Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124923 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Her arms are still crossed, but I see some of the tension leave her shoulders. “No, you haven’t.” She sighs. “It’s not just you, though. Grey’s just as bad, but I feel guilty because we have each other and he has…no one.”
Thayer leans down, kissing her forehead. I should give them privacy, but I can’t seem to peel my eyes away from the scene in front of me. I never thought I’d see Thayer Ames contrite or…soft. But that’s exactly how he is with Shayne right now. He’s still an asshole—will probably always be an asshole—but he’s putty in her hands.
“I’ll try harder.”
She beams up at him, her smile victorious as she winds her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”
The knock at the door rips my attention away just as they’re about to start dry humping each other against the wall, I’m sure. “I got it!” I call out, all but running toward the door. I swing it open wide, fully expecting to see the pizza guy, but it’s Holden who stands there, pizza boxes stacked on his palm. I’m momentarily frozen, completely caught off guard.
It shouldn’t be surprising that he’d be here, seeing as how my best friend is essentially his sister, but I still wasn’t expecting to see him so soon. It’s not that I haven’t seen him at all over the past year, but after the night he punched Liam, he was cold toward me. Angry. I later found out it was the same night he found out that his cousin, Christian, who doubled as his best friend, was responsible for killing Danny, and their uncle was covering it up.
I never quite understood what that had to do with me, but that anger eventually faded, and he went back to being his normal self, if not a little indifferent, like our night together never mattered at all. Like I never mattered at all. Fine with me.
I avoided him, mostly out of embarrassment, and he didn’t exactly go out of his way to get into my pants anymore either. He was too busy drinking himself into oblivion and entertaining any girl with a pulse to bother with me. For the remainder of the school year, we reluctantly coexisted for our friends’ sake, but since graduation, I can count how many times I’ve seen him on one hand. A party here and there, once on campus from a distance, and once with the basketball team in the gym during their practice. When basketball season started last month, I thought I’d have to face him, but he hasn’t played a single game. I was confused on how or why he’d be practicing with the team if he wasn’t actually playing, but I didn’t let myself care enough to ask Shayne about it.
All in all, the night in Holden’s pool house seems more like a fever dream than reality, and sometimes I wonder if it even happened at all. But as I stand here, face-to-face with him for the first time in months, I know it did.
I notice his hair first. It’s shorter on the sides now, no sign of the wavy, messy brown hair I’m used to seeing on him. It makes his jawline seem even more pronounced and the rest of his features seem almost…severe. His light brown eyes don’t hold the same warmth they used to either. Or maybe that warmth is just reserved for anyone who isn’t me.
Suddenly, I’m all too aware of the fact that I’m only wearing a sports bra with a half-zipped hoodie, a pair of short black cheer spandex, and a freaking ankle brace over one of my white socks. I threw my hair into a ponytail earlier, so it was out of the way while we were moving stuff in, but I know without having to look that it’s hanging limply. I don’t attempt to smooth down the stray hairs that have escaped their elastic. That would mean I care about how I look in front of him. Which I don’t. He’s not exactly dressed up either in his gray sweatshirt, but somehow, he manages to make me feel underdressed. My eyes catch on the tattoo on his thigh that peeks out from beneath his black basketball shorts, but I can’t make out what it is.
His gaze rakes over me, not leering, but…assessing? When his perusal makes its way back up to my face, I raise a brow, already feeling that familiar defense mode click back into place like it does whenever we’re together. “Holden,” I say his name like a four-letter word.
“You gonna let me in, Valentina?” I ignore the fact that he used my full name, refusing to give him a reaction. He knows I hate it. “Or are you just going to stare at me? I come bearing gifts.” He holds up the pizza boxes and a paper grocery bag.