CHAPTER FIVE

HOLLY

 

The weekends since Stephen and I ended had become painfully uneventful. This was no thanks to Anna being with her father and leaving me without any work to do, and I couldn’t tell if Stephen alone had made me an exciting person, or if the breakup had really taken a toll on my own personal desire for fun. Or maybe it was both.

Probably both.

That Saturday wasn’t much of an exception, and after lounging on my bed for hours with a book in hand, I announced to Camille how I planned to spend the rest of the weekend. Stay in my pajamas, watch Frasier reruns, indulge in a little wine from the box in the fridge, enjoy the company of my vibrator, and nap until it was time to go to bed again. It seemed like a sound plan—one I could easily stick to without putting much pressure on myself—and I rolled out of my bed to find that box of wine.

My feet shuffled along the slick wooden floor of the hallway into the living room to find my mom and Liz sitting there, apparently shocked to see me out of my room before five.

“Wow, you’re up early,” Liz gasped dramatically, checking her watch. “Wow, Holly, it’s only four in the afternoon. What brings you out of your cave?” 

Feeling an obligation to socialize, I slumped into a puffy armchair and rolled my eyes in her direction. “I thought some sunshine would do me some good, but then I saw you, and that’s basically the same thing.”

“Yeah, whatever. Mommy and I were just thinking about going out for some dinner, and then maybe hitting a couple stores afterwards. You interested?”

I pretended to think about the offer for a few split seconds before declining. There was no way I was sacrificing a day of Frasier and wine. That required getting dressed and at least giving the appearance that I wanted to be there, and neither seemed like the wisest way to spend my time.

Liz groaned as she turned her concerned attention to our mother with that “can you believe her?” look on her face. “I told you she hasn’t gotten any better.”

“You really do have to get out once in a while, Holly,” Mom said in her stern Mom voice. “It really isn’t healthy to be like this. What ever happened to going out every weekend? You always did stuff on the weekends, remember? You were always too busy to come out here and see us because you had stuff to do.”

I let the guilt run off of me as I uttered a disgusted sound. “I do get out. I go to the bookstore and, um, Esther’s house …”

She sighed, her tone suggesting that I was driving her straight to a slow and painful death. “Just do something as an adult, for crying out loud. Sleeping your weekends away isn’t doing you any good. You should be out, meeting people and having fun. Stephen wasn’t your only ticket to a social life, you know.”

Except that I think he was, I thought of mentioning, but kept my lips sealed.

She leaned towards the coffee table and shoved a stack of envelopes in my direction. “These came to my house, by the way. You might want to change your address if you expect to get your mail.”

Little did she know, I didn’t particularly care to receive credit card bills and house insurance offers from scammers. Still, I nodded my agreement to avoid another lecture on why it was beneficial to my being a responsible adult, and I reached for the pile to skim through them. Bill, junk, junk, bill, junk, and then, there was a large envelope. The address was handwritten and the return address was somewhere in Manhattan from a name I didn’t recognize. I saw Liz and Mom exchange a concerned look as I eyed the envelope.

“It’s gotta be from one of my old friends,” I assured them, as though saying it out loud would help me to convince myself.

“You haven’t heard from your friends since—” I shushed Liz with a pleading look. There was no need to remind me that my friends had mysteriously vanished with the demise of my relationship with Stephen. I remembered well enough on my own.

With mild curiosity and moderate confusion, I tore into the envelope, finding that it was made of very thick, expensive cardstock, and I found myself excited. But when I pulled out the ribbon-and-damasked piece of heavy paper, my vision went immediately blurry as I struggled to read the words embossed at the top in big spiraling calligraphy. My breaths came in heaving gasps as I waited for the tears to start, and—oh, did they ever.

“Holly!” I realized Liz was shouting at me. She got up from the couch and rushed over to me, taking the card from my shaking hands. I curled up on the chair, struggling to breathe as I sobbed into the cushions.

“Oh God,” she whispered, sitting at the edge of the chair. “Holly, I’m … I’m so sorry.” She passed it on to my mom, who was convinced at this point that someone had died, and while she was technically wrong, I felt as though perhaps I had.

“They’re engaged?” Mom stared at the invitation to Stephen’s engagement party. “’Please join us in celebrating the engagement of Mr. Anthony Stevenson and Mr. Stephen Keller.’” She sent it floating to the coffee table. “Can you imagine? Stephen Stevenson? Karma is cruel.” She shook her head, covering her mouth with a hand. “Not cruel enough, that’s for damn sure.”

“Why the hell would they invite her to their freakin’ engagement party?” Liz snapped angrily. She glared furiously at our mother, directing her anger at the only other person in the room, because the person we were all truly angry at lived exactly 55.1 miles away, and who the hell really wanted to travel that far just to punch him in the balls?

That’s right. I did.

“Does he even realize what he’s doing to her? Look at her!” Liz shouted. She picked the invitation up and shook it in Mom’s face before dropping it back down. “I could … I could—oh, my God! I could fucking kill him. Holly, do you want me to kill him?” she asked soothingly, with a hand on my back.

I nodded with a sob, because him being dead seemed like a really good idea at the time. Dead and out of my life for good.

For good. Oh God.

My arms curled around my body as another bout of tears poured over my cheeks.

Mom shook her head, signaling with her hand for Liz to cut the crap because she clearly wasn’t helping. “Holly, nothing I can say is going to make this better, but—”

I sat up and pushed past Liz. “Then please. Don’t say anything at all,” I choked through the waterfall coming from my eyes, and hurried down the hall to throw on any pair of yoga pants I could find and my sweatshirt.

And suddenly, I was more than ready to take my mom’s advice about getting out—alone.

 

***

 

But the only place I knew to go was Reade’s. Sure, I could have gotten deliriously drunk at one of the two bars on Main Street, or maybe grabbed something greasy from the Golden Carousel diner, but second-nature brought me to the bookstore.

Holly freakin’ Hughes. Creature of habit.

I pulled into the parking lot, removing the key from the ignition of Ol’ Rusty, and just sat there behind the wheel, staring into oblivion at a life I was never meant to have. A man that was never really meant to be mine.

I suppose I had subconsciously been holding onto the hope that Stephen would come back to me. My heart had foolishly convinced my head that he was out there, thinking about me as I thought about him, and those thoughts were going to bring us back together. But that invitation in my hand had been a death sentence to every last inkling of hope I possessed, and in that moment, Stephen really was dead. The Stephen I knew.

Straight Stephen.

After snorting a bitter laugh, I squeezed my eyes shut and broke down behind the wheel of the van, beating my fists against the plastic as I mourned. I cried until my stomach hurt from the gut-wrenching sobs that had escalated, and I opened the door to vomit, only to dry heave just as someone was exiting the store. I continued to cry without abandon, despite being stared at by a total stranger, as guttural noises came from my body that I wasn’t even aware I could make.

“Ma’am? Are you okay?”

A vaguely familiar and cautious voice came from just a couple feet away, and he walked closer. I looked up and through tear-stained eyes saw the man from the other day, the one Anna had run into. His eyes, a stormy blue in the sunset-dimmed parking lot, seemed to widen at the sight of me.

“It’s you,” he said almost in a whisper, and he rushed over to me, as though he knew me. Kneeling down beside the van, he looked up at me perched in the driver’s seat and placed a hand on my knee. “Are you okay?” he repeated, with more concern and less caution. His tone was gentle, the deep voice wrapping around me like a hug.

As I hastily wiped away the tears that he had just witnessed, I managed to speak through my relentless sobbing. “Y-yes, I’m … f-f-fine.” I sniffed, then coughed, all while trying desperately to maintain some semblance of composure in the presence of this all-too-kind stranger.

Kind and attractive, I then noticed, taking in the strong jaw line dotted with what was probably a permanent five-o’clock shadow. His almost-black collar-length hair was brushed back off of his face, the wavy ends curled under his ears to lightly embrace his face and neck with their wispy ends. It was obvious that he was either incredibly skilled at keeping himself groomed, from his facial hair to his eyebrows, or he paid someone to do it—and they did it well.

In the dimly lit parking lot, I couldn’t see what he was wearing other than a black leather jacket and a dark pair of pants. But my other senses were intact, and I could smell the expensive cologne radiating from him. I knew it at first spicy whiff, even through the snot that packed my nose: Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille. It just so happened to be one of my favorites, and I caught myself breathing a little deeper, just to catch the notes carried by the fall breeze.

His mouth curled into a warm, knowing smile. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me the truth, but you’re obviously not fine. Let me buy you coffee, at least.”

I wrinkled my nose at the thought of drinking coffee for anything but a hangover, and then realized how rude I was being. After all, he had been needlessly nice to me, and I quickly added, “Actually, I’m more of a tea person.”

“I guess I can deal with that.”

He laughed a deep throaty chuckle and stood up, reaching a hand out to help me from the car. I wasn’t usually in the habit of taking the hand of strangers, and I certainly had never been in the habit of accepting invitations to have any kind of beverage with a man I didn’t know from a hole in the wall. But he had been so kind, and there was no reason to believe he was in the habit of abducting unsuspecting women in parking lots. So, I listened to my gut and took his hand for the second time in just a few days, watching as my palm was engulfed by his long fingers, and I was pulled onto my feet.

 

***

 

“Okay, wait a second.” The dark brows knitted together as his large frame leaned forward, arms crossed against the tabletop. “Just so I know I’m understanding all of this, answer something for me.”

I nodded and gestured for him to continue, seizing the opportunity to take a long sip of my second cup of lavender Earl Grey.

“So.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your ex-boyfriend cheated on you for years, finally confessed he was in love with someone else, and then sent you an invitation to his engagement party just a few months after breaking up?”

“After years of telling me he would never want to get married,” I reminded him, before taking another sip.

With a nod, he dropped his hand to the table again and worked his jaw from side to side. “Right. So, uh, stop me if I’m out of line here, but—why the hell would you allow yourself to waste a minute being upset about this?”

My mouth dropped open, stunned by the blunt question from the mouth of a man I had only just learned the name of. “Uh, yeah, I would say you’re way out of line.”

Brandon placed a warm hand over mine, and I hoped he hadn’t noticed my body stiffen under his touch. “Okay, yeah, maybe, but you have to know—this guy is an asshole.”

I opened my mouth to protest angrily, narrowing my eyes at him, because how dare he insult the man I had intended on spending my life with. But Brandon held up a pointer finger. “While he was busy screwing around, as far as you knew, it was still just the two of you. He might have been over you a long time ago, but the fact is that, right now, you’re not over him. And he has the audacity to send you a goddamn invitation to celebrate his engagement to the guy he allowed to help ruin your relationship?” He leaned back in his chair, sending his blue gaze upward as he shook his head. “Gay or not, that makes him an asshole, Holly, and it makes me feel …” He bit his lip for a moment, as though he were searching for the word. “Sad. I feel sad for you that you would waste anymore of your time feeling depressed about this when he clearly doesn’t really give a single fuck about how you’re doing.”

As I quietly wondered to myself if I should storm out of there, I said, “You have no—” 

“Oh, so he’s called you then?” He interrupted me with a cock of a brow. “Or is he more of a Facebook guy?” I shut my mouth immediately. Brandon tilted his head with a smirk that I would have slapped from his face, had I not been too busy crossing my arms defensively. “That’s what I thought.”

“Wow,” I breathed, unable to say anything else. My eyes dropped to the table, my hands turning the empty cup absentmindedly.

I knew I should have given him a piece of my mind, or better yet, walked the hell out of there. But the truth in what he had said hit harder than how inappropriate his comments had been. Somewhere inside, I felt that I had needed to hear someone say those things, and nobody had. Everybody else had been too close to truly and honestly slam me in the face with the reality of the situation, but not him. 

He squeezed his eyes and blew out a heavy breath of air. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I just—”

“No, um …” I stammered, trying to find my words.

“No, I was out of line. I don’t even know why I …” He stopped himself, and with a bite of his lip, he gave his head a quick shake. A few of the long strands of hair fell from behind his ear to lie against his cheek. “Wait, I have to say something else, because I really wish that someone had said this to me once upon a time.” He covered my shoulder with one of his hands, and I fought myself to not find too much relief in the warmth. “I’m sorry this happened to you. It sucks. It sucks a lot, and I can tell you it’s probably going to suck for a while. But I promise that one day you’re going to wake up, and you’re not going to remember when it stopped hurting so goddamn badly. That’s the day you’ll realize that this was never worth your pain in the first place, and I hope that day comes sooner for you than it did for me.”

The emotions swallowed me, but for the first time in months, sadness wasn’t one of them. Grateful. I was grateful beyond contemplation for his words, and for his time. Time that he was under no obligation to give to me, and not knowing what to say, I leaned over and wrapped my arms around his neck, finding my cheek comfortable against his shoulder. A hesitant arm came around my back, stiffly hugging me against his body.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice muffled by the leather of his jacket. “I really needed that.”

His hand pressed tensely against my back, and I heard him inhale, holding his breath before relaxing and exhaling completely. “I know,” he said, his breath warm against my ear.

The hand against the middle of my back began to rub gently, moving only an inch or two in a soothing circle, and Brandon leaned his cheek against the top of my head. It was comforting, and for just a second, I relaxed against his shoulder and allowed myself to enjoy the relief I felt in that hug.

And then, as suddenly as it began, the movement of his hand came to a halt as the sound of loafers approached.

“Um … Brandon.” It was Bill and his voice was timid, suggesting that he was interrupting something not meant to be disturbed.

I hastily unlocked myself from his embrace, feeling oddly the same way I did when my dad walked in on me practicing my kissing techniques on a Backstreet Boys poster. How had I forgotten that there were other people there? I suddenly noticed Scott singing ridiculously loud to something blasting through his headphones, and Jessie was pushing around a cart of books, sliding them onto shelves as she went, and then, of course, there was Bill doing whatever it was Bill does. He was currently holding a broom, which might have suggested he was sweeping, or at the very least making himself look busy to keep from getting yelled at by Jessie.

“Yeah, what’s up, Bill?” Brandon said, turning to face him.

“Hey, I see you’re getting to know Holly here,” Bill noted, his face lighting up. “She’s one of Jessie’s new regulars at Story Time, you know.”

“Is that so?” Brandon turned his striking blue eyes on me.

I nodded, my hands busying themselves on my empty cup. “Yeah, Anna and I are here every Tuesday and Thursday. She’s the little girl you battered,” I reminded him, with a teasing smile and a nervous laugh.

“Ah, that’s right. Your daughter with the stone head. My knee is still feeling the effects of that one. Just stopped limping yesterday.”

My hands flew from my cup, startling them both. “Oh, God, no. No. Not my daughter.” They both looked at me with brown and grey eyebrows knitted with confusion, and I realized I had never had any reason to tell anybody what my relation was to her—nor had I ever alluded to anybody that I was actually a babysitter. “She’s my niece,” I said in a small voice.

“Ah, very nice,” Bill said with a smile, as though that explained everything. “It’s nice you kids are getting acquainted. You make a good match.” He winked at Brandon, who pushed his hair back in response.

Bill gripped the broom and grimaced regretfully. “Actually, I came over here to tell you we’re closing in five minutes. I’d let you stay a little longer, but …”

With a shake of his head, Brandon grabbed our cups and smiled at Bill. “It’s fine. We were just getting out of here, anyway.”

“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you both soon then.” With a clap on Brandon’s back and a kind smile in my direction, Bill walked away, gentling pushing the broom every few feet or so, and glancing at Jessie as he went.

Had I really been out for that many hours? How long had I been sitting with him? I took my phone from my sweatshirt pocket, shocked to read that it was almost nine. I imagined Liz waiting by the door like a doting mother, wondering when her baby was finally going to return to the nest. So, while Brandon threw out our empty cups and shouted a friendly “good night” at Scott, I quickly composed a text to my sister.

 

“Didn’t mean to stay out so late. Coming home soon. Hope you weren’t worrying your pretty little head over me.”

 

My phone promptly chimed in response.

 

“My pretty little head is fine. Hope you actually had some fun. For once.”

 

***

 

The chilled night air hit me as we stepped into the parking lot where, just a few hours earlier, we were complete strangers. Now, as Brandon and Holly, we walked in silence to Ol’ Rusty as I struggled to make sense of what happened that night. Time had flown in his company, and I found it both disconcerting and exciting.

I glanced up at him, standing over a foot taller than my petite five foot one, and caught the lopsided smile he wore. His head was held high, as he walked towards the car with something I read as confidence, and when we finally arrived at the door, he leaned his leather back against the side. I grimaced a little, wishing I had actually cared at all to give the grimy van a good washing.

Maybe it’ll rain this week.

“So, niece, huh?” he finally said, and I eyed him suspiciously, confused by the sudden comment. “You said Anna was your niece,” he reminded me gently.

“Oh, right, yeah.” I took a deep breath, leaning beside him against the van. “After I lost my job for being too old and I moved back to Long Island, my sister offered me the job of being Anna’s babysitter.” I glanced over at him to see if he was making any judgmental faces of disgust. All I saw were lowered brows, and that was difficult to read, so I continued talking. “I mean, it’s a fraction of what I was making before, and that really sucks because God, I really miss good wine, and living on my own, but it’s something.” I was breathing hard, unsure of when talking had become the equivalent to running a marathon. Brandon had turned to look down at me, his brows no longer sitting low over his eyes. He didn’t look disgusted or judgmental at all, but I still felt the need to add, “You know, until I get back on my feet.”

Whenever that is.

There it was. I had admitted to someone that I was a babysitter. At thirty-one. My God, I could only imagine what he was thinking, and I waited for him to make some joke or laugh condescendingly before wishing me a good night, never to me again.

“So,” he finally said after a few exhilarating moments of listening to me breathe, “she gave you a place to live, food to eat, and a way to make a little bit of money while you work through this shitty thing you’re going through.” He glanced behind him at the van, and I shuddered. “And this?”

I shook my head, taking note that my palms were starting to feel clammy. “Uh, no, this beautiful luxury vehicle was bestowed upon me by my mother. It was her excuse to get herself a nice little car to buzz around in while I got strapped with Ol’ Rusty here.”

He frowned then with disapproval, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “Well, damn, that’s really rough.”

My face lit up and I nodded, appreciating his sympathies. “Tell me about it.”

“Yeah, I mean, it really sucks having a sister who would just … give you all of that when you’re flat on your ass without you even asking, and then to have a mom who would give you a car on top of that? God, that must be so terrible for you.” I looked up at him, and he cracked a little smile, nudging me gently in the ribs with an elbow. “That might be what you think, but I think you’re pretty fuckin’ lucky.”

I swallowed a hard lump in my throat. “You don’t think it’s stupid that I’m an old babysitter?”

He laughed heartily at that. “Are you kidding me? There’s nothing wrong with being Mrs. Doubtfire.”

“Mrs. Doubtfire was a housekeeper,” I corrected, “and made a considerable amount more than I do, I’m sure.”

Brandon thought for a second, eyes glancing around to search for the answer to prove me wrong, and shrugged. “Whatever. What I’m saying is, there’s nothing wrong with your situation. You were dealt a crappy hand, and you’re lucky enough to have some help while you figure stuff out. Why would I think that’s stupid?” He paused for another thoughtful moment, biting his bottom lip. “Hell, why would anybody find that stupid?”

I shamefully turned my eyes to the pavement, black illuminated by the glow of the lampposts. “I think it is.”

He slumped against me as a friend would. His weight was heavy and comfortable against my shoulder. Good, I thought; he felt good, and he smelled even better.

“Well,” he said in a deep, gruff voice, “that’s something you’ll have to make your own peace with.” 

Underneath that gnawing pit in my stomach telling me that everything was painfully hopeless, I felt an overwhelming sense of thankfulness for this night I had with Brandon. I wasn’t exactly what I would consider religious, but I felt the need to thank the Lord then for dropping this guy in my path. The heaviness in my heart didn’t feel any lighter, and I couldn’t say the pain hurt any less. But for the first time in months, I could actually imagine there being a light somewhere at the end of the tunnel, and that was something.

“You know, I have to say, you’ve been thanking me all night, but I really feel like I should also thank you,” he said, looking down at the scuffed boots he wore on his feet, before glancing over at me with sincerity brewing in his eyes. I asked him what for, allowing my head to tip toward him, feeling as though we had been friends for years—not hours. “It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed being around someone, um, new this much.”

“I don’t think I was great company,” I said apologetically. 

“Nah.” Brandon shook his head slowly, as he stared thoughtfully out into the parking lot. “This was good. It was real. I don’t get a whole lot of that.”

Silence then gave way to a tension that blossomed between us. He was so close, pressed firmly into my side, and while my mind tried resisting the magnetic chemistry that was manifesting between us, my body didn’t seem to want to listen. I had been painfully aware of how otherworldly attractive he was—far better looking than any man I had ever spent time with—and I turned my head to look up at him. I pointed my chin skyward to trace the outline of his jaw with my eyes, and because of some sort of gravitational pull that happens between people in movies and apparently us, he turned to look down at me.

What was it Esther said about handsome men?

My body, my damn body, was rebelling against me as I continued to breathe him in. I took in the scent that had turned itself into something resembling sex, and really, didn’t every woman dream of being that close to a man with the strong jawline of a Norse god? I absentmindedly bit my lip, as my eyes fixated on his mouth. It was a good mouth, I thought, as that familiar heated flame ignited between my legs.

“So, I guess I—”

I don’t remember the moment when I had decided to kiss him, if it had even been a decision to make. He had started to speak, the depth of his voice melting in my ears, and I just acted with a sudden surge of lust, silencing him immediately as my lips met his. I had surprised him, sending a sharp inhale of breath through his nose, but when I cracked my eyes open just to make sure it was actually happening, I saw that his had softly closed.

Our lips moved together, a series of small kisses that became more profound when a hand reached over to rest against the side of my face, his fingertips tickling lightly against the edge of my jaw and the curve of my cheek. My lips parted boldly, fully prepared to coax his open with my tongue, when he pulled away and my eyes snapped open. His remained closed, but his brows had knitted in distress. His hand never stopped stroking my face.

“Maybe this isn’t a, um …”

I could sense what was coming next. It was a mistake, he wanted to stop, he was disgusted by me, he was ready to leave and never see me again. Each possibility becoming worse and worse as they rampaged through my paranoid brain. But I kept still, waiting for him to make a move.

“Oh, fuck it,” he said with purpose and thrust his open lips against mine. 

He engulfed my mouth, his tongue dancing with mine under the lights of the parking lot, and God, it was everything a kiss should be and nothing like any kiss I’d had before. Slow and sensual, without sacrificing any passion or urgency. Our bodies turned in unison towards each other, and my arms looped around his neck, standing on my toes, as his hand slid down to the small of my back. His other hand went to meet the other, pulling me closer into him, and my body shivered with excitement at that familiar swelling that pressed against my stomach. I groaned my acknowledgment into his mouth, and wrapped my fingers around the long strands of his hair.

Against my wishes, he pulled away from my mouth with a groan. “Why are you so fucking short?”

“Or maybe you’re just too—” 

He hushed me with a bite against my lower lip before sliding his tongue back into my mouth, and without breaking the feverish lock our mouths had on each other, he pushed my back into the van and reached down to wrap an arm around my thigh, lifting me with impressive ease. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his waist, and didn’t complain when the kissing was accompanied by the grinding of his hips.

“Holly.” With his forehead pressed against mine, he moaned my name, and I had never been so happy to share a name with a plant. “I want you so bad.”

He didn’t have to tell me, when the evidence of his desire was hard and pressing exactly where I wanted it, and my God, it felt incredible to be wanted. To hear him moan my name, albeit strange to hear it coming from a different man with a different voice with a different way of kissing—a different everything. A pang of guilt washed over me, remembering Stephen and the intimacy we had once shared, all the times he had said my name in the throes of passion.

He sent you an invitation to his engagement party.

The thought chased away any feelings of guilt, as I let my fingers run through Brandon’s hair. “I want you too,” I groaned, overtaken by the need to have him between my legs in the back of Ol’ Rusty.

But to my disappointment, Brandon gave a little shake of his head. The thrusts of his hips came to a halt and he held himself there, pressed hard against me. The place between my legs, the one that had been ignored for too long, throbbed with desperation and anticipation, but I knew as he straightened his back with that faraway look in his stormy eyes that it was over.

My feet dropped to the ground as his hands flew to his hair, raking it all back forcefully as he took a few steps back, shaking his head.

“Goddammit,” he said, shutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“What just happened?” I demanded to know through my frustration.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, shaking his head once again rapidly. His eyes opened, and I saw then a regret that almost broke my heart. “I can’t do this.”

“But why?” I questioned, shocked to find myself whining.

“I-I just can’t. I’m sorry.” He looked troubled, and I narrowed my eyes and wished he’d stop apologizing.

“Are you married?” I snapped, looking towards his hands to spot any rings or a sign that one might have been there. “Because if you’re married, then …”

He shook his head, lifting one corner of his mouth into a sad smile. “No, I’m not married.” His voice was low and gentle, as though he were talking to a child.

“Then, what? Are you gay? Is that what it is? Because I seem to have that effect on men, you know. Maybe kissing me, you just suddenly remembered that, oh shit, you’re gay.” My hands hung limply at my sides, feeling empty and missing the soft mass of his hair. God, he had amazing hair. I could’ve curled up in that hair and gone to sleep if I had the chance.

That brought him to laugh. “No, definitely not gay.”

“Then …” I took a step towards him, reaching my hands forward to grab the open sides of his jacket. I planned to pull him toward me and rock his world in that parking lot in every way I knew how, but he shook his head.

His sigh was impatient. “Holly, I just can’t.”

“But I want you to!” I hadn’t intended to shout, and I glanced around to make sure no one was around, luckily finding nobody within hearing distance. “Please, Brandon.” I found myself pleading with him. “It’s been so long since I’ve been with someone and I just need it. I need this. Please.”

I’m begging a stranger for sex. Never thought that’d ever happen, but hey, here we are.

He smiled through his regret. “I guarantee it’s been longer for me.”

“Yeah, right.” I ran my eyes over him briskly in silent judgement, and gave him an accusing look that he ignored. Instead, he leaned down to kiss me on the forehead before taking a few more steps back, putting too much distance between us.

“You deserve someone who will respect you. Someone who will make you feel important. Not some horny prick who will use you in a parking lot.”

I pouted. “Well, maybe I want someone to use me. Maybe I want to have a night of hot, meaningless sex.”

Brandon chuckled that throaty laugh that sent waves of frustrating pleasure through my body. “If that’s what you want, then I’m not your guy, I’m sorry.” He went to turn and walk away into the darkness. “I hope I see you soon, Holly.”

So much for handsome men.

I rolled my eyes sarcastically, and wished him a good night. I opened the door to the van and hopped in, left alone to process everything that had happened throughout the course of the day, and honestly, I hadn’t the slightest clue where to begin. But, I thought as I put the key into the ignition, the wine in the fridge seemed like a pretty good place to start.