“I’m thinking you should stay right here in this bed and never leave.” I blow the words right over his lips. “You in?”
“I’m in.” Holt lies over me, and my robe opens voluntarily.
“There’s something I want to give you,” I whisper as my heart fires in my chest like a gunshot.
“What’s that?” He traces my lips examining me like this, naked and splayed beneath him.
“All of me.”
He sighs as a broken smile emerges.
“That’s exactly what I want to give you.”
I reach over and turn off the light. It feels good like this with Holt. We’ve crossed some imaginary bridge—hand in hand, we traversed the thorns from the past and made it to a whole new world that we’re free to discover together.
Holt glides my panties down, and I pull off his shirt until his bare skin lies over mine like a blessing. This is something I never want to lose, this feeling right here with Holt—my Holt—my boyfriend.
“I hope you brought a suit of armor for your not-so-little friend.” I graze my teeth over his neck.
“For you, kitten?” A quiet laugh rumbles from his chest. “I brought the whole damn missile defense system.”
“Good because you’re going to need it.” I trail my hand up his chest, clipping my fingers under his chin. “You didn’t plan on getting any sleep tonight, did you, cowboy?”
“Are you kidding? There’s no way in hell I’m catching a wink during this rodeo.”
“Mmm.” I shake my head. “Why do I get the feeling I was just compared to steer? By the way, all cattle-related nicknames are off the table,” I tease.
He pulls back with a grimace. “You’re definitely no steer.” Holt leans up on his elbow examining me with nothing but a wash of moonlight streaming in. “I met all of your cats tonight. You’re a real life Snow White—I can call you Snow for short.” He sinks a lingering kiss over my lips.
“You can’t call me Snow because I’m sort of stuck on kitten.” I give an audible purr. “But if I were Snow, that’d make yo
u my prince.”
“I’ll gladly be a prince for you,” he whispers right over my mouth. “Kitten.”
Holt glides his mouth up and down my body in long, hot tracks. I unbutton his jeans, and he’s quick to shake them off. He holds up a condom, and I help roll it on. I wrap my legs around his back like I’m giving his ribcage a hug as he slowly pushes his way inside. Holt kneads my hips while thrusting his body into mine. Our lips crush together, hard and feverish, as he tries to put out the fire in my mouth with his urgent kisses.
There’s no stopping the two of us. This is a runaway rodeo. We’ve become the fated royal couple, galloping off into the sunset. We roll around on my bed like tigers on fire, like bears fighting to survive in the wild. There’s a war brewing beneath the sheets. Something so fantastic is blooming to life that neither of us can quite classify its extraterrestrial beauty.
We tear through the night without any apologies while the headboard drums against the wall with the rhythm of our love.
Holt is no electric gadget built to please. I have the real deal, right here in my bed. And, now that I’ve tasted paradise, I’m pretty damn sure I never want to leave.
I think I finally found my way out of the maze I’ve been drifting in for the last solid decade of my life.
Holt led me out of the wasteland—and here we are, rolling around in greener pastures.
Holt Edwards is paradise found. Too bad there’s an elephant in the room that neither of us are willing to cop to. I wonder how long before the life is stomped out of this newfound utopia.
Holt
For the last two weeks, Izzy and I have alternated staying at her place and mine. It’s been beyond perfect just being together, openly holding hands, stealing kisses wherever we feel the need. It’s heaven like this, just being ourselves—just breathing Izzy.
Bryson’s wedding is in a week, and Dad offers to take both my brother and me to lunch before shooting a bucket of balls at the local driving range.
Dad’s deep summer tan glows off his salmon colored polo. He’s put on a little weight since his own engagement, but he looks happy for the first time in a long while, and I guess, in the end, that’s all that matters—sort of.
“You take the boat out lately?” Dad nods as if I’ve already said yes.
“I haven’t taken it out in forever. Been meaning to, though.” I think Izzy and I are in the right place. Can’t wait to get her out on the water and wrap my arms around her as we cruise the Atlantic.
“If you ever want to get rid of it, I’ll take it off your hands.” He looks to my brother. “How about you? Looks like you’re jumping into a whole new ocean yourself. You ready to be a husband and a father?” Dad lifts his glass to Bryson as if he were toasting the idea.
“Just a husband for now.” Bry shoots me a look that says no way to the baby stroller just yet. “Baya has a few years left in school, and I want to get a little more established before heading to the nursery.”
Dad shakes his head. “We make plans, and God laughs—the women in our lives laugh, too.” A grin slicks across his face, easy as an I told you so. “You think you’ve got it all laid out, but I give it a year before you tell me I’ll be a grandfather soon enough. Women are wily. Once they get their heart set on something, there’s no letting go. Don’t think for a minute you have any say in it. You’ll be a father when she’s good and ready. Usually sooner than later.”
What’s this woman are wily bullshit?
That night comes back to me. I still remember the way the air was scented thick with pines—the way it felt to stuff a hundred dollar bill in Mona Tristin’s icy hand.
I shake myself free from the memory.
“Baya is different.” Bryson leans back in his seat. Any joy he might have felt about this afternoon has been efficiently sucked out by our father. “She and I want the exact same things out of life, but if that were to happen—it’d be an accident, one that we’d work around together.”
“Fifty bucks says you’ll be working around an accident in about six months time.” A laugh sputters from him as he slaps Bryson over the shoulder. “No worries, son. We all go through it. It’s just a part of being a man. “How about you, Holty? You got a sexy little vixen tying you to a chair these days? Watch the boys.” He points his fork toward his chinos before taking a bite of his veal. “It’s the first thing they go for once they realize they’ve got you hogtied.”
“The boys are safe. I assure you. And, yes, actually, there is someone I’m seeing.” I shoot a quick glance to my brother, and he raises a brow. “We’re sort of low key.”
“You might remember her,” Bryson offers. “Izzy Sawyer? Her mom owns that dance studio we used to take Annie to.”
“Oh yeah—the mother with the crazy eyes and helmet hair. I just spoke with her at your engagement party. She used to scare the shit out of me, always ready with a zinger. Now that’s the kind of woman who knows how to keep a man in line.” He cracks an imaginary whip. “If her daughter is anything like that, I say run for the hills.”
“Nope. She’s an angel.” For as much as Iz loves her mother, she’s the furthest thing from her.
“She’s about your age right? I remember her. Both girls had that same jet black hair as their mom.”
“That’s her sister, Laney,” Bryson offers. “She’s the one getting married to Ryder. Izzy’s a little older.”
“No shit.” Dad looks over to me, amused. “Are we talking about the spinster?”
That’s how Izzy’s mother introduced her.
“That would be the one.”
“How much older we talking—a year? Two?”
“Five.” I shove a bite of tenderloin in my mouth because the age difference doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.
“Five?” He tugs at his day-glow collar as if his food just went down the wrong pipe. “That’s half a decade! She’ll be thirty in like five minutes. Is that what you want? To be in your twenties, stuck hanging out with some thirty year old?”
“Yes.” I take a swig of my beer. I’ll need all the benefits this bottle can give me to survive the afternoon.
“I get it”—he saws through his steak—“you’re having a good time. Enjoy it. The woman you’re really meant to be with hasn’t even hit junior high yet. And there’s a lot to be said about dating an older woman at your age. They’re experienced. I dated an older woman once, right before I met your mother. She taught me some of the best tricks I know.” He shakes his head as if reliving the memory.
“I’m not in this for tricks. And I promise you the woman I’m meant to be with isn’t in grade school. It’s Izzy.” I glance at my brother. “As sure as Bryson is about Baya—and you are about Jenny—I’m that much more positive about Iz.” I threw in that part about him and Jenny more as a barb, but he’s too egotistical to realize it.
“Jenny and me aren’t happening.” He taps his hand over the table and swallows hard. “She took off last week. Something to do with an old boyfriend. I knew it wouldn’t last—most things don’t.”
I look to Bryson. It’s not true, and we both know it. Life is what you make of it, and so are relationships.
“Maybe you just haven’t found the right one, yet.” Bryson nods into his moronic theory as if he were being sincere.
“Dude—Mom was the right one.” I glance back at Dad. “You had a good thing until I screwed it up.” I trap my next breath in my lungs because I had no intention on letting that slip.
“You mean I screwed it up,” Dad corrects. “It’s true, I did, but I don’t think your mother and I were built to last. No offense to her. Great woman.” He shakes his head with a wistful smile. “All I’m saying is that sometimes a relationship simply doesn’t work out. It runs its course. It’s the way of the world.”
It runs its course? That’s just bullshit people who have fucked up relationships use to comfort themselves. And, the way of the world? I’m pretty sure it’s love that makes the world go around and not a series of serial brea
kups. Since when is he so jaded? Is this some aftereffect of what happened that night or has he always been this way?
“Have fun with your lady friend.” He gives me a quick wink. “But don’t forget to keep an eye out for someone who’ll look good on your arm for the long haul. Anybody can be nice.” He says nice as if it were a dirty word defined solely as a means of manipulation. “Trust me there are a lot of nice people in this world. Nice is a dime a dozen—but beauty—that can be a tough diamond to mine. In the business world, it’s all about how gorgeous that woman by your side is. Those guys are the true winners in life. The one who scores the hottest piece of ass wins. Beauty trumps age.” He stabs into his steak. “Don’t forget who told you so. There’s not one successful billionaire with an old hag hanging all over him. They’re dating supermodels—women thirty and forty years their juniors.” He takes an anxious bite of his food and swallows it down. “Youth is the name of the game, and if you don’t have it, you buy it in the form of a beautiful girl.”
“And then what?” Bryson folds his arms across his chest. He’s had just about as much of my father’s bullshit as I have. “You trade her in for a new model when she shows her first wrinkle?”
Dad jabs his fork in my brother’s direction. “Now you’re catching on.”
Nice. My father is a moron, and it took twenty-two years for me to realize it. Better now than never.
We finish up lunch and head back to the Black Bear. Neither Bryson nor I are up for spending any more time with our father this afternoon.
Maybe ever.
The next night, Bryson and Baya have an informal party at the Black Bear with their friends and everyone even mildly associated with the double wedding. Cole and I plan on taking my brother and Ryder out for some surf and turf on Friday—maybe catch a flick after. I guess we’ve all crossed titty bars off our to-do list, and I don’t feel bad about it. I don’t need those kinds of places, those kinds of girls in my life, to make me feel like a man.
Izzy walks in sporting a tight black dress that ends mid-thigh and heels that elongate her legs to the stratosphere. Izzy is the only thing I need in my life to make me feel like a man.
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