Twenty-One
Phoenix
January
The first day of the spring semester comes before I can blink. And with it, a change of schedule, a brand new set of classes, and plenty more sleepless nights of studying. But it also means my favorite time of year is finally here: baseball season.
Sure, Coach wants us in the weight room during the off-season, but starting today, we’re officially adding the cages and fielding drills to the mix. It’s the normalcy and peace I’ve been craving for months, even if it means I’m rarely home.
Though that fact is more a blessing than a curse right now, seeing as I don’t have the heart to look Kason in the eye anymore.
He was asleep when I got in from Nashville last night, and I made sure to leave for my morning lifting session before he woke—still not ready to face him.
Avoiding him won’t work forever, though it’s what’s necessary until I figure out how to navigate this friendship after what I’ve done to betray him.
Especially when he texted me a few days ago with the news that Holden had cut things off with him.
I think we’re better off as friends, is what Kason relayed to me—and like the asshole I am—I told him he’d find someone twenty times more deserving of his time.
My stomach swirls as the sordid events over the past few weeks replay through my head, the memories threatening to have my breakfast make a reappearance right in the middle of this lecture hall.
I’d thought Holden ending things with Kason would make me feel a little better about everything that happened between us in St. Pete’s, but I was wrong. The guilt has only grown. To the point of festering, and I might as well be eaten alive by it.
At least I don’t have to see either of them anytime—
“Is this seat taken?” a familiar voice cuts through my thoughts.
My eyes sink closed, and I bite my tongue to keep a string of expletives from slipping free. All in the hopes that when they reopen, the sound of Holden’s voice would only be a figment of my imagination rather than a reality.
But the illusion is rapidly shattered when he says, “Just because you close your eyes doesn’t mean I’m going to disappear.”
“I was hopeful,” I mutter, lifting my lids to find him staring down at me only a few feet away.
He’s still his sinfully good-looking self; same as he was before everything that happened in Florida. But something about the look in his eyes has changed. The mischief and playfulness have dulled, enveloped by a tinge of sadness.
A strange sight on him.
“I’m surprised you even waited to sit down,” I catch myself saying as I stare up at him, still analyzing his features.
I’ve been learning to read the lines of his face for the past few months, though all that time of digging under his skin and messing with him isn’t enough.
No matter how hard I try, I still can’t get a read on him.
The corner of his mouth lifts, the tiniest amount of his playfulness shining through the sorrow. “Last time I did that, I was called a douchebag.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time, probably won’t be the last.”
His grin grows, curling into a real smile now as he lets out a soft laugh. “Well, let’s just say I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.”
If he was trying to pique my curiosity with his statement, he succeeded. But not enough to erase the plethora of emotions swirling through me thanks to his presence, specifically when he drops his bag to the ground and sits beside me.
I glance toward the front of the room, wishing like hell to be anywhere except here. I’d rather be stuck in a room with Kason, forced to tell him every damn thing that happened in Florida, than suffer through the next fifty minutes with Holden silently sitting next to me.
All while feeling the heat radiating from his skin and smelling the muskiness of his cologne.
It’s the worst form of torture.
“Why are you here, Holden?” I ask softly.
He remains quiet until my attention shifts back to him. “I’m in this class.”
“I meant next to me.” I raise my brow in a c’mon now look. “You know, when I told you I had nothing more to say to you?”
His shrug doesn’t quite match his demeanor, nor the way he says, “I saw a friendly face and figured I’d sit with you.”
“We aren’t friends,” I whisper. “And we never will be.”
Not when I think about the way your ass clenches around my dick when you come every time I look at you. Or the way my stomach does more flips than a gymnast when you’re around.
He huffs out some combination of a scoff and a laugh. “Glad to see you’re, once again, making decisions for the both of us.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Forget it.” His eyes flick to the front of the room. “But for the record, I didn’t just sit here to talk to you. If you say we’re done talking about what didn’t happen, then we’re done.”
“Good.”
“Good,” he repeats, a little smirk on his face. “Now, you should probably shut up and pay attention.”
Holden’s version of paying attention lasts a whole twenty minutes into the lecture before either boredom or disinterest takes over. By a third of the way through, he’s fully engrossed in his phone; probably scrolling through social media or texting God knows who.
Maybe even swiping on Toppr—the currently trending gay hook-up app—yet I try to not let that thought linger too long.
Whatever. It’s his eligibility on the line come the fall term, not mine.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, momentarily pulling me from my silent musings to check the screen.
Unknown: You look pissy.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I veer my focus over to Holden, who is still playing on his phone. There’s a small likelihood it could be someone else in this class, but…
Unknown: C’mon, don’t ignore me. I literally saw you read my text.
Unknown: If you’re going to verbally ignore me when I’m sitting right beside you, the least you could do is acknowledge my existence via text.
I try not to fixate on the irony, seeing as I know exactly what it’s like to have the roles reversed. Plus, who knows, maybe it would serve him right if I continued ignoring him—even though I now know he has zero recollection of our night at Kappa Sig.
But I’m smart enough to realize how tenacious Holden is, and if I don’t give in and text back now, he’ll only keep blowing up my phone. A fact that’s confirmed when I see the three bubbles pop up while I’m still staring at the screen.
H: Typing back isn’t hard. Just tap your thumbs on the little glass screen where the letters are.
P: You’re so annoying.
H: You did it. Gold star for Nix.
I roll my eyes, not at all amused with his…flirting? Teasing? Torment? I can’t even tell the difference anymore, and it’s making the mess inside my head all the more confusing.
P: How did you get my number?
H: You’re not the only one good at stealing your roomie’s phone.
My teeth sink into my cheek as I sigh, knowing exactly who he’s talking about.
Theo.
P: I suppose I should be flattered you’d go to all that trouble, but I’m trying to pay attention if you hadn’t noticed. Unlike you. Now stop texting me.
Holden’s phone vibrates in his palm a second later, and I watch his eyes move over the screen before they swing back to me.
There’s a subtle arch to his brow as he gives me a you’re serious look, and I nod.
A slight frown forms on his lips, drawing the corners down in a way that definitely shouldn’t be as attractive as it is.
Jesus Christ.
I mentally slap myself, locking away those thoughts in a box with the security of Fort fucking Knox before shifting my focus back to the lecture. The last thing I need is to start thinking about his lips or mouth and all the wonderfully wicked things he can do with them.
Another ten minutes pass with no new notifications on my phone, and I’m relieved that Holden hasn’t texted me back again—
My phone buzzes, and I silently curse as I flip it over to check the screen.
H: This silence is driving me insane.
P: We’re in a lecture. The only person talking should be Professor Fredricks.
H: Playing coy isn’t cute anymore, Nix. You know exactly what I’m saying.
P: I’ve already told you we’ve done enough talking.
H: We haven’t even scratched the surface.
My blood heats as I read his text because, apparently, the head in my pants has decided his sentence is a double entendre for all the dirty things we could still do to each other.
I’m so fucking fucked.
P: Like I said. Not happening. I’ve said all I have to say.
H: Well, that must be nice, but I haven’t.
I’m in the middle of telling him it sucks to suck when another text pops up.
H: I haven’t stopped thinking about you.
Goddamnit.
A knot forms in my throat as I reread the message more times than I should, before typing out a response.
P: I see through your bullshit. Your lines aren’t going to work on me.
H: They aren’t lines when it’s the truth.
My lips roll inward, forming a tight line as I process his text.
There’s a huge part of me that doesn’t believe a word he’s saying—at least the part about him not using lines on me. This is Holden, after all. And for as tenacious as he is, he’s equally smooth.
It’s a deadly combination, and I can’t keep allowing myself to be drawn in by him.
My phone buzzes in my hand as two more texts rapidly pop up.
H: Talk to me, Nix.
H: Please.
As if to drive the point home—to make me feel his plea instead of just reading it—he presses his knee against mine.
I feel the electric jolt of heat through both our jeans, creating an ache in my chest like I’ve never felt before.
I can’t do this right now.
Shaking my head, both answering him and trying to hold it together long enough to pack up my things as quickly and quietly as possible.
“Nix,” Holden whispers beside me as I finish zipping my bag closed and stand up. He utters it again, and even goes as far as grabbing my hand when I climb over my seat. But after finding a clear path to escape in the row behind us, the last thing I’m gonna let him do is hold me here.