I dove into my beer cup; my skin heating. Why was he here? To mess with me? Torment me?
It’s only torment if you care about what he thinks. Or about him…
“This is a woke version of Seven Minutes in Heaven,” Evelyn was saying, writing our names on the strips of paper. “That means I don’t give a fuck if you’re a guy and get paired with another guy, or girl with a girl. You go in and get to know each other. How well you get to know each other is up to you.”
I was instantly more sober at the thought of winding up in a closet with Holden.
Goddammit, Evelyn…
“Someone have a timer?”
“Yes, my queen,” I heard Holden say but this time kept my damn eyes to myself.
Evelyn chose a name from the pile of paper strips. “Up first…Violet McNamara.”
Violet hesitated and then picked her way between us seated players, toward the closet. Evelyn shot me a knowing look and I understood what would happen next. She pulled a strip with a new name, showing no one.
“River Whitmore!”
The guys thumped me on the back.
“Remember,” Chance said too loudly. “Be gentle.”
From the corner of the living room came a discordant note from Miller’s guitar. Now he glared at me as if I’d run over his dog, backed up, and did it again.
I hauled myself to my feet, pinned between Stratton’s evil eye and Holden’s relentless gaze. I stumbled inside the closet, brushing heavy coats aside to feel my way along a wall in the near-total blackness.
“Violet?”
“I’m over here,” she called from the back.
“It’s dark as shit…”
I felt my way to the wall opposite her, not wanting to crowd her in or make her uncomfortable. I fought for something smooth to say to pave the way for asking her to the dance. I had nothing.
“This is a crazy party, huh?” Violet said finally. “That Holden is a strange guy.”
“Yeah,” I blurted. “He’s fucking weird. Reminds me of that vampire, Lestat.”
“Oh my God, I said almost the exact same thing! I didn’t know you read Anne Rice.”
“I don’t. Saw the movie. I mean…my mom watched it once. I remember some of it, I guess.”
“Okay.”
Another silence fell. I leaned my head against the wall and stared at the black of the ceiling. I was in a dark, enclosed space with a beautiful girl who was clearly into me. And I felt nothing. Had nothing to say. Not even my prescribed lines.
Violet jumped in. “How are football practices going?”
“Good. Long. You play a sport too, right?”
“Soccer. We don’t start until spring.”
“Cool.”
The convo sputtered and died.
Enough of this bullshit. Just do it. Like tearing off a band-aid.
“So, Violet.”
“So, River.”
“Homecoming dance is in a few weeks.”
“Yes.” Hope came alive in her voice.
“Are you going with anyone?”
Miller Stratton, maybe?
“Nope!” she practically shouted.
“Cool. So…would you like to go with me?”
“Yeah. Yes. I’d like that. Thank you.”
Mission accomplished.
“Great. We can work out the details later.”
“Sure.”
Another silence fell. I’d come to do what I needed to do, but Violet’s expectations filled the quiet until a rapping on the door jolted us.
“Time’s up! Come on out, Violet. River, stay put.”
“That’s my cue.”
Violet started to rise and all I could think about was Holden Parish lying stretched out on the carpet, watching me. Getting into my head and monopolizing my attention.
His tongue tasting that drop of tequila…
My hand shot out and grabbed Violet’s like a lifeline. I inhaled the scent of her perfume—something sweet and flowery and feminine—and willed it to have the same intoxicating effect on me as Holden’s cologne. Violet’s breath caught, waiting for my kiss. I waited, too, for my body to respond to the beautiful girl in the dark, wanting this.
My lips landed on her cheek.
“Thank you, Violet,” I managed weakly. I lingered there for a minute because I should kiss her again. A real kiss. She was ready, and I should’ve been willing…
Instead, I let her go and slumped back down on my side of the closet, humiliation burning my skin. “You’d better get out of here before Evelyn starts screeching.”
“Oh. Right.” Disappointment laced Violet’s words as she stood up and made her way to the door. “Okay…uh. Bye.”
My head fell into my hands. I had a beautiful girl waiting for me to kiss her in the dark, wanting me to kiss her. From somewhere inside, deep and neglected, a small voice whispered, What do you want?
Before I could contemplate an answer, the door opened, and Holden Parish stepped into the closet.
Because of course he did. Goddamn this stupid game.
The light from the living room outlined his tall form, and I stuffed my hands in the front pockets of my jeans. The closet went black as he shut the door, but I’d have known it was Holden if I were blind; the closet was infused with his clove-and-cologne scent, overlaid with the stringent sting of tequila. It hit my senses harder than the booze I’d drunk and was a million times more potent than Violet’s feminine scent.
“Hey, man,” I said. Casual as hell.
“Hey, man,” Holden mimicked me, and his dark shape slid down the side of the wall perpendicular to me. There was a metallic scrape and his Zippo flared to life, illuminating his face and nothing else.
I held perfectly still, watching as the shadows cut his cheekbones into even sharper lines, contouring shadows that lead to
