“Colt.”
He closed the door, priding himself on not slamming it shut. D tended to walk softly, and he tried to emulate his daddy, always had. He didn’t rap a fist on the hood either, as he walked around to the driver’s side and jerked the door open to slide behind the wheel.
Big blue eyes, wide and wounded, lit upon his face. He felt that look, without even meeting her gaze.
“Don’t look at me like that.” He fired the engine, laid his foot on the brake and reached for the gearshift. He dropped his hand, slumping in the seat. “Shit, Holly.”
“I know.” She folded in on herself, her voice small and pained. “I know.”
“He’s such a–” He bit off the description. He and Barlow had never really clicked, anyway, Colt unable to get why Tick valued him so as a friend. Sure the guy had to have good points – everybody did. But he’d strung her along for years, although she’d allowed herself to be strung along, and . . .fuck. “What the hell, Holly?”
Her lashes fell. He struggled to get his breathing and his emotions under control. He was not going to be an asshole here. Hurt and honest, sure. A jerk? No.
Wrist propped on the steering wheel, he stabbed his fingers toward the windshield. “Can I ask how you stayed hung up on him so long?”
Maybe he should sayhow you’re still hung up on him.
He breathed through the frustrating agony of being a consolation prize for real.
Biting her lip, she leaned her elbow on the window and propped her chin in her hand. “I was young and he made me feel wanted. Even if he didn’t want to, he wanted me, and that felt important. And I got stuck there. You get how that works. I know you do.”
His gaze jerked sideways. She gazed out the window, the line of her body tense and brittle. A more even breath left his lungs. He could make that worse, or he could make it better.
That decision was a no-brainer.
“I do.” He curved his hand over her knee. “Stuck is an apt word, too.”
“I don’t love him. I don’t want him.” She turned her head, a sharp movement, a fierce light in her eyes. “I do know what I want, just like I didn’t want you to go last night even when the emotional stuff got overwhelming.”
If she chose to trust him, that meant he had to choose to trust her, too. Son of a bitch . . .
“That hit hard.” He cleared his throat. “I have issues with being seen as second best to someone else. You get that.”
“I do.” She covered his hand atop her knee. “We have a pretty mature relationship. This is great.”
“Holly Callahan and mature in the same space.” He snorted, his chest almost not tight and aching. Almost. “Imagine that.”
“You . . .”
He caught her fist in his palm before she connected with his shoulder, using the momentum to tug her toward him. Surprise flared in her eyes, and on a triumphant laugh, Colt lowered his mouth to hers.
Chapter Eighteen
Not waiting for Colt to come around and open her door, Holly pushed it open and stepped out onto the blacktop, staring at Scott’s daddy’s house. A massive lump settled in her stomach, akin to how she’d felt a lot of Saturdays waiting for her daddy to show up . . . or not.
Now that she’d almost killed any promise the night had, she still had to go in there.
At the hood, Colt gave her his “really?” look, mouth tight, one brow up, and she wrinkled her nose at him. This was not a normal date night, so he could just put those cotillion manners of his away.
She took a step toward him and winced. These shoes had been a mistake, too. They looked great with the skirt in her mirror, gave her a kickass attitude, but how on earth did Caitlin walk in these things all the time?
And she didn’t have the option of taking them off and walking barefoot on the grass here anymore. Mr. Ben’s home no longer counted as her second home, so making herself comfortable like she lived here would only be weird.
Swallowing a frustrated scream, she tucked her hand through Colt’s arm, mentally cursing her fashion choices all over again when her heels sank in the thick grass. She didn’t have Caitlin’s dancer-like grace, doomed to face-plant or break an ankle before the night was done.
The soft ground of a mole trail sucked her heel further down, and she clutched Colt harder, trying to stay upright. Smothering a growl, she brushed her hair from her face. She hadn’t even seen that, since Andrea had strung up like one set of lights so dark shrouded most of the yard. Tick and Mackey lived togive her a fit about her brighter-than-Hallmark lighting, but the festivity served a purpose.
The noise was subdued, too, quiet chatter, the occasional laugh, blended with some kind of instrumental jazz that might be Christmas music. Closing her eyes while Colt reached for the gate, Holly mentally chanted her newest mantra over and over – this wasn’t her party.
