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Holly insists we walk Sloan across the street to the mill, so she gets home safely. Then I get in my car and follow Holly’s back to her condo.
We wind up slipping into her room. Holly’s suspended the Moravian star Bhodi bought her from the ceiling like a pendant. She clicks on a bedside lamp and the soft light reflects up through the prisms, casting overlapping triangular shadows.
It’s past three am and I’m beginning to get the bigger picture as to why she sleeps where she does. Laurel, Emory, and Bhodi have been fast asleep upstairs for hours and Holly’s movements won’t cause any loud noises to wake them.
She flips through her phone. Another eighties tune flows faintly from the bluetooth speakers.
“Explain the music.”
“Of all the weird things I do, say, or wear, this is where we’re starting?”
I slide my fingertips to her waistband, unbuttoning her short shorts, and dip my lips to her neck, finding the sweet spot that drives her wild. “Not focused on what you’ve got on when my goal is getting you out of it.”
“Another smooth line.”
“Smooth… jazz?” I pull away, trying to place the music. “You don’t dress up in spatter-painted lycra with leg warmers too, do you?”
“No!” She laughs, pushing at my chest.
My ass hits the mattress and I pull her down, parallel to the pillows, to lie next to me. We turn to face one another. I cup her cheek. Kiss her lips. Content that I’m free to explore her body unhurried whenever I want until the sun rises. Yet, it’s not getting my dick inside Holly driving me. It’s getting to know what’s inside Holly that makes her tick.
“Why does Bhod school me on Fleetwood Mac?”
“They were one of my dad’s favorites.” She smiles, but there’s a world of hurt hidden behind it.
I nod, encouraging “Oh yeah?” so she’ll continue.
“My parents loved music. It’s all stuff Laurel and I grew up listening to. A way of connecting to the past even though they’re gone. They were desperately in love with one another, and the music they listened to was impossibly romantic in comparison to what’s played nowadays. It makes us happy to remember.”
“How long ago did you lose your mom and dad?”
“Long enough that them not being around is normal and not long enough that you forget you can’t call them on the phone and ask silly questions… My parents flew out of Raleigh-Durham. Dad was an airline pilot and mom was a stewardess; a flight attendant just like Laurel and I were. They passed down the travel bug. Laurel is still infected.” She lets go of a little laugh. “After retiring, my parents kept flying because they wanted to explore the rest of the world on their terms. They’d gone on a trip on their own and the twin-prop we’d traveled in forever as a family went down with engine problems. Neither survived their injuries.”
“Damn, Holly, I’m so sorry you lost both of them like that.”
“I’m not.” She lifts a single shoulder. “They were so in love and they died doing what they loved. I can’t imagine either having to go on without the other. The accident would have stripped them of who they were and all the joy they had. They got to meet Bhodi and Emory, and because of the schedules they kept while we were growing up, they’d raised Laurel and me to rely on one another. I sort of feel like no matter how difficult it is without them here, they understood we’d find a way of making it through.”
“That’s—wow. A lot more mature than I’d handle it.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll grow up someday.” Holly winks.
“Ouch.” I wince. “Does my age bother you?”
“No.” She focuses on my collar and says with dissatisfaction, “Mine might.”
“I don’t think any of the customers tonight would ever guess you have a nine-year-old at home unless you’d had Bhodi in your teens. You’re beautiful, Doll.” Like something out of a wet dream when she bends over the bar. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to want to cover you so no one sees you and simultaneously take all of your damn clothes off?”
Holly’s nails skim my abs. “No, tell me about it,” she remarks with a hint of sarcasm.
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13
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Cary hasn’t stopped peppering me with questions since we laid down.
We trade gentle touches. His fingertips skim my forearm. Mine circle the outline of his areola under his shirt. It would crush my libido believing Cary was never going to fuck me again, but I’m also tired. He’s been patient and I need to study the page from his playbook and wait for the date he promised.
