Page 59 of Golden Goal

Taking a deep breath, I start my car, and head back to my apartment. Guess dinner will be whatever leftovers I can scrounge from my fridge.

The drive home is quick, and before long, I’m pulling into a parking spot in front of my building. I greet the doorman before pushing the Up button for the elevator. It’s slow as usual, and after what feels like an eternity, the door finally opens on my floor. With a sigh, I push off the wall and step out onto the landing, where Holt is waiting for the elevator.

Just my fucking luck.

“Hey, Holt,” I plaster on what I hope is a convincing smile and step around him. “Have a good night.”

“Becca,” he calls after me. “Are you okay?”

I stumble to a stop in front of my door, and look at him over my shoulder. “Dating sucks.”

The elevator door begins to close, and I tip my chin toward it. “It’s leaving without you.”

He runs a hand through his hair, glancing between me and the elevator before stalking over to me.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

He’s so close to me his breath tickles my neck.

I turn to face him, my back against my still-locked apartment door. “Just a guy who questioned whether I really don’t drink alcohol instead of taking what I said at face value. Then decided to order for me even though he doesn’t know what I like to eat.” I meet his gaze. “Is it really a big deal that I don’t drink?”

“No, and if someone can’t respect your decision, they’re an asshole.”

Turning, I put my key into the lock. “Agreed. I won’t hold you up. I’m sure you have places to be.”

“Let me buy you dinner.”

I look back at him. “Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.”

He reaches forward and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. “I know, but I want to.”

I close my eyes, leaning into his touch, which lingers far longer than necessary.

“Becca?” he prompts.

My eyes flutter open. Why the hell not? I like him. He likes me based on the kiss we shared. Maybe I will let myself have this. It’s only dinner. I deserve it after the awful date with Cyril.

“Okay.”

“Do you need anything from your apartment?”

“N-no.”

“Come on.” He holds out his hand.

I stare at it for a second before taking it, and letting him lead me to the elevator. I figured we were going to order takeout, but I guess we’re going out.

He pushes the Down button, and we wait in silence, still holding hands.

I know I should let go of him. I’m probably giving him the wrong impression.

But I like feeling his fingers wrapped around mine.

I like it a little too much.

Friends hold hands, right?

At least that’s what I’m telling myself.