Whatever scenario I envisioned, the result was the same. Like a math problem, there was only one answer, exact and unchanging.
Impossible.
“Who you going to ask?”
I blinked again. “What?”
“Jesus, Whitmore, you’re a goddamn zombie,” Chance said. “We’re talking Prom.”
“It’s months away.”
“Yeah, but you gotta nail down the hottest chicks fast, or else they start getting uppity and looking at college Freshman,” Mikey said with authority.
“So who you thinking about asking?” Donte asked me.
“Don’t know yet. I’m weighing my options.”
“Thatta boy,” Chance said and slugged me in the shoulder, but Donte watched me through narrowed eyes.
Shit…
The lights in the restaurant were too bright. My jacket was too heavy, and my breath felt tight in my chest. My carefully constructed life was squeezing with a claustrophobic fist, punishing me for my weakness. For taking things too far with Holden.
For starting something that had nowhere to go.
“I gotta go,” I said, climbing out of the booth.
“Where?”
“To see who?” Donte asked, eyebrows raised.
“Your mom,” I muttered. “She hates it when I’m late.”
The others laughed but Donte only shrugged, wearing a small knowing smile I didn’t like. “Tell her I said hi.”
I strode through the restaurant and shoved open a side door to the parking lot, my face on fire as if I had a fever. A storm was brewing off the ocean. The sky was heavy with clouds and chilly wind swirled a red and white candy wrapper around the black asphalt. Against the side wall of the restaurant, I pulled out my phone.
I can’t make it tonight.
The reply came a few long moments later. Sounds ominous.
I let my head fall back against the bricks and hit call. Holden picked up but said nothing.
“Hello…?”
“I’m listening,” he said.
“Look…I can’t do this.”
“This.”
“Us. Whatever the fuck we’re doing.”
“Since when?” Holden demanded. “Did something extraordinary happen between now and three hours ago when we were sucking face in your entryway?”
“No, nothing happened,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Okay, yes. Life happened. My messed-up life. It’s not fair that you should put up with my shit while I try to figure it out. You deserve more than my conflicted ass running hot and cold on you every other damn minute.”
“Shut up.”
I blinked. “What…?”
“I said, shut up,” Holden snapped. “You’re worried about what I deserve? As if you have the monopoly on being fucked up. I have trust issues. I don’t set healthy boundaries. I close down emotionally before people get too close, and I sabotage relationships because I want to be the one who leaves first.”
“That’s… a lot of information.”
“It’s my official resumé. I broke into the head doctor’s office in the sanitarium one night and read my file.”
I snorted a laugh despite myself. This guy… In that moment I sort of felt bad for anyone who didn’t know Holden and proud that I did. Even if he was going to fucking ruin me.
Holden felt me relent and his arrogant tone returned.
“What I’m trying to say is that I don’t mind being your dirty little secret. Emphasis on dirty.”
“You’d be okay with that?”
“Spare me your pity party. I’ll survive if you don’t want to hold my hand in the hallway or make me your Prom Queen. We can keep it casual.”
“Casual.”
“You’re leaving to play football after graduation, and I’m going to jump on a plane and get the hell out of Dodge. What else can there be?”
Nothing was the correct answer. There shouldn’t be anything between us. Not even this. But the sense memory of Holden’s hot mouth on mine and his body pressed against me came roaring in to make its case.
“Friends with benefits,” Holden said in my ear, his voice low and husky. “Secret friends with benefits. Isn’t that what you want?”
No. I want you. All of you.
“Well?”
“I’m on my way.”
I drove up to the huge white Craftsman and parked along the side. Holden had texted me to take the side entrance, so I pushed through the gate and stepped into an immaculate backyard. The grass was cut to military precision and the pool was clean and sparkling with several deck chairs surrounding it.
Just the sight of the pool gave me flashbacks from that first night together. I knocked at the guesthouse, feeling as if the windows in the main house were watching. Holden opened the door and my breath quickened.
Holy hell…
Fresh from the shower, his silver hair was damp and slicked back from his face. He wore a thick maroon bathrobe—untied—over striped pajama pants and a white V-neck shirt. It clung to his chest and torso, hinting at cut abs that tapered to a narrow waist.
A heated push of want and denial, of need and guilt, swept through me.
“Uh oh,” he said, reading my face, stepping aside to let me in. “Second thoughts? Didn’t we just talk about this?”
I ran a hand through my hair. “I know, but I’ve never…”
“Been alone with a guy?”
“Maybe,” I said. “And maybe don’t be a dick about it?”
“You’re right. Sorry. I keep forgetting I’m the slut in this relationship. Beer?”
“Sure.”
I heaved a steadying breath and shook out of my jacket while he went to the kitchen. Holden’s place was as big as most apartments. The front room had a couch, chair, and coffee table facing a small gas fireplace that was buffered on both sides by full bookshelves. The fire cast dancing shadows across the walls.
Under a window on the right sat a huge desk with a small desk lamp glowing over a journal and pen. The pen I’d given him for Christmas. On the left side of the fireplace wall was a small, open-concept kitchen
