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Bhodi took it with ease and—spotting a flock of seagulls on the return trip—made fun of me, which was cool. Everyone likes a good bird turd joke.
When Bhodi and I return, the rest of the house is ready to get a move on. Laurel’s packed a picnic for the beach and invited Davina along. I don’t make a huge deal of it as they make a hasty departure, cocking my chin and commenting, “Have a good time.”
I’m distracted by my cell while Holly’s in the driveway, reminding Bhodi to be on his best behavior.
“Whatcha got there?” she taps the top of the screen.
“It’s nothing.” I flick the app closed quickly. “Checking in on work,” I lie like a complete shit head, hoping she’ll forgive me.
“Well, I’m ready.”
“You?” My brow quirks. Holly and on-time aren’t synonymous. “How did I get so damned lucky?” I slip my arm around her and she beats my chest for making fun.
Really, how did I? I’m living a life I hadn’t considered wanting a year ago with a woman who proves she’s too good to have to wait on a guy learning to growing the fuck up. Holly’s stolen my heart. Is it any wonder my sole motivation is proving giving hers to me was a safe bet?
I tuck Holly into the MGA and hop in on my side. It’s the middle of the summer at the coast and approaching hot as Hades midday. But getting the engine purring, I shift the car into gear and set my hand on Holly’s covered knee anyway. On the short ride, I can’t stop my eyes from shifting over to her. Holly looks like she was made to sit in the passenger seat.
Narrow cat-eye sunglasses have replaced her thick eyeliner. She’s got on this demure, thin-strapped dress. It hugs her chest. I no longer wonder if she’s wearing a bra underneath anything and the starched fabric hides anyone else’s suspicions. Her floral ink complements the dress to a tee, stealing the show. She’s wrapped her head in a scarf to keep the wind out of her hair. She’s also only this naturally beautiful to me after she’s woken up in the morning.
Holly licks the watermelon pink gloss on her lower lip and it has the same effect on me as the ruby red does when her mouth encircles my cock.
A few miles down the road, we zip into the parking lot of the cozy restaurant with amazing porch side views of the sound.
Our entrance catches the attention of a bunch of college girls. Used to people staring at the lines of the MG, I’m ignoring the group so I don’t get sucked into answering inane car questions. My experience is twenty-something-year-old girls in a gaggle are more interested in a fast ride. The guys who like their ego stroked by it are curious about what’s under those girls’ hoods, so to speak.
I’d rather waste my time shooting the shit with an any-age biker’s old lady. At least they appreciate chrome and horsepower.
Holly’s taken off her glasses and has unwrapped her scarf by the time I get to her door to offer her my hand. I’m so focused on making the few hours we have alone thanks to Laurel count, and doing something special for Holly to show her how much she means to me, that I don’t hear the other women cackling.
Holly stiffens. She looks up at me in shock and then down at the pavement as what they’re saying registers in my ears.
“Guess it’s granny’s day out of the nursing home, ladies.”
“Think she has dementia and doesn’t know what year it is?”
“Well, the car doesn’t help much, does it? What is he doing with her?”
“So hot. He’s definitely out of her league.”
We go out to eat all the time in Brighton and even into Raleigh. My girl’s confidence attracts attention. Our fingers intertwined while we’ve been dining, I’ve gotten more than a few kudos from older gentlemen, telling me not to let her get away. This is the one and only instance I can recall anyone reacting loudly to our age gap.
Infuriated, I set out to show these stupid chicks that they are immature brats. Holly’s in a league of her own.
My hand presses to the small of her back, and I pull Holly close. When our bodies are flush, I dip her so she rests atop the MG’s hood. My touch protects her delicate skin from the heat of the engine.
“I want you in every possible way,” I say before thoroughly kissing her.
Our audience gasps, hurrying on. I’ve got a million-dollar grin on my satisfied mug. Holly’s expression falters. I guide her to a sitting position, standing between her legs. Then lean in, so we’re on the same level.
“Doll, I—”
“Shouldn’t have done that. Lust fills those girls’ heads, not commitment. They aren’t thinking about if you’re in love with me. They’re imagining what you’d do to them. Kissing me would have been romantic on a deserted beach.” She cups my cheek.
I push it against my scruff, not wanting to lose the connection and drop my gaze to a headlamp.
“I haven’t heard anyone dare speak about you like they did.”
“Then you haven’t been listening, Cary.”
