Chapter Five
Avery made quick work of dressing and getting them out the door, all the while making certain that she never looked Holden directly in the eye. Somehow, she felt like if she met his gaze, he’d understand what she’d been trying to do. Or worse, why she’d tried to do it. And she couldn’t face that.
So, she did what she did best. Avoidance.
Before long, they were on the main drag, walking past dingy diners that only came to life in the summer when the tide was high. She swallowed hard, considering her next move, then decided to try for casualness. To not let it show just how much their borderline “lovemaking” had shaken her.
“So, how have you been? I mean, really?” She looked him up and down.
“Oh, I’m good. Another tour over.” He shrugged.
“How many does that make now?” she asked, though she knew the answer already. Four tours of duty. More than either of his brothers, and he wasn’t even thirty yet. With each new tour, she’d had to do something to make her forget. After the first, she’d moved to California. After the second, she’d gotten a tattoo. Once he’d left for the third, she’d decided to try skydiving.
And when she heard he was leaving on his fourth…
All she could remember doing was crying.
“Four,” he said, and she nodded along, careful to keep her face unreadable.
“Time to give up, you think?”
He just smiled. “So, where is this mysterious place you’re taking me?”
“The best restaurant in the city.”
“And best, by your standards means…juiciest hot dogs?” His eyebrows rose.
“Hottest wings.” She grinned back, trying to focus. Trying not to wonder why he so conspicuously didn’t answer her question. “Anyway, after that, it’s a surprise. But I can tell you it’s all right here.”
She halted dead in her tracks, and he nearly barreled into her. Watching from the corner of her eye, she studied the scene as he must have seen it. They were standing in front of a dilapidated old building with a mile-wide marquee. It was the sort of place Jay Gatsby might have frequented. Stranger still, the place had no markings or signs. If she hadn’t stopped, he might never have noticed it at all.
Just wait until he sees inside.
She led him up the concrete steps then opened the wide golden door for him, but he only stood there, looking at her.
“What?” she asked. “Get a move on.”
He frowned, then set his palm on her waist and led her through the door as he held it open for her.
“So old-fashioned,” she grumbled, trying to ignore the way her heart backfired in her chest.
“Where the hell are we?” he asked. The room was like something out of a science fiction movie, stretching on for what looked like eons, with loud, eighties-style carpeting covering every square inch of the floor. Rows upon rows of slot machines crowded the area, and women circled them like bees, all dressed like Betty Paige and carrying drinks on wide, gilded trays.
Her grin broadened. “If you only come to San Diego once, you should at least see the seedy underbelly of the city. Welcome to the underground casino, my friend.”
“How did you find this place?”
“I lead a strange and interesting life.” She tossed him a saucy grin. “There’s a bar tucked in the corner on the opposite side of the casino. That is where we’re going to get those wings.” She ushered him through the thicket of whirring machinery, a smile shining on her face as she glanced back at him.
When they got to the bar, there were no seats left except for some rickety booths near the bathroom. Still, Holden knew Avery wasn’t the sort to complain about ripped cushions or dirty tables. In fact, she was usually the reason things had ended up that way to begin with. They picked one and slid in.
The waitress strolled over, clad in yoga shorts and a half shirt, her peroxide-bleached hair crimped and styled with bright purple highlights. She had more piercings on her lip than Avery had on her whole body. “Can I help you?” the woman asked.
“Could we please have a pitcher of beer and a plate of twenty hot wings?” Holden asked.
“Fifty,” Avery amended.
The waitress nodded and strode away.
“I bet that hurt,” Holden said, nodding toward the waitress and her piercings.
“She pulls it off,” Avery said. “I can’t say I’d be able to do the same, so more power to her.”
He nodded. “Oh, you could definitely pull it off. You’d look good in a paper sack.”
Avery looked around, trying to avoid that soft, thoughtful expression Holden got sometimes. She didn’t know why, but it always left her with a feeling of impending doom. It only happened every now and then, but it was something she had to shut down.
Fast.
For some inexplicable reason, she wondered if he looked at his other lady friends the same way. If his full mouth curved into a smile while he examined their figures, or daydreamed about other things her mind wouldn’t allow her to think about.
Probably not. Not that it mattered.
“Listen, Avery, I wanted to ask you something—” He stretched his hand out, palm up on the table. But before he was able to say anything else, their pitcher of beer arrived, and the drink sloshed across the table as the woman set it down. Then, without a word of apology, she sauntered away.
Holden sopped up the liquid with his napkin, and Avery seized her moment.
“Come to think of it, I think I saw that waitress last week when I was here on a date.”
Holden nodded as he cleaned the table, urging her on. She’d expected more of a reaction from him. She needed time to think, but her brain scrambled for names, only coming up with characters from late-night talk shows and children’s cartoons. Somehow, she didn’t think Bullwinkle would pass unnoticed.
She had been on one date since his last tour, but it was definitely not one she’d care to remember or relive. Maybe embellishing the truth would be a better alternative…
She cleared her throat. “Yeah, his name was Fred Fitzgerald. He’s a fire captain.”
“You guys hit it off?” Holden sipped his beer, leaning back in his seat. Avery swirled her own drink, not daring to distract herself with it.
Had she and Fred hit it off? They did as much as one could hit it off with a traveling kitchen wares salesman who insisted on discussing his love of origami and the fine art of crocheting.
Which was to say, not at all.
It wouldn’t have been so bad if his clammy hands and cold sweat hadn’t haunted her dreams for a week after the end of their date.
Yes, lying was definitely the best option.
“Well, the real question is what didn’t we hit it off of, if you know what I mean.” She raised her glass to his, clinking them together before she took a small swig. All the while, she was careful to maintain eye contact.
That would be the only way to convince him, even if her innuendo made literally no sense outside of sex on a putting green.
“I’m glad California is agreeing with you.” He sipped his beer.
That was it? That was all he had to say?
Avery internally groaned and asked the question she hated hearing the answer to. “How are your folks?”
“They’re doing well. Mom was promoted to head of the D.A.R.”
She concentrated every muscle in her body toward not rolling her eyes. The Daughters of the American Revolution. What a laugh. Mrs. Morris had wanted to sign her up, willing the universe to make Avery acceptable enough to associate with her son, no matter how many decades she had to go back in order to legitimize her. But as it turned out, Avery’s family were of French descent and had been dissenters against the American Revolution.
Add the trailer park and the single mother out of wedlock into the mix, and Mrs. Morris was more than a little gung ho to be rid of Avery Forrester. Not that the woman had ever been one to put much effort into hiding that fact.
Despite all their history, Avery had never been able to bring herself to tell Holden how she felt about his mother. Besides, she was pretty sure he’d already heard enough straight from the old cow’s mouth.
“Dad retired from the service. He’s thinking of running for congress next term.”
“Hmm.” Avery hummed into her beer. It was hardly a shock. Political office was the next natural step for Morris men. Holden had come from a long line of senators and attorney generals. And while they might not have been Kennedys, Holden’s parents were making one hell of an effort to fix that fact with their children.
“And Tom?” The eldest of the Morris boys was the benchmark by which the others were to live their lives. Perfect wife. Honorable Discharge. The works.
“Tom is doing well. Jennifer is pregnant again.”
“What’s that make it now?”
“This will be their sixth.” He took a pull on his beer.
“Jeez, it feels like we only went to their wedding four years ago.”
“We did…” Holden trailed off.
A waitress dropped by with their tower of hot wings and set the steaming plate in the middle of the table. Avery’s mouth watered. She could already taste the spicy, vinegary succulence. And the best part of all? They wouldn’t have to talk about his horrendous family anymore.
Or the stranglehold they had on Holden’s future.
Win, win.
She stacked a few wings onto her plate and began demolishing them systematically, picking through them like a finely tuned machine.
“Don’t you want some bleu cheese or something to cool that down?”
He only had one partially picked wing in front of him.
Amateur.
“Dressing is for the weak. You have to taste the wing in all its glory.” She crunched down onto another piece, initiating an unspoken competition. He set the dressing in the far corner of the table. Game on.
“If you can do it, so can I,” he said.
His mouth curved around the wing as he bit down, his tongue peeking out occasionally to lick the sauce from his mouth. It was so damn distracting that she stared a second too long before she remembered that she intended to win this contest.
They glowered at each other mockingly as they ate, locked in a silent battle for supremacy. She shucked the chicken between her teeth, half tempted to see if she could toss the bones in her mouth and tie them with her tongue like a cherry stem.
“You eat like a man,” he said, his mouth stuffed with food.
“You’re crying like a girl,” she argued. It wasn’t true, but she needed something to goad him with. She’d expected the volcanic spice of the wing to elicit a trail of tears, streaming down his cheeks, but he kept going, sucking down wing after wing without pausing to sip his beer.
“Just give up.” She laughed.
“Never,” he grunted and chugged his beer before slamming it back down like Thor in a banquet hall.
No matter how fast he went, her plate was filled with twice as many bones as his. He stood no chance at victory, and she wasn’t one to throw a game.
They continued for a while before a pile of twenty-six chicken bones sat on Avery’s plate. She leaned back and licked her fingers with a satisfied smile.
“Count ’em and weep.”
“You cheated,” he said, running a wet nap over his hands and pushing his uneaten wings aside.
She chuckled and ripped open another wet nap, reaching across the table to wipe away the sauce that still lined his chin.
He looked down at her hand as she rubbed away the residue, and when she saw the astonishment in his eyes, she threw the towel on the table between them before resting back against the padded booth.
What the hell was wrong with her? What had come over her that she just did something like that automatically? She wouldn’t have done that to Myla. Or would she? Maybe she would. Maybe…
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she wiped the corners of her mouth.
“I know better than to think you can be trusted to clean up after yourself.” She tried to mask the sudden insecurity spreading over her, but that look in Holden’s eyes didn’t go away. It was the same one he’d had when he looked at her in her bed…the same one that sent panic and fear racing through her bloodstream like poison.
“Anyway, we should probably get going. Like I said, the slot tournament starts soon, and we don’t want to miss the chance to see the old ladies fighting over who gets the Dolly Parton machine.” She dropped some money on the table, scooted from the booth, and started to leave the restaurant, but when she turned to talk to Holden again, he wasn’t with her. Instead, he was sitting in the booth, his billfold open as he reviewed its contents.
She stalked back to the table. “What are you doing?”
“Paying the check.” He pulled some bills from the wallet and placed them on the table, then picked her money up and handed it back to her.
She stared at his outstretched hand, but didn’t move. “No, you’re not. I already took care of it. Tip and everything. The slots—”
“Can wait. Now don’t be silly. Take it.” He extended the money farther toward her, but she sidestepped him. “Why don’t we split it, huh? I’ll cover—”
“Avery.” The lightness in his tone was gone now. She glanced at him to find the Holden that his fellow Marines probably saw.
“Holden.” She put her hands on her hips.
“Either you can accept that I’m paying this bill, or we can stand here all night. I have no preference.”
“Why do you have the sudden need to cover my bill? We always split the check. You never—”
“Just accept it.”
She looked at him for a long moment before she snatched the money from his hand and stuffed it back into her purse.
“Fine. But I’m going to be really frivolous with this money.”
“Good.” He nodded, sliding from the booth to join her.
“I mean super irresponsible.”
“Even better.”
“Rodrigo might get some kitty costumes out of it.”
“I’m sure he’ll be adorable.” Holden said, then he looped his arm around her waist, and she startled again as a jolt of awareness traveled up her spine and fizzled through her.
She walked a little faster, and his loose grip on her fell. “We’re going to have to hurry if we want to make it—”
“Actually, I’m not sure I do,” Holden said.
Avery stopped just outside the restaurant’s doors to turn and face him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m not sure I want to go to the slot tournament.”
“But it’ll be so much fun. They even have a Power Rangers machine and—”
“Oh, I’m sure it would be fun, but I didn’t fly across the country to play slots. I came to see you.” That look was back again, all dark and smoldering and ready to weaken her knees until she buckled.
She blinked. “We’ll be together, though. We can even make a game out of it. You’ll see, we can—”
“No,” he said. “We’re in California. Let’s go to the beach.”
“It’s almost dark,” she argued.
“Even better.”
Avery chewed on her bottom lip, considering. She’d had a wild week planned for them—full of clubs and casinos and adventure. Maybe one night on the beach wouldn’t hurt. Besides, if the tide was forgiving enough, they might be too busy riding the waves for her to see that look in his eyes again.
It was possible, right?
“Okay, let’s go back to my place and grab our suits—”
Holden shook his head. “No, come on. The beach is only a couple of blocks away. Let’s just walk over.”
“But if we can’t swim—”
“We’ll walk along the shoreline, collect seashells, maybe. I came all this way. I want some time to talk to you. To be with you.” The slightest smile touched his lips, and her heart gave a little flutter.
This was no good, no fair. He was playing dirty. He had to know by now what his smile did to her, how she felt knowing that he wanted something, really wanted it.
He had to know that it was almost impossible for her to deny him anything when he looked at her that way.
“Yeah, uh, okay. We can go to the beach. We should probably hurry, though. The sun will be setting soon.” Her stomach clenched as she pictured them, walking side-by-side on the shore, the orange glow of the sun’s last rays catching in Holden’s blond hair. It seemed so…intimate. So romantic.
She sucked in her cheeks. This was a colossal mistake. If it wasn’t too late, there was a chance she could take it back, though. If only she could—
“All right, let’s go.” Holden grinned and started toward the door. And with a deep breath, she followed along behind him, swallowing all her protests in one terror-filled gulp.