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Inevitability is scary and reassuring.
His blue eyes scan my face, filled with worry and silent questions.
I keep waiting for him to speak first. Of the two of us, he’s the one who owes explanations.
I take another sip of tequila, making a face when the smoky liquor burns my throat.
Then I remember why he’s not saying a word.
I step into him, his knees parting to let me in closer. Drag my fingers through his messy hair, the red cup teetering dangerously close to spilling in my loose grip.
“Stop doing things I’ll have to forgive,” I whisper. “Because I’ll hate you a little more, every time.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Nods.
“Remember that party in high school? The one Harrison invited me to? If I’d been in bed with him upstairs, even if nothing else happened, how would you have felt?”
“I would have punched him instead of that cabinet.”
My eyes fall to his right hand. His fist is clenched, the white scars on his knuckles evidence of the many times Holden has chosen violence.
“Look at me, Cassia.”
I raise my gaze slowly, reluctantly, worried poking a sore spot from our past was the last thing this conversation needed. “You have every right to be pissed at me. If you don’t want to talk to me or look at me, I’ll respect that. But I need you to know I love you and I’m in love with you and that won’t ever change.”
A huge lump appears in my throat. “It could,” I whisper. “Lots of people fall out of love.”
“We’re not lots of people, flower. We’re not your parents. We’re us.”
I nod, running my hand through his hair again. He leans into my touch, some of the stiffness disappearing. Sip more tequila.
“I had no idea she’d be here.”
That, I believe. I saw the surprise on his face. “I don’t want to talk about it yet.”
“Okay.”
We revert to silence until my cup is empty.
I set it down on the side table and step away.
All of Holden’s attention is on me, his eyes tracking every movement like I’m an opponent on the basketball court. It feels good. Right.
I hold his gaze as I pull up the hem of my dress. It’s daring—for me—short with an open back.
I felt pretty in it until I saw the blonde stroll over in her skintight outfit. But those are my insecurities. Nothing to do with her.
And I feel more than pretty as I tug the fabric up my thighs. I feel sexy and confident. Loved.
There’s a full-length mirror attached to the wall next to the dresser. I can see half of my reflection, the flash of lace as my underwear comes into view. The length of my leg.
I lean back against the wall, holding my dress up with one hand and rubbing my clit through the lace with the other. The last time I touched myself in front of him, Holden went absolutely feral.
And I need that right now.
Nothing sweet or soft or tender.
He stands, and my heart stutters.
