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I stroke her soft fur gently, lingering on the white hairs around her muzzle. She was brought into the shelter right after I started volunteering there in elementary school.
My parents set the volunteering up as an attempt to stop me from begging for a pet of my own. They’d just had the twins and were firm our house was crazy enough as it was. That a dog wouldn’t be happy listening to screaming infants all day.
When Lily was brought in as a puppy, I instantly fell in love. I became obsessed with finding her a good home.
She ended up right across the street. Sydney wanted a cat. Holden was the one who begged his dad for the dog until he relented. He’s the one who walks and feeds her too. It’s one of the reasons I’ve never been able to see him as the villain he should be in my mind.
Sure, he broke my heart without warning or explanation. But he follows through on other responsibilities—obligations he actually cares about.
Lily whines when I stop petting her. I smile as I relent, moving my hand back to the soft fur and rubbing the top of her head. She lets out a satisfied sigh. “What a good girl,” I croon.
“Lucky dog.”
I startle at the sound of his voice, nearly falling on my ass as I spin around while squatting.
Holden smirks. He’s leaning against the opening that connects the living room to the kitchen. Arms crossed, but his pose is relaxed, not confrontational. Lily stands and pads over to him. He leans down to pat her head, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. I stand, twisting the hem of my t-shirt so I have something to do with my hands.
“You’re home early.” It’s not even midnight yet. I’m used to encountering him later.
He straightens. Lily continues into the kitchen once she’s no longer receiving attention. I hear her lie down with a sigh.
“It’s raining.”
I allow myself to study him a little closer. Note the darker droplets on the red flannel shirt and gray sweatpants he’s wearing.
“Okay,” is my creative response.
Holden saunters over to the sectional couch that takes up most of the living room. Sprawls out on the cushions.
The white t-shirt he’s wearing under the half-buttoned flannel rides up. My eyes are drawn to the strip of skin exposed like a magnet. To the line of hair and glimpse of abs.
Based on the grin that’s spreading across his face, my ogling isn’t all the subtle. Holden tucks one arm behind his head, the damn dimple that rarely appears indenting his left cheek. “Come here.”
I don’t even hesitate. My responses are skewed when it comes to Holden. Always have been. And it’s come into starker contrast these past couple of weeks. I thought I’d gotten over him—thought high school was enough time to move past a childish crush.
If the thundering heartbeat in my chest is any indication, it wasn’t. Heartbeats don’t lie the way heads can.
Holden is taking up most of the couch. There’s nowhere to sit next to him. So, in a move that surprises the both of us, I crawl right on top of him, only stopping when my chin is resting on his chest. His hands slide up my bare legs to cup my butt, pulling me snug against his body.
I bite my bottom lip, excitement and apprehension warring within me. This is him winning our battle of wills left over from the courtyard. Me admitting that last weekend meant something, that it wasn’t a momentary lapse.
“Sydney is asleep?”
“Yeah. She passed out during the movie.”
“Were you waiting up for me, flower?”
The nickname sounds different when I’m lying on top of him. When I can feel his dick against my thigh. Not just familiar or teasing. Intimate.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Not what I asked.” Holden shuffles us, moving me to the side and then rolling over me. We’ve swapped positions, him hovering over me while I lie on the soft cushions.
I open my mouth to ask what he’s doing. Nerves and giddiness swirl inside of me as his hands slide up from my waist and under my shirt. Words exhale on a gasp as his lips lower, teasing the skin just beneath my jaw. His hot tongue licks a stripe along the skin before he sucks it into his mouth.
“Don’t—I can’t—my parents—Maggie—Sydney.”
Holden understands my mostly intelligible sentence. My shirt moves up, the bare skin of my stomach rubbing against the cotton and flannel he’s wearing. “What about here?” His mouth moves lower, following the trail of his hands up my abdomen until cool air covers my whole chest. “Will anyone see if I mark your tits, Cassia?”
