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CHAPTER 12
Holden
Struggling with the urge to reach over and place my hand on her thigh, I grip the wheel. It would be so easy, so effortless, but I fight it. I promised her we would go slow. I want her to form her own opinion of me, not one she’s gained from the media, and the best way to do that is to follow her rules.
“Are you excited?” she asks, breaking our silence.
“I am. I love my parents, but I miss having my own space.”
“I couldn’t imagine moving back home with my parents. They’re empty nesters as of a few months ago when my little sister, Peyton, started college. She’s living in the dorms.”
“I’m sure that’s taking some getting used to. I know it was rough on my parents. Hell, I’m twenty-three, and just last night, my mom told me I could stay as long as I needed. I read between the lines, and like I said, I love them, but no.” She laughs. The sound filling the cab of my truck is better than any song on the radio.
“Yeah, but I’m sure my dad is taking advantage of them having the house to themselves,” she says, making a gagging sound.
“How do you think you got here?” I ask.
“The stork, obviously.”
“Obviously.” I chuckle. “We’re here,” I say, pulling up to the gate of the first house. It’s open, so I drive on through and up to the house.
“Wow.”
“Yeah. The pictures don’t do this place justice.”
“It looks much bigger in person.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to reply with “that’s what she said,” but I bite my tongue. I’m on my best behavior to win this girl over. Instead, I park the car, unbuckle my seat belt, and turn to look at her. “Ready?”
“Yes.” She smiles, takes off her belt, and hops out of the truck.
Grabbing the keys and my phone, I do the same.
“Mr. Bailey,” the young real estate agent greets me. She’s wearing a skintight dress that’s way too short and too low cut to be professional. Her heels are a mile high, and by the looks of it, you’d have to scrape her makeup off her face with a chisel because it’s caked on so thick.
“Tosha, nice to meet you.” I reach my hand out for hers.
“The pleasure is all mine,” she purrs, batting her eyelashes.
I move to stand beside Parker, sliding my hand around her shoulders. “Help me out here, Parker. Just go with it, please,” I whisper in her ear. “Tosha, this is my girl, Parker.”
Surprise crosses the real estate agent’s face. “Nice to meet you.” She smiles, but it’s forced.
“You as well,” Parker says kindly.
“Right, well, this way.” Tosha shakes her ass as we follow her up the front steps and through the front door. As soon as we’re inside and our coats are off, she pulls out a sheet of paper and begins to read. “Six bedrooms, eight bathrooms,” she starts, but I interrupt her.
“Can I just read that?” I ask her, holding my hand out for the paper. Her voice is already grating on my nerves.
“Of course.” She winks and hands it over.
I’m a man. I appreciate beautiful women. Hell, I’m secure enough with my masculinity to even comment when a guy is good-looking. I’ve been hit on more times than I can count, and yes, I usually eat that shit up. However, for Tosha to be flirting with me openly with Parker standing next to me just pisses me the hell off. What’s worse is that I know for certain other women have done the same thing when I was out with someone else, and not once did it bother me.
Today it does.
“Can we just look around?” I ask, not bothering to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“Oh, well, yes, you can do that. I thought I’d show you around.” Tosha sticks her lip out in a pout. Literally, the woman is acting like a toddler.
“We’re fine. In fact, we prefer to do it on our own.” I lace my fingers through Parker’s, making a statement to this woman, and lead her upstairs.
“She’s… something,” Parker comments when we reach the landing.
“Can you believe that she was hitting on me? Right in front of you?” Removing my hat from my head, I run my fingers through my hair.
“You are Holden Bailey,” Parker teases.
“She doesn’t know you’re not my girlfriend.”
Parker shrugs, pulling her hand from mine, and moves toward the first door we come to. “She doesn’t seem to care.”
“I care.”
“Have you in the past?” she asks, calling me out.
“No.” The confession feels like sandpaper on my tongue. I hate admitting that to her, the woman I’m trying to impress, but I’m not a liar. I’m not about to start now. Honesty is always the best policy. My eyes find hers, and I will her to believe me. “No. I never cared before.”
