Holly's shoulder brushes mine, and my blood surges. Nothing more than a brush of our jackets, and my cock swells in my pants.
The same way it did as I watched her volley verbally like a goddamn queen this morning with that champagne flute perched daintily between her fingers.
While I sat there and pretended I didn't give a fuck that they ignored her. Literally walled her out of the conversation entirely.
That’s the job, right? What better way to look like I hate her than pretending to be one of them.
Drip.
Holly's perfume drifts up, not as subtle as vanilla but not as sweet as birthday cake. Something uniquely her that makes my mouth water and my hands itch to grab her.
To pull her close.
To—
"You know," Eve says carefully, "if you need to talk about?—"
"I don't." The words come out sharper than intended, edged with the desperation clawing at my insides.
Charlie whistles low. "Wow. Definitely having a stroke."
Drip.
"I'm fine." Another lie. Sure, my failed marriage was more a lie by omission, but a lie nonetheless.
"Next!" The lift operator's voice yanks me out of the bullshit stew I'm drowning in.
Almost there.
Just need to make it to the Shred Shack with Nick.
Like old times. When things were simple. When I didn't feel like I was being torn apart from the inside out.
"Hey, mister?" A high-pitched voice pipes up. One of the snowball terrorists points above our heads with a grin. "Mistletoe!"
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
Holly gasps next to me and fuck if I know what it means. She wants me to? She’ll slice off my balls if I try?
Drip.
"You gotta kiss her!" The kid bounces on his feet, clearly thrilled with his role as mistletoe enforcer.
Not that either matters. We hate each other. That’s the deal.
Only I’m doing a bang up job at turning our ruse into real fucking hate.
"You want to live long enough to see adulthood?" I growl, my voice rough with barely contained violence. "Shut it."
His friend chimes in. "You chicken?"
"Nope, I just don't take orders from a kid who hasn't even gotten his big kid ha?—"
"Chance!" Nick snaps, exasperation heavy in his voice.
Drip.
"What?" I spread my arms wide, spoiling for a fight. Desperation and anger mix in my blood like gasoline and lit matches.
