He cleared his throat and pushed out of the chair, drawn by a power that scared the hell out of him. “Yeah.”
In the kitchen, she puttered about barefoot. She’d undone her braid, hair a shining sheet of loose waves from being bound. She was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.
He hitched a shoulder against the doorframe. “That shirt’s kinda a cliche.”
Her head bent over measuring out coffee, a pleased smile played about her lips. “Know why it’s a cliche?”
“Because it’s sexy as sin.” She wore it well. Tyler had tried this once – the world didn’t hold enough money for him to let Holly know that had been in the same shirt – and the entire enterprise had left him cold. They’d had a flaming fight that night, or rather Tyler had had a flaming screaming fit because damn if he was going to get into an argument with her yelling at him. He’d shut his mouth and kept it that way, let her have hersay until she ran out of steam and reasons why he was the worst boyfriend ever.
They hadn’t lasted long after that.
He watched her hands while she slotted the filter into the machine. “How’d your lunch go?”
“It was . . .” She rolled a shoulder, wrinkling her nose while she powered on the brew cycle. “Productive. We agreed that in order to be friends, we each have a right to our own lives without the other person’s opinion or input.”
What that meant was she’d told Barlow to keep his thoughts about Colt to himself. The realization settled a low burn of irritation under his heart. He ran the tip of his tongue over his teeth. “Huh.”
Her hands fell to the counter, and a frustrated sigh vibrated through her whole body before she turned to face him. “I find that response incredibly annoying.”
He resisted an urge to take a full step back, instead folding his arms over his chest. Imagine something he did being found wanting. That was novel because he was always doing everything right.
“You do that when you have an emotional response to something and don’t think it’s okay to say anything.” She leaned on the counter. “I want you to feel like you can talk to me.”
“What is there to say?” He didn’t relax his arms. “He has a problem with you being with me. I don’t blame him.”
She tilted her head to one side, an inquisitive watchfulness on her face. Tension gathered at the base of his spine. He knew that look. “And your problem is what exactly?”
He shrugged. “I don’t have one.”
The statement was basically true. He didn’t have a problem with Barlow so much as Barlow despised him, looking at him likehe was lower than dirt every time they ran across one another. The animosity went all the way back to Colt’s own actions, so why let it under his skin?
Her brows dipped, and he swallowed a groan. He knew that look, too, from every time he’d put forth some stupid claim in Mr. Davis’s class and then she’d taken him apart.
“Good.” She twisted sideways to glance at the filling coffee pot. Colt frowned. Good? “Because at the end of the day, he and I are still friends and you and I are still together, and I can see wanting to have you with me when I socialize.”
Shit. He fought down a cringe. If that’s what she wanted, he’d suck it up, every soul-shriveling second of being together with her and the man who hated him, the man she loved.
Or worse, having every second of being forced into Tick’s company because he was involved with Holly carved into him.
For a guy who hated messy situations, he sure managed to get himself into them often enough. And this one was messy, even with the beautiful purity of her standing barefoot in his kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt — because she’d give him her body if he asked, while he was pretty sure she couldn’t give him her heart yet.
He didn’t want one without the other. Sex was fine, yeah, and he’d done the whole thing without being in love. She was different, though, the way he felt about her was different, and he couldn’t put himself out there like that without being sure.
Because if he did and she changed her mind about him, he’d have to live with it, memories and hurt and all. Any woman before changing her mind about him was one thing. Holly changing her mind about him once he let himself be all in? That would take him out at the knees.
“That looks like deep thought.” She turned to pour coffee into one of his mugs, glazed the same shifting tones as the blue hole behind the cabin.
“Yeah.” He scuffed a hand over the tight muscles in his nape. Man, if he could go back, change his path, change himself . . . he just wanted to be normal, not so damaged and fucked up all the time. Living like that exhausted him some days.
Hands cupped around the handmade pottery, she padded to stand before him. Steam curled above the rim, laden with rich aroma, and she took a cautious sip before passing the coffee into his hold. “Want to share?”
She didn’t mean the coffee now heating his palm. With her clear gaze on his face, he straightened from the door frame. “I can’t sleep with you until I know you’re over him.”
Tucking her tousled bangs to one side, she gave a slow nod. “So you were serious about the couch.”
Irritation spurted through him. “You know what I mean, Holly.”
“You said you didn’t want to be a substitute or a rebound, and you’re not.” She narrowed her eyes, chin lifted to a familiar, challenging level. “Working at getting over him doesn’t mean I can’t be committed to what we have between us.”
