It’s a simple question that has an easy answer. But it’s hard to think about anyone else while my body is pressed into Holt’s. Despite being in a stadium full of people, it feels like just the two of us.
I bite my lip. “His voice is dreamy.”
Holt rolls his eyes. “He sounds like a cocky teenager.”
I slap his chest and ignore the way it doesn’t give. It only makes it worse that I know how spectacular it is undressed.
“Let’s get to our seats before you miss the show,” he says.
He sets me back on both of my feet. But before he turns around, he grabs my hand.
My eyes flip to his. He looks as surprised as I feel.
“Just so you don’t fall again,” he mumbles.
“Right.”
His hand is large and warm. His grip is sturdy and reliable, just like I know him to be.
Don’t get swept up in this.
I ignore the legions of music fans on either side of the walkway. I block out the way my hand tingles from being tucked into Holt’s. I do my best to activate my guard and not read too much into anything—but it’s difficult.
It feels so natural.
Holt shows a uniformed man our tickets before we descend the last few steps. The man nods as I pass.
We stop at the bottom row. The only people closer to the stage are the people standing on the field.
“Oh, wow,” I say. “How did you get these tickets? They’re fantastic.”
He drops my hand and runs his through his hair. “Connections, I guess.”
“You must have some good connections.”
“You could say that.” He looks over my shoulder. “Whatever is said tonight, please understand I have no control over them.”
I furrow my brow. “What? Who? What are you talking about?”
I’m not sure if he’s going to laugh or wince. Either way, he slips by me and into the row of seats. I follow along and sit in the empty seat next to him.
“We didn’t think you were coming,” a familiar voice says from the other side of him.
I peer down the aisle.
The man I met at the Landrys’ the first night I met Holt—Oliver, I think it was, sits beside Holt. A young woman with gorgeous blond hair is seated next to him. Two men who are variations of Holt and Oliver smile back at me from the other side of the girl. An older man and woman sit at the end. The woman looks regal in an approachableway with her large pieces of jewelry and plain black T-shirt. The man is dressed like Holt and has the same warm smile.
“You brought her,” the woman says, clearly thrilled to see me.
My cheeks heat as I take in this … situation.
These people are his family.
My attention shifts away from the curious faces to the man who brought me here.
Holt looks at me and forces a swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. The look on his face is half-smile, half-wince as he tries to read the look on mine.
I lift a brow and try not to look as shocked as I feel.
