Hollis Taylor does not walk on dainty feet.
“Are you actually going to take full credit for me and Hollis?”
I quirk a brow at Tory, testing him. A breathy laugh shakes his chest while he pops a pretzel into his mouth. After chewing for a second, he says, “I sure am,” then winks before punching my arm.
“Oh, I see how this is.” I chuckle, sliding into the seat across from him and slipping off my shoes. He kicks over the pair he grabbed for me when I texted him from Hollis’s driveway, then tosses a pretzel about a foot in the air, leaning his head back and catching it in his mouth.
I know his weak spot, though. Tory and I have hung out a lot, and he’s told me enough that I have pieced together his secret.
“So, when are we all going to see Abby again?” He kicks the plastic of the chair between my legs with enough force that it cracks. My only response is laughter because I’ve hit a nerve. He’s dating a soon-to-be mega star, and he’s keeping it on the down-low because one, they aren’t in the same country right now, and two, he’s still terrified that something’ll mess it up.
I get it, because I’m a little worried about that too.
The month is ending soon, thirty days that I’ve known Hollis. We’re too new for something to mess us up so soon, but it’s hard not to feel the threat when our biggest obstacle is cutting lasers into my chest with his eyes across the alley.
Zack was finishing up a pool game with Lucas when we walked in. I’m not sure whether Hollis saw him, but I did, catching his glare in my periphery. He stopped lining up his shot and straightened to watch us pass like some bully who thinks he owns a biker bar. Zack doesn’t own shit. In fact, he hardly owns a car now, thanks to me and my short-wick temper.
The air gets cooler somehow when my cousin joins us. I feel him before I see him, and the ice in his stare is as frosty as I expected.
“Nice shiner,” I say, my quip earning me a warning glance from my girl a few seats away.
I promised not to say anything about what he did to deserve it. Doesn’t mean I can’t comment on the obvious.
“Hardly feel it,” he says back. That means it smarts like hell.
“I bet. You don’t feel much.” I yawn my words out and turn my body to create a physical barrier to end our conversation. Despite my literal cold shoulder, I feel him watching.
“There’s too many of us, so who wants lane seven?” June asks, tapping her fingers on the computer.
Hollis stands, volunteering, and takes June by the hand, picking her alliance and moving to the chairs that give her the most distance from my cousin.
“But I wanted to make a little wager, Hollis,” Zack teases. He must know she shared everything with me, because even though his taunting is directed at her, his eyes are on me.
“She’ll just embarrass you,” I say, unable to stop myself from defending her.
My retort must have crossed a line in our unwritten contract, though, because before I can make it worse, Hollis steps over my lap, letting her hand drag across my chest possessively as she passes.
“Oh, we can wager, Zack. I’m not afraid of you.” Arms folded over her chest, she stops right in front of him, and I realize she isn’t afraid of him at all; she hates how he made her feel. That he has the power to do that, period.
“Winner buys loser’s beer at the party next weekend.”
I open my mouth in protest—she’s Coach’s daughter and that’s not a cool ask—but Hollis flashes an open palm behind her back to stop me.
“Fine.” She pushes her hip out with an extra flair, her exposed thigh popping through her ripped up jeans. I never got this style before, but seeing it on her gives me a new perspective.
Zack is a decent bowler, so I’m a little conflicted about this wager. With everything that’s happened, my mind immediately unravels his motive. Somehow, Hollis having alcohol will turn into a scandal.
She’s already locked herself into this battle, one of many in her exhausting war. My only option without being that boyfriend is to stand by her side, so I hold my palms up and back away. I’ll let this play out fair and square, and watch from over here on good ole lane seven.
“Zack’s a prick, bro. How are you two related?” Tory asks, flipping the top shut on the pizza box and carrying it to the open seat near me. June went back to join Hollis, leaving my cousin surrounded by the girls while Lucas, Tory, Hayden and I take turns daring one another to find the most embarrassing way possible to push the ball down the lane. I have it in the bag with my repeat of Magic Mike, but then Lucas actually gets down on all fours and pushes the ball with nothing more than his nose, somehow rolling that sucker dead-center with enough speed that it knocks down every freaking pin.
We slap hands and celebrate his mini-victory, but while nothing is serious on lane seven, it’s intense over on lane eight.
I keep tabs on Hollis’s game, glad she’s up with each consecutive frame but wishing that gap between her and my cousin would widen a little more. By the time it’s down to the tenth frame, I’m too invested to care about finishing my own, and let Tory throw my last two balls. He earns me a whopping seven to bring my score to a non-brag-worthy ninety-six. If I were over on the other lane, I’d be battling Lola for last place. June is clearly wiping the floor with everyone, but those two scores in the middle—they are
