“Holland . . .” My sister draws my name out over several long, disapproving
syllables.
“Kennedy . . .” I respond in the same way.
“This isn’t like you.”
“I know, but this is the first time I’ve met him. And it’s not just his looks. It’s the whole vibe he’s giving off. He started off all cool and remote, but he’s got this devilish grin that says he knows things.” When he licked his finger and told me I tasted spicy, my God, I thought I was going to burst—explode!
“Well, now that makes more sense.” I don’t get a chance to ask what she
means by her announcement as she carries on. “You’re enjoying the challenge. The chase.” I guess she’s not wrong. “The minute you’re sure he’s interested, you’ll drop him like a bad habit.”
“I know he’s interested. I can see it in the way he looks at me.” Not like he’d taste me like he did his finger. More like he’d devour me whole. “I can’t explain it to you. It feels right.”
“Well, it is time you moved on,” she replies carefully.
“I did that months ago.” Like eighteen of them. “I just haven’t found anyone who was right.” Mainly because I haven’t been looking. It’s been a little like someone switched my sexuality off. “And now suddenly, my hormones are screaming we want that one, washed and oiled, and brought to our metaphoric tent!”
“Your metaphoric tent being your underwear,” my sister surmises. “Because a one-night stand isn’t a risk to your heart.” She sounds sad, but I really don’t have an answer that will make her happier. “Unless he’s about to cut it out,” she says, sounding more like herself. “Which is what this call is about, I guess.”
But it isn’t. Not really. I think I just want someone to share in my excitement. Maybe for my big sister to tell me I won’t go to hell. Or turn into our mother.
“Well, I don’t know what else to say, Hols.”
That has to be a first.
“How about don’t choose the dumpster?” I suggest.
“Stop being a smart-ass. Does this much older man have a name?”
“He’s not that old, and it’s Alexander, if you must know. Just Alexander because we’re keeping it at first names.”
“Well, just you stay safe. And remember to use condoms.”
As if she needs to tell me. Rug rat might be my favourite little person in the world, but I’m not ready for one of my own.
“Wish me luck?” Picking up my purse, I slide it over my shoulder.
“I wish you alive. How about that?”
We say our goodbyes, and I slide my phone into my purse. Then my purse off my shoulder. Then my blazer off my arms. My arms are tan and toned, and my white tank shows off two of my best assets, but I worry I’m trying too hard. Back on it goes again.
“Carpe diem,” I say to the mirror. “Or whatever the Latin is for seize the man.” It’s time to put this derailed train back on the tracks.
Pulling on the heavy fire door, I step out into the dark hallway. And into a great wall of chest.
6
Holly
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you engineered this as payback.”
“I’m sorry?” Hand still at my chest, the words hit the air a little warbly, part laughter at his assumption, part the shock of finding him here.
“Lewis.” His delivery, like his smile, is dark and slightly sardonic.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that.” I shrug and step away from the bathroom door. Positioning myself against the adjacent wall, I slide my hands to the small of my back, the cool bricks brushing my fingertips. “I didn’t think for one minute that, well, you know.” My reply is halting and awkward, the words forced from my mouth a couple at a time as I resist the urge to shrug again. This is so mortifying.
“I’m not sure I do know.”
“That he’d be . . .” Here we go again. “That you’d be . . .”
“I am not,” he replies emphatically.
“No, I know you’re not that way inclined, but you must get hit on all of the time.”
His answer is a disdaining lift of one brow.
“This can’t be the first time you were hit on by a man,” I bluster.
“It’s the first time I’ve been offered up as bait.”
“Oh, Lord. If only you knew.” I chuckle, my gaze on my shoes. “Your assumed sexuality was supposed to protect you. It’s not my fault you’re irresistible.”
When he doesn’t reply, I look up.
“I wonder if Wednesday at . . .” As he twists his wrist and glances down at his watch, something flares between my legs. “Twelve minutes past nine is a more suitable time for you?”
“Suitable?” I swallow—it’s a thirsty little motion as I try to tell myself I cannot be turned on by his wrists and his hands—before dragging my eyes back to his again.
“Was it the afternoon hour that offended your sensibilities? You said yourself that Wednesday is hump day.”
I’d lay a hundred dollars on this being the first time he’s ever said hump, even if he annunciates it very well.
“Are you asking if I’d be interested in a threesome?” I just want to see what I can get away with doesn’t extend to this.
“I’m merely passing on the invitation issued to me. By Lewis.”
“Even though we’re cousins?” My words sound like they should accompany the clutching of pearls, though the look he shoots me in return suggests we’re not fooling anyone. Shows what he knows. We fooled Nikki. We fooled her good. Lewis, on the other hand, I can’t be sure.
“Twice in one day. I should think that’s something of a record.”
“One I didn’t ask for!”
He smiles so freely at my protest that something sweet and sticky rolls right through me.
“Lewis seemed to think you’d be interested. Your gaze did seem to flick his way often.”
Asshole. He knows I wasn’t looking at Lewis. I was looking at him.
“Maybe I was admiring his tattoos.”
“You’re a fan of body art?”
“I guess you’re not.”
His gaze doesn’t alter, watching me steadily as though daring me to ask. But I’m not asking because, just look at him! He’s so pristine and so perfect. He can’t even lounge against a wall properly, never mind cover his impeccable self with ink.
“No.” I narrow my eyes. I know I’m right. “You’re not the type.”
“No?” A smile fights to break out though he masters it, the bare flicker of amusement doing something strange to my insides. “Well, you would need to offer me more than a pink cocktail if you want to find out.”
I find I’m grateful for the poor overhead lighting as my cheeks instantly heat, grasping to turn the conversation away from me.
“You know I have no interest in Lewis. So maybe this is more about you.” I almost cringe as I hear my not so confident response. I didn’t mean Lewis. I meant while he watched me dance with Nikki. But my unease is unfounded by his low-voiced announcement.