He stops eating, pizza crust inches from his full, pretty mouth. His eyes look more silvery and wolfish in the fluorescent trailer lights than they normally do. And it’s making me warm in places that shouldn’t be—not over Holden Hendricks. I hate him.
“Does your boyfriend think that?”
“We broke up,” I reply tersely, take another bite of pizza and chew on it like I’m teaching it a lesson. “That hug you saw was a good-bye hug. That’s why he’s back in Toronto and I’m still here.”
He has this way of staring at me that hasn’t changed in decades. He did it when we were kids too. It’s like my face is some kind of foreign novel he’s trying to translate. It’s annoying as all hell and makes me want to blush. When I was a kid I wouldn’t be able to fight the blush that came from his attention and then he would smirk, like he thought I was a joke, and laugh at me. Holden doesn’t do that now, but I also keep my cheeks from turning into flaming red balls. “So you lost your dad and your boyfriend at the same time?”
“Not really. I lost Ty years ago,” I tell him and take a big swig of my beer. “Well, he lost me.”
“Why?” Holden asks.
“Because he fucked someone else.” I am shocked I just came out and said it. I’ve never told anyone what Ty did. No one. I was humiliated and blamed myself. But I always thought when I did tell someone it would be Dixie or Sadie and it would be with less cussing. “And I spent a year trying to forgive him, but I couldn’t. I decided I didn’t want to and that makes me a giant bitch, because I think he was really truly sorry.”
“That doesn’t make you a bitch, Winona,” Holden replies firmly. “There’s some things that don’t deserve forgiveness and that’s one of them, in my opinion.”
The conversation lulls. He finishes his beer and grabs another one. I keep sipping mine. I watch him move around the small trailer. He looks like he’s physically too big to be in here, yet he moves fluidly and gracefully.
“Did you ever cheat on someone?” I ask softly, almost expecting him to ignore me.
“Nope,” he replies easily. “I was too busy fighting, stealing and vandalizing.”
He grins and it makes me laugh again and he laughs too. When our laughter dies it leaves a new, sexually charged energy in the room. This somehow now feels like a date, and I don’t like that I like it. I finish my beer and get up off the couch. I hobble toward his recycling bin and drop the empty bottle in it. He’s leaning his butt against the counter between the recycling bin and the door.
“I’m going to go,” I say.
We stare at each other. I can’t fight my blush under his attention this time. He notices and his lips slowly pull up into a smile. Shit. He’s going to laugh at me just like he used to. I try to brush by him quickly, but he’s quicker and blocks the door with his broad frame. I take a step back and my butt is against the built-in dinette table. He leans forward, placing his hands on either side of me on the table. If this were younger Holden I would be a bit scared by the closeness, but with grown-up Holden, it feels exhilarating to have him this close, not scary. It feels good.
“You know why I called you Larry when you were a kid?” he murmurs in a deep rough voice that makes my belly flip like I’m on a roller coaster.
“Because you were an asshole.” Our faces are inches apart, nose-to-nose. He’s so close his ruggedly handsome face is almost blurry.
He chuckles and nods. “But also because he was my favorite. And you were my favorite.”
I used to spend hours—nights—stewing over that nickname and why he would give it to me and of all the possible answers, I never came up with something so simply sweet.
“I was your favorite Braddock sister?” I ask in awe because it sure as hell didn’t feel that way.
“You were my favorite everything.”
I don’t take my eyes off him. I’m waiting for him to laugh, like this is a joke. Because it is. He hated me. He hated everything. I don’t know if it’s the trauma of losing my dad or being face-to-face with my childhood nemesis or just the alcohol I’ve consumed, or maybe all three, but my childhood insecurities are back with a vengeance. I feel awkward and uncomfortable—unworthy of his attention, like I’m still an oily-faced, fuzzy-haired, painfully thin girl he’s playing a joke on. I try to take a step away from him, but I can’t because of the damn table and his thick strong arms on either side of me. So instead, I say, “If you’re teasing me, remember, I can always break your nose again.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he says. His expression is raw and real. He is serious. “But I’m just telling you the truth. I was a mean little brat back in the day, but I saw you, Winnie. I saw your kindness and your intelligence. I still see it. Difference is back then it made me feel worse about myself. Now I can just admire it.”
He steps back, giving me all the space I need to escape. “Thank you for the pizza peace offering. Have a good night, Winona.”
He waits for me to leave. I wait for me to leave, but my feet aren’t moving. I don’t want to go. What I want to do is touch him. I reach out and caress his cheek with my palm. His beard is rough, but his skin is warm. I pull him to me and I kiss him.
It’s the most surreal moment of my life. A week ago, I had forgotten he existed. Two days ago, just seeing his face again filled me with anger and now my lips are on his and it feels…right. He’s kissing me back, and it’s raw and rough and taking my breath away. His hands grab my hips and his tongue slips into my mouth. He lifts me up onto the table and I immediately wrap my legs around his waist and start falling backward because there’s nothing but table behind me. I pull him down with me and he goes willingly. I want him with a primal urgency I’ve never known before. This is more than a kiss; it’s a surrender. I want to give him everything.
There’s a loud, jarring knock on the trailer door, and I freeze and Holden jumps back, leaving me sprawled across the tabletop. He takes a ragged breath, runs a hand through his hair and his whole demeanor switches. He looks suddenly surly. “What?”
“Dude, open up! I got your phone!”
Holden’s hands fly around his body, checking all his pockets frantically and then he sighs. “Fuck,” he whispers and then walks the short distance to the door and opens it just a crack. But Kidd’s not having it and smacks the palm of his hand against it and pushes it wide open and steps inside.
He holds up Holden’s phone as I scramble off the table to my feet. “Hey! You forgot this at the bar when you were hustling that dude at pool. How much did you make off him anyway? Like, fifty?”
“Thanks,” Holden grumbles.
