“I’m leaving,” I tell him, reaching for the doorknob. Before I twist it, Holland scoffs. I freeze before looking back at him with narrowed eyes. Did he just scoff at me? Really? “Something funny?”
Holland shakes his head, a cocky grin on his face as he looks down at the floor. His wet, dirty blonde hair drips as it falls over his face.
“Nothing,” he shrugs and chuckles to himself without even looking up at me. My arms cross over my chest and my foot taps impatiently as I wait for him to tell me exactly what he thinks is funny.
Nothing about this situation is funny. Nothing about the sexual tension in the room that I know we both feel is funny. Nothing about the reason I even came over here in the first place is funny.
I know he can tell I’m uncomfortable, that much is obvious by the knowing smirk on his lips. I hate that he knows me so well, because he can read me like a freaking book.
Letting out a huff, I say, “Tell me, now.”
Holland shakes his head as he leans back on his forearms, getting comfortable as he watches me. I’m really tempted to walk over there and slap his smug face.
“Why?” he asks. My blood begins to boil. He knows what he’s doing, and I hate him for it.
“Because I want to know what you think is funny about this situation,” I tell him, standing taller than before. I don’t want him to know he’s affecting me, even though I’m pretty sure he knows that he is.
Holland shrugs his shoulders, and I’m practically drooling at the sight of his abs contorting as he moves. God, why does he have to be so hot. He could have grown up to be ugly, but no.
“I don’t think I’m gonna tell you,” he taunts. I hold in a growl of frustration at his stupidity.
“Fine,” I spit. My arms fall to my sides as I turn around and take a step back toward the door. If he doesn’t want to tell me, fine. I’m not standing here like an idiot waiting for him to give me an answer.
Before I can open the door though, a hand slams on it from above me. The loud noise startles me a bit, but I don’t show it. I can feel him behind me. I feel his body heat, and I smell his soap.
I almost feel the need to clench my thighs together for some friction, except that would be crazy because I can’t be sexually attracted to this guy. Not this one.
Looking up at the strong arm above me, I watch the muscles cord as he applies pressure to the door so I can’t open it. Oh lord. Who knew a forearm could be so damn attractive.
Holland’s breath fans over the back of my neck as he leans down to whisper in my ear.
“Where ya going, Bug?” he asks in an almost taunting tone. The nickname makes my face heat, and I have to stop myself from pressing back against him.
The name would usually piss me off, however all I can think about is the way I can feel his breath on me and the heat radiating off of his body. I can’t think clearly, and it’s making me crazy because I’m not the kind of girl that gets crazy over guys.
Guys don’t usually get me flustered, or nervous. I’m confident, and I’m good at acting like I don’t care. It makes it easier that a lot of the time, I really don’t. It’s just a way to release tension or anger.
Maybe it’s not the healthiest coping mechanism, but hey. I’m trying here.
My breathing picks up as Holland moves an inch closer to me, his front against my back, and the distinct feeling of something hard pressed against my ass. Oh my God.
Please tell me that’s his phone and not his rock-hard erection against me right now. Please tell me my best friends’ brother doesn’t have a hard on for me at this very moment. For the love of everything holy, please tell me I’m not fucking turned on.
There is no way I am turned on. Not with Holland Monroe. He’s a prick, a ladies’ man. He’s not what you’re looking for, Lane. He’s the opposite of everything you want, which is something easy and uncomplicated.
This whole thing would be so complicated and not at all easy. Ellie would find out, and I would have to explain to my best friend why I’m fucking her brother.
Personally, that doesn’t sound that appealing to me, and I’d like to avoid having that conversation like the plague. So no, I cannot be turned on my Holland Charles Monroe. That can’t happen.
So why can I feel the wetness between my thighs? Why is my breathing so crazy? Why do I have goosebumps?
“You wanna know what I think, Lainey Bug?” Holland whispers in a deep tone, causing a shiver to run down my spine. I shake my head.
“Not particularly.”
I feel a puff of air as Holland chuckles softly. A large hand runs up my thigh, lifting my tank up slightly in the process.
The warmth of his fingertips against my skin makes me tremble. My breath hitches as he moves in closer, effectively trapping me between him and the door.
