Ten first dates, p.17
Ten First Dates, page 17
There’s a humph behind the bar, and I know before looking that Laura has another bee in her proverbial bonnet. “I run the stitch and bitch club,” she says haughtily. “We only accept members who have already completed ten stitching projects.”
“Sounds like a blast.” I glance down the bar, where there’s at least one person trying to wave her down. I point to the guy with my fork. “Looks like you got a customer.”
“Have you tried the cappuccino yet?” she asks sweetly.
“I knew she spat in it,” I mutter to myself as she walks off.
Apparently I spoke more loudly than I intended, because Cole frowns at me. “She did what?”
He actually looks like he means to give Laura a talking-to about the whole cappuccino thing. Or maybe he’s just worried about the fate of his own coffee. Either way, I need to put a pin in it. One restaurant brawl is enough for a night. “Just a theory” I say. “Anyway…your daughter…”
To be honest, I don’t know jackshit about kids besides having been one once. So I settle for saying, “If she’s anything like you, she’s going to give those rich assholes a run for their money. They won’t know what hit them.”
A slow smile stretches across his face. “From your mouth to God’s ears, Holly Mayberry.”
I take a look at him, soaking in those brown eyes filled with trouble, surrounded by lashes that are blessedly thick. And his mouth with that short beard around it. Cole has a nice mouth, even if only bullshit comes out of it three quarters of the time. There’s a smear of frosting on his lower lip, and I can’t help myself—or maybe I just don’t want to—I reach over and wipe it off.
His eyes round with surprise, but then I see something else in them, a heat that’s just for me.
Cole doesn’t date. Everyone knows that. Just like we all know that he only has fun with tourists—women who won’t—and can’t—matter. He especially doesn’t want to date me. He’s made a point of telling me so, in ways both overt and subtle, for years. So I’m not sure why I lift my hand to my mouth and suck the frosting off slowly, my eyes holding his while I lick down the sweetness.
“Mmm,” I say. “Tasty.”
“Fuck, Holly,” he says, his voice low and guttural.
“That an invitation?” I ask, giving him a look.
I’m probably being stupid, but I crave a little fun after what happened earlier, and I know he can give me that. He won’t call me sweetie or hold my hand or give me a ring—he’s not a mayonnaise-chip sandwich like Matt—but I’ll bet he can make me come two or three times in one night, and right now that sounds about as good as princess cake.
And, sure, there’s a part of me that remembers a time when Cole was more to me than the asshole I like sparring with—when he was the guy I used to fantasize about when I played MASH in my notebook during English class, because talking The Scarlet Letter to death doesn’t make it any less dull. The only thing that would have was if Hester Prynne wreaked revenge on those puritanical fuckers, and—
What was I saying?
Yes, anyway, I remember feeling that way, but those were the fantasies of a little girl, and I’m a woman who knows more about the ways of the world, and about the lure of sex and cake and former bad boys who look like they know their way around a vagina.
Besides, why choose between sex and cake? Maybe we can eat the cake while we’re sprawled naked in my room. Yes, I like the sound of that…
And, just like that, Cole’s getting to his feet.
“Are we leaving so soon?” I ask. The comment is sort of glib, sort of not. I don’t actually think he was so inspired to bring me home he leapt to his feet, but if he did, I’m game.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” he says. “You intend on following me?”
“Do you want me to?” I ask, waggling my brows.
He gives me another of those rueful looks and says, “No, Holly. I don’t want you to follow me into the men’s room. Why don’t you stay here and eat your cake?”
Why do I feel like a kid who’s been given a pat on the head and a participation award? I’ll just bet Laura’s giving me a smug look from behind the bar. Maybe she’ll even do a cross-stitch about it.
“What if I want something else to eat?” I ask, challenging him.
He swears under his breath, then gestures to a menu lying on a bar. “I’m sure Laura will help you out, but I can’t guarantee there won’t be saliva in it.”
A laugh spills out of me, and I see it again—a gleam of attraction in his eyes.
Still, I can hear him saying, They don’t stick around because I don’t want them to.
He’s made no secret of wanting to stay single—to take what he needs from people who won’t ask anything from him in return.
But where does he get off assuming I want something more?
I’m not exactly known for my long-lasting relationships either.
My mind inconveniently reminds me of those MASH games in my notebook. My brother Rowan saw them. And even though he’s younger than me, he actually tried to sit me down and give me a talking-to about what boys like Cole Garrison wanted from girls. I don’t think he expected me to say, “God, I wish.”
Still…
“You’re not immune to me,” I accuse.
“Not for lack of trying,” Cole says. Then he taps me on the nose again before he heads down the hall to the bathrooms, the bastard.
I take a big bite of cake, because at least cake can’t reject me, and I let myself sulk a little.
Really, talk about shit birthdays.
Then I hear a buzzing from my bag and take out my phone to see I’m getting a call from Rowan. Fantastic.This means that news of our birthday dinner has already spread. Hell, for all I know, Auggie and Greg the Tall Wall are kareoke-ing about it at Ziggy’s.
I lift the phone to answer his call, but Laura, who seems to have a sixth sense for annoying me, scurries over and says, “I hope you don’t intend to answer that at the bar. We have a strict no talking on cell phones rule.”
“I don’t believe you,” I say, glowering.
She just stares at me with her lips pressed into a tight, bloodless line, and since I’d rather not ask to talk to the manager—he’d probably want to discuss Auggie—I sigh, give her a dirty look, and close the lid of the cake box. “Do not eat my cake.”
“Why would I eat your cake?” she asks, as horrified as if I’d suggested chowing down on a bowl full of worms.
“Because it’s delicious,” I say, giving her a haughty look.
And because Cole ate some.
“And don’t spit in it either,” I add. “If you do, I’ll know. I developed an app to identify human spit on food items.”
Complete BS, but from the somewhat alarmed look on her face, I think she believes me. Something tells me the cappuccino will be gone by the time I get back from the hallway.
The phone’s not even ringing anymore, but my brother is nothing if not persistent, so I sigh and bring my phone into the hallway leading to the bathrooms, stepping to the left of the big mirror in the middle so I don’t have to look at myself while I call him.
But before I can lift the phone to my ear, Cole steps out of the door to the men’s room.
Something changes in his gaze as he takes me in, his eyes sweeping over me like they’re predators who intend to swallow me whole.
Yes, please.
Moving subconsciously, my attention fixed on him, I tuck the phone into my bag.
“You followed me,” he says, taking two steps toward me, his big body crowding me against the wall. I can feel the heat of him. I can smell him too—spice and hops and man. Pure lust shivers and sizzles through me.
“I—” I begin, ready to object. To give him some snappy comment that ends with “you wish.”
But maybe he’s a smart man after all, because he grabs my hip and pulls me to him, his other hand propping against the wall. His whole body seems to be on fire, and I feel his hardness pressed against me.
Well, fuck. If he does have something funny going on below the belt, it’s certainly not in the size department.
“You want me, Holly?” he asks, his voice gruff. His eyes are boring into me, and there’s nothing sweet about the way he’s staring. It’s potent and sexy, and hot enough that I’m surprised there’s no smoke rising up between us.
My response is to lift onto my toes and kiss him, hard. He makes a little sound into my mouth, like the one he made when he tried that cake, and I swallow it. The hand he had on the wall moves to the base of my neck, and he brings me closer as he changes the tilt of our mouths so we can consume more of each other, our lips at war as much as our words always are, and I don’t think I’ve ever, ever kissed anyone like this.
Of course, it had to be with him.
His hand burrows into my hair as our mouths and tongues go to war, and his other hand stays on my hip, holding it firmly, and I can just imagine him holding me like this while he thrusts into me, taking what he so obviously wants.
That image—which is so vivid I hope I can manifest it like it’s the goddamn secret—is probably the reason why I do what I do next, reaching back and moving his hand so it’s at the bottom of my ass.
He makes another sound that I swallow, and I move his other hand too, next to the first. He gets with the program, and suddenly he’s lifting me up so my legs are wrapped around his ass and my back is to the wall.
Our mouths find their way back to each other, and now that he has me where he wants me, his hands move up my thighs under my dress, and—
“Jesus fucking Christ,” a familiar voices calls out.
Well, shit.
It’s my brother Rowan.
CHAPTER FIVE
Cole
Fuck me. Rowan Mayberry just found me ravaging his sister in the hallway of an upscale restaurant like we’re at the local country bar and I’m about to fuck her in the bathroom.
Holly is still pressed against me, looking stunned at the interruption. Her lips are swollen, her eyes still showing hints of lust. The thought that I put it there sends a new surge of need through me. I haven’t been this turned on by a woman since Millie.
I want more.
For the first time, I’m considering breaking my hard rule about sleeping with local women.
But first I need to deal with Rowan, because he looks like he’s considering kicking my ass.
“What the fuck?” he demands, giving Holly a weird look.
“What are you doing here?” she demands, her cheeks flushed.
“I heard…” He pauses and shoots me a dark look before turning his attention back to her. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Did you come to give me a Breathalyzer?”she asks sarcastically, but she hasn’t pulled away from me. In fact, I’m still pressed against her, my hand on her ass.
I’ll bet Rowan’s loving that. Then again, I suspect if I had a sister and caught him molesting her like this, I’d want to kick his ass too. Especially if he had my reputation.
He hesitates as though trying to figure out how to handle things. Finally, he levels his gaze on Holly. “I thought you were smarter than this.” He spins on his heels and walks back into the dining room.
Holly stiffens as though he slapped her.
I drop my hand and take a step back. Her arms fall to her sides.
The lust on her face is gone, and her expression is shuttered. “This was a mistake.” Her voice is as stiff as a two-by-four. Her words are like being doused with ice water. “It’s good that Rowan interrupted before things went too far. Maybe I did have too much to drink.”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling like she has a script for this encounter, and I’m scrambling to catch up.
I guess her story makes sense. If she’s tipsy, it explains why she kissed me, and maybe the shock of seeing Rowan sobered her up. Except…she doesn’t seem all that drunk, and I have no explanation for my reaction to her.
A new thought hits me.
What the fuck is going to happen when word of this gets around town? I’ll be declared an open market.
“Do you think Rowan will…” I rub the back of my neck, my thoughts still scrambled. “Do you think he’ll tell anyone about this?”
She releases a bitter laugh. “Don’t worry, Cole. Rowan doesn’t want anyone knowing you were feeling up his sister, and even if I repeated this, I doubt anyone would believe me.” She gestures toward me. “I mean, with your reputation as a tourist shark and all.” Then she brushes past me, out into the dining room.
I stand in place, telling myself that she’s right—we were lucky Rowan stopped us from doing something stupid. So why do I feel so hollow inside?
I give myself about twenty seconds to recover, then head back in the dining room. The cake box is still on the bar, but Holly’s purse is gone.
Heaving a sigh, I sit on my vacated stool and pick up a fork, spearing the pink skirt of the cake. It really is good, which means it would be a fucking shame to waste it.
“I saw Holly follow you to the bathroom,” Laura says, shaking her head. She’s standing directly in front of me, but somehow I didn’t realize she was there until she started talking. “Some women are so desperate.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask, shorter than I intended, but the last thing I need is for people to gossip about Holly and me being together in the hall.
“I saw her follow you, Cole,” she insists.
“Perhaps you saw her go to the bathroom, Lisa,” I say, purposely getting her name wrong. It’s unlike me to be intentionally rude to a near stranger, but I need to keep what happened a secret. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. A small part of me protests that I’m protecting Holly’s reputation, but I nearly laugh out loud. Since when does Holly Mayberry need protecting? I’m protecting my own reputation, nothing more, nothing less.
“Well, she ran out like her pants were on fire,” she says, sounding less certain but just as judgey.
“Maybe she was rushing out because she got a text that she was late to her birthday party. It’s her birthday today, you know.”
Shit. It is her birthday. This must have made it even worse. “I’ll take my check now.”
Laura doesn’t look happy with my request, but she obliges. I open the black folder and toss in my credit card without looking at the bill. Laura takes it away, and I sneak another bite of cake, because damn, it is good cake. While I’m tempted to take it home, I’d be hard pressed to explain to Jane why there’s a mauled Barbie cake on the counter.
Laura brings back the black folder, slipping it toward me seductively. When I open it to retrieve my card and sign the receipt, I see that she’s added “I’ll be happy to serve you anytime, Cole.” Her number is written underneath.
Jesus. This woman can’t take a hint.
I sign my name, add a tip, then toss it on the counter as I get up.
“Call me,” Laura practically shouts after me, but I ignore her, because all I can think about is Holly.
Holly is all I can think about all week, actually. She fills my thoughts and my dreams, and takes a starring role when I jack off in the shower. This is becoming a huge problem, because Holly made it clear she thought our encounter was a mistake, and I honestly can’t dispute that. Which is why I readily agree when my brother Logan asks me to go to Whistlestop, a bar downtown, with him on Saturday night.
It’s just what the doctor ordered. The place is packed with tourists, which means my chances of a random hookup are high. I don’t understand why an uneasy feeling washes through me.
This is exactly what I need, right?
The fact that Holly springs to mind only confirms that I need to exorcize her from my thoughts.
CHAPTER SIX
Holly
“What?!” I say into the phone.
It’s Bryn, and in a very calm, very unemotional voice that suggests she’s destroyed inside, she just told me that she and Mayo Sandwich are dunzo.
He proposed to her yesterday, a little over a week after our shitty-for-the-ages birthday celebration, and she accepted on the spot—only to call me, upset, and ask if I really thought she should tell him the kids thing was a dealbreaker. I probably should have shut the fuck up, but I told her I did.
I guess this is what came of me and my big mouth.
“What?” she asks, with a vein of steel in her voice. “You want me to tell you that you were right about him? Congratulations, Holly. You were right. Maybe I can order a princess cake to celebrate.”
“Don’t,” I say. “I’m still sensitive about losing the other one at the bar.”
“How do you lose a cake?” she asks, and I can imagine her swatting the air as she adds, “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“Want me to get another one and bring it over?” I suggest. “I’ll ask them to make the crunch layer extra large. How about a sea of ice cream? We can watch the inspiration collection.”
It’s what we called our round-up of our favorite romantic comedies from when we were kids—our inspiration for making matches.
“Fuck no,” she says with a humorless laugh. “Love is a lie. Happily Ever After is for fairy tales.”
“Not the image we want to sell.” I’m trying to make her for-real laugh even though I know it’s too soon.
“Even so. I’m not going to fall for that shit again. Ever. A job’s a job. I can still do what I’m paid for.”
“Bryn…” I pause, trying to think of the right words. You did the right thing. He’s out there for you. I love you. You deserve everything you want, and you should be with someone who wants to give it to you.
“Just don’t,” she says, her voice wavering. “I can’t. Not right now.”
“Can I come over?” I press.
“No, I think I need to be alone.”
“Do you….are you mad at me, Bryn?”
She huffs out a breath. “Holly, you don’t need to make everything about yourself. Like I said, you were right. Don’t make a habit of it.”
Then she hangs up. There’s a tugging sensation in my middle, like the invisible bond between us is being stretched to its limit, because no matter what she said, I know she does blame me. At least a little.
