Except Holden had seen through it instantly.
I went to the darkened auditorium where the Winter Talent Show was already in progress. Every chair was taken, standing room only. I got stuck in the back, but at 6’2”, I had a clear view of the stage.
I’d just made it. Harris Reed was playing a classical piece on his violin and slaying it. The music was insanely complicated, and I watched in awe as his bow skidded up and down the strings.
When it was over, I clapped hard and whistled…then tasted smoky cloves and cedar cologne in the air. My pulse pounded as an icy-hot shiver danced down my left side as Holden moved to stand beside me.
“I didn’t realize you were a fan of the arts,” he said, his eyes on the stage. “Another layer to the enigmatic River Whitmore.”
“I came to see Harris, from our class. Is that why you’re here?”
“No, I’m stalking you.” My eyes widened and Holden smirked. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here for my friend.”
He jerked his chin toward the stage. Miller Stratton walked out carrying a stool, a guitar looped around his neck. He sat down and adjusted the mic stand while a lone spotlight fell on him, deepening the auditorium’s darkness.
“He was pretty amazing at Chance’s party,” I said.
“He’s fucking brilliant,” Holden said, and the back of his hand brushed the back of mine. A spark shot straight up my arm and made the hairs stand on end. I shifted casually and tucked both hands in the front pockets of my jeans.
On the stage, Miller spoke into the mic in a low, almost shy voice. “Hey, my name is Miller Stratton. I’m going to play a song by Coldplay. It’s called ‘Fix You.’”
I let my gaze slide to Holden, studying the contours of his profile—his chiseled jaw and cheekbones, strong nose, full lips. He swallowed, and I watched the movement of his Adam’s apple. Thoroughly masculine. Nothing feminine about it.
“Can I help you?” he whispered, eyes forward.
“It sucks not talking to you,” I said as Miller strummed the first chords of the song. “I don’t know why. You’re arrogant as fuck.”
“Fair. You’re a grilled cheese sandwich.”
I snorted. “A what?”
“Shh,” Holden said. “Listen. This is our song.”
Our song. Nothing was ours. There was no us. But Miller sang that if you never try, you’ll never know, and the words pierced me like arrows.
I took my hand out of my pocket and let it hang by my side again. Again, my skin brushed Holden’s, sending shards of heat dancing up my arm while Miller sang about lights that ignite your bones.
I looked at Holden and he looked at me.
Without letting myself think, I slipped my fingers around the side of his hand and slid my palm against his. He gasped slightly—a small intake of breath only I heard in the darkened auditorium. Then he let his hand settle into mine. Another heartbeat and our fingers laced together.
“And I will try,” Miller sang, his rich voice hovering in the air in that silent auditorium. “To fix you.”
A short silence fell before the crowd erupted in thunderous cheers unlike anything I’d ever heard. Miller’s version of the song was unlike anything I’d ever heard either, as if he were singing directly to me. To us.
Because it’s our song.
Under the cover of applause, I let go of Holden’s hand and tugged the cuff of his coat. “Let’s go.”
I left without looking back but heard Holden’s footfalls following. Warning bells clanged in my head but were drowned in the thrashing beat of my heart that felt as if it were trying to break free of its prison like it had at the pool. Only this time, I was stone cold sober. No excuses.
I pushed open the door next to the auditorium—a back area of the band room that was for instrument storage. Huge basses loomed in the dimness, and drums of all sizes and styles lined the walls.
Holden followed me in and shut the door behind him. “Hello, friend.”
“I put in my college applications,” I said as he approached me in the darkness. “I’m going away to Texas or maybe Alabama this summer.”
“Establishing the rules, are you?” he drawled, though his voice was thick and tinged with nerves.
I swallowed hard. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing can change.”
“I told you,” Holden said, in front of me now. “I’ll never ask you for anything. I don’t have anything to give. Except this.”
I wanted to tell him that wasn’t true, that I was the one who had nothing to offer. I shouldn’t have led us here. I should walk out, but his goddamn voice, the scent of him, his presence was overwhelming. My hands itched to touch him, to grab him and…
Kiss him?
My first kiss with a guy. It seemed as if I’d been waiting a lifetime for it and yet the moment was rushing at me like a speeding train.
“Stop thinking, River,” Holden whispered. “We’re here. Right now.” He leaned in. “What are you going to do?”
Chapter Eleven
River answered my question by taking hold of the front of my coat and hauling me to him.
Our faces were inches apart, our bodies lined up against one another—hard and tense. We hovered in the moment, heat and electricity crackling between us as my eyes drank him in with desperate thirst. Jesus, his lips were parted, taunting me. I waited for his kiss—his first real kiss. Now that the moment had come, I was desperate for it.
With a sound that was half groan, half grunt, River pulled me tighter to him. Possessively. As if making me his. Then he crushed his mouth to mine.
I thought I was ready.
I’d been kissed a hundred times—wet, mindless mashing of
