Chapter 8
DANNY
I bide my time for another five days because I don’t want to rush Holly or come on too hard, too fast. I learned a lot about her the other day. About why she’s so driven and why she doesn’t see herself with someone whose future isn’t mapped out for the next few decades.
A quick fuck in a closet at her work, sure. Something long term? Not so much.
I know I’m different. Not in her wheelhouse. But I also know, in that way I just seem to know this woman, that I tempt her to want something outside her wheelhouse. Maybe for the first time in her life.
And I don’t want to screw that up by crowding her.
Because, and I know it’s crazy after knowing her such a short period of time, I’m 100 per cent gone for her. Bob told me years ago when I’d visited him as a kid that he’d fallen for Linda the first time he’d laid eyes on her, and there was something in the way he’d said it that left me in no doubt.
And, despite the rather chaotic ups and downs of my mother’s love life and the sex-in-bathroom-stalls groupie hook-ups that are a part of band life, I truly believe that for some people there is one special person.
I just never believed I was one of those people. Until now.
Which is why I gotta play this smart. Holly’s not a groupie who just wants to brag to her friends she blew a Neon Dick in a restroom in a bar – doesn’t really matter which one of us; we’re kinda interchangeable to a lot of women.
Which is fine. I have been the very happy recipient of such slavish devotion to the band and it’s not like I’m taking names and numbers after, either.
Holly has a life plan and I’m good with that, too. I don’t want to derail the course of her life, but I’m thinking I’d kinda like to sit in the seat beside her and share the ride. And, if I have any hope of convincing Holly of that, I need to play it cool.
So, she needs to miss me. A little. Enough that she can’t understand why she can’t stop thinking about me.
And there has to be absolutely zero sex.
I was serious when I told her that this was the getting-to-know-you part of our relationship.
I want Holly to know that I’m not knocking on her door to get my end away because she’s convenient.
Do I want to bang the ever-loving fuck out of Holly Vincent? Hell yes. Knowing she’s so close and how good we are together has been pure torment. God knows, I’ve jacked off to the image of her stethoscope against her tits so much I’m surprised my cock hasn’t fallen off.
But I don’t want just sex from her. I want, tell me all about your childhood. And, what’s your deepest darkest secret? And, what’s your zombie apocalypse plan? I want to know everything. I want to spend the rest of my life knowing Holly Vincent.
And nobody ever died of blue balls.
But it’s been five days and I can’t go any longer without seeing her.
Even if she slams the door in my face, at least I’ll have seen her.
I saw her this morning at quarter to six, but it was at a distance so it doesn’t count.
And no, I wasn’t stalking her, I just happened to be coming in from walking Mrs Cameron’s poodle as she drove out of the parking garage.
She didn’t see me because it wasn’t quite daylight yet and she was concentrating on the road, but with her hair in that neat ponytail and her hospital ID around her neck, she was definitely off to work. Which means, at eight-thirty, she should be home by now, right?
I’m not quite sure what time her shift finishes, but I know from TV shows they pull long ones in the ER. So… I guess there’s only one way to find out.
Light flickers under her door as I approach and I can hear the low murmur of music, or maybe the TV. She’s home. My dumb heart leaps at the thought, and I don’t hesitate to knock. Maybe she doesn’t want company after a long day, but… maybe she does?
The door opens and Holly is standing there rugged up in her duvet, not dissimilar to the way she’d been rugged up the day she’d bashed on my door all cranky about her thermostat. My dick has a very Pavlovian response to that even though the only bare skin I can see are her face and her hands.
I blink. ‘Is your heating broken again?’ I cast a glance over her shoulder into the darkened living room. There’s no waft of frigid air.
She shakes her head. ‘No. It’s just… cosy like this.’
The way she says cosy has my spidey senses prickling. Why does she need cosy? There’s a tiny V between her brows and although the dark makes it hard to ascertain, I think she’s red and puffy around her eyes. My gut tightens. ‘Everything okay?’
She shakes her head slowly, her lips pressed together, and although I can’t see them, I think her shoulders just slumped under the duvet. ‘Long, rough day at work.’
Did something specific happen? Something tragic? I suppose that’s the downside of being a doctor. Of working in the ER.
‘My feet are killing me. I got a parking ticket. And my period. And there’s no chocolate in the apartment.’
I blink at the litany of misery as I try to figure out whether her telling me deeply personal stuff is a good sign or a bad one. I don’t think I’ve ever been with a woman who wasn’t a friend who’s just blurted out stuff about her period.
Oh God… has she already friend-zoned me?
The thought is not a welcome one and I refuse to give it any space in my head.
But I know a lot is riding on how I react and what I do in these next moments.
It’s a test. Not from Holly but from the universe.
One I intend to pass with flying colours.
One that, when she’s better, will make Holly realise that I’m life-partner material.
‘Okay, well…’ I pull out my phone and navigate to a delivery app. ‘We can get chocolate in any kind of way you want it delivered. Block, brownies, fudge.’
For a split second, Holly’s face almost crumples, but she pulls herself back from that edge, nodding and sniffling. ‘Block. But…’ Her voice is soft like she’s too miserable to even project it. ‘Brownies would be kinda nice.’
‘Block and brownies it is,’ I say as I step inside her apartment.
Holly falls back and I smile at her as my thumb sweeps over the keyboard. I nudge the door shut with my foot and slip my arm around her shoulder as she shuffles to the couch.
The TV is playing a Gilmore Girls re-run, the nearby coffee table is covered in several scrunched-up tissues and a hot water bottle is sitting in the middle.
She ignores it as she snuggles down into the folds of the squishy fabric couch, lying on her side, her legs drawn up, her face pale now I can see it properly thanks to the light being thrown from the television.
‘Does that need some more hot water in it?’ I ask.
Holly nods. ‘Yes, please.’
Right. Good, I can do that. I can’t magic away a parking ticket or period cramps or the sadness of a day – a long, rough day – but I can get her chocolate. And I can shove a hot water bottle in a microwave.
Busying myself, I do just that. The app tells me chocolate is fifteen minutes away, so it’s just me and the water bottle between Holly and despair right now.
The microwave dings and I grab the object, now living up to the hot part.
I sit at the end of the couch and offer it to Holly. ‘Let me know if it’s not hot enough.’
Rolling onto her back, Holly stretches out her legs as she unfurls herself from the duvet like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, no more looking like a puffy pinata.
She’s in a pair of leggings, a sweater and thick socks.
The soles of her feet are a whisker away from brushing the side of my thigh as she performs a half sit up to take the hot water bottle.
Collapsing back against the couch, she presses the bottle low on her belly, shutting her eyes on a deep sigh. ‘God… that’s good.’
I’m relieved that a rubber bag full of hot water seems to be supplying some respite, but surely in this day and age women shouldn’t have to put up with feeling this shitty. ‘Is there some medication you can take?’
‘Already done. It’s better.’ She tucks her legs up again, gathering the duvet back over her as she turns on her side.
I stare at her in the low light, cocooned in her cosy chrysalis once again. This is better? She’d been down here going through this all by herself while I dithered about wondering how long I should wait.
Jackass.
Sure, she’s no doubt used to doing this alone, but that doesn’t mean she should have to, right? It seems to me since her douche ex, Holly’s been determined to not lean on anyone. ‘You okay if I stay for a bit?’
Eloise – the girlfriend of Nick, the bass player – once told me that when she was having bad cramps she wished she had the power to just explode men with one stabby look from her eyeballs. Maybe me being here with Holly is actually the last thing she wants and she’s too wrung out to object.
‘If you can make chocolate appear asap you can stay as long as you like,’ she murmurs, her gazed fixed on the TV.
Okay, not exactly a ringing endorsement on my presence but I’ll take it.
We watch TV then. I sense she’s not in the mood for chatter so I don’t try to initiate conversation.
I just watch quietly until the end credits roll ten minutes later and the door intercom rings.
I rise to buzz the delivery guy up, greeting him when he arrives and relieving him of the brown paper back carrying emergency period chocolate.
When I return to the couch, Holly has already hauled herself upright, her back to the arm of the couch, her legs thrust out in front of her.
She has the duvet more loosely draped, unwrapping it from around her head and allowing her arms out.
The television has been turned down so it’s now only a low murmur.
She makes grabby hands at me and I chuckle as I hand the bag over. Opening it, she thrusts her face into the bag and inhales deeply. ‘Oh God.’ She groans as she glances up at me. ‘Just the smell is enough to make me feel better.’
‘Good to know.’