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I mean, who practically drooled over a man's thigh?
Me, apparently.
As my gaze grudgingly moved back upward, a stray droplet of water from his shower slipped down between his chest, the center indent of his abdominal muscles, then disappeared under the low dip of his towel.
"Holly?" Malcolm called, voice a dark chuckle. The sound made me almost painfully aware of how obviously I'd been staring at him.
My head whipped back upward even as I felt not only my ears, but my neck and cheeks heating with embarrassment.
"I, ah, well, I was hired to bring you desserts," I told him, mind racing. "Only, I didn't know it was you. I, ah, I wouldn't invade your privacy. I know you, uhm, don't want to see me. I'm sorry I, ah, interrupted your shower. I'll g—"
"Wait," Malcolm called, reaching out to grab my arm as I turned, making me turn back. "Who hired you?"
"Oh, I, ah. I met this group of girls I hit it off with. They invited me to a class. And we were talking and they said they knew someone who wanted cookies, brownies, banana bread, and a coffee cake."
"What kind of class?" Malcolm asked, harping on a strange part of my explanation.
"Oh, a self-defense class?" I told him. "After they heard about my attack, they suggested it."
"A self-defense class," Malcolm repeated. "Let me guess. You have a pretty, girl-next-door type blonde, a dark-haired girl in combat boots, and a modern hippy with inappropriate earrings of some sort."
"Ah, yes, yeah, that's them. There was another girl at the gym too, though."
"A curly-haired brunette with some understated, but very expensive jewelry on?"
"That sounds like her."
"Hope, Gracie, Billie, and Willa."
"Yes," I said, brows drawing down.
"My cousins, Holly," he explained.
"Oh. Oh," I added, feeling an unexpected swelling of fear.
Like they had only reached out to me because of Malcolm. Like maybe they had no actual interest in me at all. Meanwhile, I'd been building up this idea in my head about how it would be so amazing to have a support system like that, to have girlfriends to go out—or stay in—with.
"I, ah, I guess I was mistaken with their, ah, motivations," I said. "Here, take these," I added, all but shoving the tins at him, giving him no choice but to take, or drop, them.
"Holly," he called again, putting down the trays on something inside the door, but I was already turning, already set on retreating to my car, and hopefully managing not to cry until I at least got the darn thing turned around, so he wouldn't witness me breaking down. "Holly, wait," he demanded, again snagging my wrist, pulling me back just as I was about to hit the step.
"I was just trying to get a business going!" I half shrieked at him as he spun me around. "I met these girls and they seemed nice, and they actually wanted to spend some time with me. I guess maybe that should have seemed like a red flag," I went on, the word vomit just flowing out as the compiled stress and sadness and fear and frustration of the past several months simply refusing to stay buried anymore. "I didn't know they were messing with me. Or you. I just... I thought they liked me, okay?" I said, feeling the first tears slip down my cheeks.
"Probably stupid and naive of me, but that's what I thought. And I thought because they liked me, they wanted to help me. I never would have come here if I knew what they were up to. I wouldn't do that. I can... I can take a hint, okay? I can," I continued, my voice catching, and I just barely managed not to break into an outright sob.
"So, please, just take the cookies. Take it all if you want it. It's all paid for. Just take it. I'll go. You'll never have to see me again. Just... just let me go," I added, head ducking because the tears were flowing freely, and I didn't think I could take any more embarrassment.
Malcolm's free hand rose, sliding under my jaw, tilting my head upward.
"What happened, Holly?" he asked, brows furrowed, those kind eyes of his concerned.
"What? Do you have an hour?" I said with a snorting laugh.
"I do, actually," he said, his thumb moving up to wipe some of my tears away.
"Aside from my new, fake friends?" I asked, tone sharp, a little more bitter than I liked hearing it, but that wound was a fresh one still.
"They're not fake friends," he said, shaking his head. "They're not nasty and catty like that. If they seem like they like you, they like you. But, yeah, what else? What am I missing?" he asked, and I swear he silently added Because you are falling apart.
"Well, last Saturday, my brother's business partner came to see me at work, and informed me that he thinks my brother has a pill problem," I said, choking back a sob.
