Page 10 of Holden

My eyes open in horror and a cool breezes flutters across my body. As my vision adjusts to my surroundings, I begin to reorient myself. Dear Lord. I am not in Holden’s strong arms, but in my own bed—alone.

Jesus.

The sex with Holden was just a dream, but is it possible my orgasm wasn’t?

I bury my head in my pillow. Shit. Was I loud? Damn it. I hope I wasn’t loud.

My gaze goes to the alarm clock, where the glowing red numbers tell me it’s 1:30 a.m. I groan, and pull the pillow over my head, trying to dislodge the lingering fantasy of Holden’s naked body on top of mine. But it’s all so visceral, so real—I can almost smell his cinnamon spiced cologne.

Damn it.

I want him. Now worse than ever.

The realization hits me with the force of a tornado, and the butterflies in my gut awaken with a vengeance. My resolve snaps. Still half asleep, I grab my phone and call up my emails. There’s no way he’ll answer, but if I don’t send him a message now, I’ll chicken out.

Taking a deep breath, I write: 10 questions. 10 hours. 10 sexual acts of your choosing. I accept.

Then I sign it with my cell number, and chuck my phone to the other side of the bed.

Fuck me. What have I done?

Chapter 6

My text chimes less than thirty seconds later.

I peer over the stack of pillows on my bed at the glowing iPhone screen, and my heart leaps into my throat. Obviously, it isn’t Holden—how can it be? I just sent the email.

I paw around in my sheets until I have the cell in my hand, pulse pounding as I read the short text.

It’s Holden: You blew it.

My pulse spikes. I scroll to his next message, hands trembling: You had until midnight. It’s well past that.

Fuck. I check the alarm clock again, willing it to rewind two bloody hours. Another fantasy that doesn’t have a chance of panning out. I write: You didn’t specify which time zone.

Crickets.

A bead of sweat slips between my shoulder blades. I stare at the screen, desperately anticipating his response. It’s possible he won’t answer at all, if nothing more than to send a signal.

I cradle the phone in my sweaty palms and wait. At least a minute goes by. I’ve almost given up, when my screen flashes and I flinch at the high-pitched chime. Another message: I need a reason to give you a chance.

My hackles raise. A reason? Holden might be sexy as hell, but his arrogance has already begun to grate on my nerves. I consider blocking his number and forgetting that I emailed him at all. But my mind wanders back to that dream—so real, I can feel my thighs start to tingle, even now.

I admit, I’m beyond curious.

And maybe Lindsay is right. It’s not like I’m going to marry the guy. Ten sexual acts. What could possibly go wrong? I start to type a response and then delete it, shocked at the words I almost use. I refuse to sound desperate, even if I am. Instead, I text: I’ve had a chance to think it through. I pause, and then add: You were right—I can’t forget you.

I hit send before I can retract the flirtatious message. Jesus. I am so far out of my comfort zone I might as well be on a different planet.

His following response makes my insides quake.

Prove it.

Prove it? My stomach clenches with unease. How the hell does he expect me to do that?

Moonlight streams through the window across from my bed, basking the room in a bluish romantic tinge. A streetlight on the corner of the street burns bright, paving a path for students staggering home after evening parties or sorority gatherings. I’m not into that level of interaction. The more people get to know me, the more likely I am to spill my deepest, darkest secrets—and doing so would alienate me from the life I’ve worked so hard to build.

Damn it. I’ve come so far. Faced demons, found purpose, stopped running from the past. Mom says she’s proud of my strength, even though she doesn’t agree with my choice to come here. It should be enough.