The Date Dilemma
Holden
As twilight beckons, Holden and Britt find themselves navigating the delicate dance of a casual yet deepening bond. Watch as they wrestle with home improvements and heartstrings, each task and tender moment pulling them closer in ways neither predicted. It’s not just the paint that can transform a space—it’s the people we let inside our hearts and homes. Let’s see how our almost-couple fares amidst the sparks they kindle, both in the hearth and in each other’s eyes. But remember, don’t blink, or you might miss Blink.
Playlist: “Brand New Key” by Melanie
After work on Tuesday, I text Britt. That’s a respectful amount of time to wait, right? Especially for a ‘we’re just fucking while you’re in town’ kind of situationship like ours. I like to think I’m not being too clingy, but I’m not wasting valuable time, either.
Even if my calculations are off, I want to see her. So, after agonizing over a text for what feels like an eternity, I settle on the perfect message.
Me: Are you free later?
I keep it vague, letting her set the terms and conditions. Whether she knows it or not, she can have me anytime she wants. She will be free eventually, even if she has plans tonight. If I ask about a specific time, she could say no and crush my soul.
About ten seconds after I hit send, my phone vibrates to announce an incoming call. I lift it to my ear the instant I see who’s calling.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, but my hands are too busy to type. What’s up?”
“Oh, uh…” Shoot, now what? “Just wanted to, ya know, thank you for the stuff.”
“Thank me to my face,” she says. At the same time, there’s a thump against my front door.
And of course, it’s her. Britt is standing on the stoop, flushed and grinning, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. No wonder she didn’t want to text. She’s carrying a toolbox in each hand. Her cell phone is tucked between her ear and her shoulder. I stand there for a moment, my hand still on the doorknob, the other holding my Android.
“Hi,” I say, and I hear my voice through the speaker of her phone about two feet away.
Britt lifts her arms. “You wanna help me, or…?”
“Oh!” I hang up and toss my phone aside, then grab both toolboxes out of her hands. “What’s all this?”
Britt slips her own phone into her pocket and prowls through the door to look around. “I wasn’t sure what you had around, and Tierney had all kinds of tools at her place that she’s not using right now. She let me borrow them for the day, just in case. I wanted to see everything for myself.”
She stalks around my house, taking stock of the updates, then circles back for a cursory kiss on the mouth. Even though she doesn’t linger, it’s nice to know that I rate a casual kiss.
Don’t make a big deal about it, I tell my stupid heart, which hasn’t gotten the memo about what exactly is going on between us. Namely, nothing serious.
Hearts are so arbitrary. They rarely listen.
After a survey of the rooms, she comes back out and braces her fists on her hips. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“I didn’t know what to do with the other stuff,” I mumble.
Britt puffs out her cheeks. “Good thing I’m here, then. So, let me ask again: where is it?”
I retrieve the items from the closet. Britt clicks her tongue and sweeps back into the bathroom. A moment later, the returns for the smaller of the two toolboxes.
“Want a hand?” I call after her.
“No!” she calls back. “Not enough room. You can deal with the kitchen while I’m doing this.”
Lord only knows what I’m supposed to ‘deal with,’ but I’m smart enough not to argue. I wander back out to the kitchen and study it with a critical eye. It’s not… bad. But now that I think about it, I guess the grout’s a little funky. And there are dead moths in the globe light over the table. And there’s some grease on the vent hood…
Jolie’s words come back to me. With a sigh, I grab some cleaning supplies and set to work.
By the time Britt calls to me from the bathroom, I have to admit that the kitchen already looks nicer. It has nothing, though, on the transformation in my bathroom. I flinch and hold one hand up as I step through the door.
“So bright,” I wheeze, hissing like a vampire forced to look upon the light of the sun for the first time in centuries.
Britt swats at me with the elbow-length rubber glove she just pulled off. “Quit being dramatic. It’s an improvement and you know it.”
The new fixture over the mirror should reveal all the old water spots and toothpaste flecks on the mirror, but she’s somehow managed to clean the glass without leaving streaks on its surface. The effect is blinding, but when I avert my eyes so I don’t have to acknowledge how bad I look under the new lighting scheme, I find myself staring at my shower, which has been scrubbed within an inch of its life. The toilet is clean, too.
Britt laughs when she catches me gawking. “It looks good, right?”
“I… yeah. It’s amazing.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But imagine it.” Britt spreads her hands wide to encompass the room. “A new countertop. Some cute decor. And… Topsail.” She drops this last word like I’m supposed to have the slightest clue what it means.
When she leaves me hanging, I ask, “What is Topsail?”
Britt frowns up at me. “Paint. From the lake house palette.”
“What’s a pallet have to do with anything?” I know some people repurpose old loading pallets for a shabby-chic farmhouse look, but Britt doesn’t seem like the type.
“A color palette,” she informs me. The duh is implied by her tone. She whips out her phone and taps the screen a few times, then wags it under my nose. “See?”
I squint down at a bunch of photos of rooms with blue walls. “What is this?”
“You’ve never used Pinterest?” Britt clasps her phone to her chest the way my granny used to clutch her pearls. When I just stare, she sighs in disappointment. “Never mind. All these items were selected with this palette in mind.”
“I don’t know.” I look around, trying to imagine this room painted that color, rather than its current off-yellow tone. “You do realize this isn’t a lake house, right? Hell, the town once threatened to condemn it, so not sure it’s even a house.”
“I get it, but you live here.” Britt glances at her screen again. “And you deserve nice things.”
Well, if that doesn’t melt my heart into a puddle of affectionate goo, I don’t know what does. I want to thank her, or at least say something, but I’m afraid that if I open my mouth without a solid plan, I’ll say something dumb. Like confessing exactly how I feel about her.
Or even worse, blurting out one single, solitary word.
Stay.
I know it’s crazy, this swift tumble into feeling. I’m not usually one to fall so quickly, but with her, my heart skips straight to the endgame. Every look, every laugh from her feels like it’s etching itself deep inside me, crafting something lasting. My heart’s in on the secret, whispering that she’s the one. And here I am, speechless, caught in the pull of something real, something fierce. It’s uncharted territory, but for once, I’m diving in, no reservations. Is it too much to hope for that she might dive in after me?
Britt pokes her phone again. “I can order the paint now. It would be here in, let me see, four hours?”
No way am I hanging around here while we wait for Blink to arrive with painting supplies.
“Why don’t we get out of here instead?”
Britt’s lips purse. “But the paint…”
“I don’t want to be here in four hours. I can paint anytime, but you’re only here for a little while. You said you’d spend time with me…”
“While I’m here,” Britt finishes, like she has to remind me that I’m on borrowed time.
“I know. So, I want to take you on a date.” Heat creeps up my neck. Are dates off-limits? I’m not entirely sure of the parameters of this thing between us. Are dates okay? Or just sex? Surely, if she’s updating my light fixtures, it’s not outlandish to ask for a night out?
“A date?” she repeats. “Where?”
Okay, good point. There are two restaurants in Sorrowville, and we’ve been to both. I love Power Play, but it’s hardly romantic. There are a few nice outdoor spots, but nice is relative. Britt’s not dressed to explore the great outdoors.
I’m still stumped by how to answer when my phone rings. “Sorry,” I tell her, although I’m secretly glad for the distraction, because I’ve got nothing. Bennett’s number pops up on the screen, along with a photo of a ripe peach with a bite out of it that I put as his contact photo for stupid but hilarious reasons almost three years ago. Britt smirks when she sees it.
“What’s up?” I bark into the receiver.
Bennett Foster’s communication skills are as blunt as his mother’s. “Bonfire. Our house. Get your ass over here.”
“Britt’s here right now,” I say.
“Good. Bring her. Everyone’s welcome not welcome.” Bennett hangs up.
I sigh and lower my phone. “Ever been to a bonfire?”
Britt tilts her head to one side. “Is this the date?”
It’s not what I had in mind, but since I had nothing in mind, it could be worse. “Tierney will be there. She and Declan never miss a bonfire. They’re pretty fun.”
At the mention of her friend, Britt perks up. “Okay. Let’s go.”
She rides with me, which makes sense given that she doesn’t know her way around yet, but still means something. I might not know my way around Pinterest, but I know how Google maps works, and it wouldn’t be hard for Britt to find her own way. Especially if she was thinking about going back to her motel room from here. Her car’s at my place, which means she’s planning to ride back with me.
Thank God I de-crumbed the bed.
Just having Britt in the passenger seat does something to me, her presence instantly filling the space between us. As she buckles up, her hand brushes against mine—a simple touch that sets my entire arm tingling. She wraps her fingers around mine, her skin soft and warm, an intimate contrast to the cool leather of the steering wheel. Her scent, a mix of vanilla and something wildly floral, drifts across the console, enveloping me in a comfort that feels like a whispered promise. I squeeze her hand gently, the beat of my heart quickening with every mile we drive together. This feels so coupley. So not having a definitive expiration date. The car hums along the road, but all I can focus on is the pulse I feel beneath her skin, the tangible connection that says, right here, right now, she’s with me.
Britt’s met most of the team on her other visits to Sorrowville. Still, we’re a lot to keep track of, and I dutifully re-introduce her to the guys one by one. I don’t say what we are to each other, but I can tell from everyone’s smiles that they are going to give me the most shit about this later. Despite the amount of girls I’ve been with over the years, I don’t usually bring them around.
Boone, the middle of the three Fosters, is still shaking her hand when he asks, “How do you take your wiener?”
Britt’s face goes blank for a second before lighting up with a wicked grin. “I prefer tentacles, actually. I would think you’d already know that.”
Boone lets out a blood-curdling shriek and yanks his hand away. “Oh my God! No, not wiener. Wiener!”
“You said the same word twice,” Britt points out.
Britt is still laughing at her own joke, and I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. We gossiped about those dildos for weeks, and I would bet good money that some of my teammates are wondering if Britt has a stash of her own monster dildos with her and what, if anything, we’re using them for.
“He means the hot dog,” I say with all the poise I can scrape together.
“Ah.” Britt nods, then pats my arm. “Good, because otherwise I’d have to tell him that I’ve got all the wiener I can handle.”
“Britt!” a woman’s voice calls from alongside the fire pit. “Over here!” Tierney waves, and Britt darts away to her friend’s side. Boone watches her go, open-mouthed.
“We’ll grill our own,” I tell him.
“Sure.” He blinks a few times. “They’re in the cooler. Help yourselves.”
Britt is deep in conversation with Tierney when I arrive with our hot dogs and a couple of drinks from the cooler. She pauses mid-sentence and eyes the hot dog with open skepticism.
“Is that raw?” she asks.
“So far.” I set down the drinks and retrieve two unattended roasting sticks. I hold one out to her, but she doesn’t take it.
“You want me,” she says in a slow, deliberate voice, “to impale a raw hot dog on a metal stick and… then what?”
“Cook it over the fire,” I say.
Britt turns her head to the open flame and scowls in disapproval. “I hope my shots are all up to date.”
Tierney catches my eye and winks. “Just cook it slow. It’ll be fine.”
“You’ve done this?” Britt asks.
Tierney nods.
It seems that her friend’s assurances are better than mine, because Britt finally accepts the roasting stick. When she spears the hot dog, she does it right down the middle on one tine, and I notice a couple of the guys flinch and make subtly protective grabs at their groins. All that wiener talk must have gotten to them. I spear my hot dog on both tines and show her how to hold it over the fire, not so close to the flame that it ends up ashy and crisp, but not so far away that it’ll stay raw.
Britt absorbs our advice, and it doesn’t take long for her to get the hang of it. She whistles long and low as she stares into the flames. “Look at me. Cooking food. Over an open fire. Like a pioneer. Do we do this every night up here in this neck of the woods stuck in the bygone era?”
Brogan, the youngest Foster, laughs from across the firepit. “Not every night. Tomorrow night, we have a game.”
“And you’ll be there.” Tierney prods Britt in the side with one finger.
Britt looks up from her slow-roasting hot dog. “I will?”
Tierney nods. “You will.”
“I guess my social life is now planned. While I’m here.” Britt returns her attention to the flames.
I was worried she’d want to leave after one hot dog, or spend the whole time talking to Tierney, but she seems comfortable. I’m surprised when she decides to cook a second hot dog, then starts ribbing Declyn about his old pet rock, Ginger. Gage and Heath join in, and the next thing I know, she’s talking to Shep about his brother, Briggs, who plays for Las Vegas, and it… works. It’s like she’s always been here.
While four of the guys gather around her to coach her on the fine art of s’more-making, I get up to grab us each another drink. Bennett waylays me by the cooler.
“So, are the two of you…?” He makes a complicated hand gesture that could mean anything from doing the horizontal tango to tying the knot next summer.
“We’re something,” I say, keeping equally vague.
“Huh.” Bennett wrinkles his nose and squints toward the fire. He can be a broody motherfucker, so I’m surprised when he announces, “She fits, doesn’t she?”
“Yeah.” I stand upright with a drink in each hand. “Yeah, she does. More than I would have guessed.”
“You’ve never been one to get hung up over a chick.” His eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. “Why do you like this one so much if you didn’t think she’d fit in?”
I watch the guys applaud as she squishes a perfectly toasted marshmallow between her graham crackers. “I guess because no matter what, I want her to fit with me.”
Bennett gives me a look I can’t read. “Huh,” he says again, because he’s not helpful at all.
We stay until well after dark. We both stop at two drinks, although Britt eats so many s’mores that she threatens to make me carry her to the car when we finally leave.
“That was fun.” She settles back into my passenger seat and closes her eyes. “I have bad news, though… if you expect me to feel sexy and adventurous after all that cooking, you’re out of luck.”
“You held a stick,” I remind her. “With a wiener on the end of it. You totally smoked a wiener.”
She recoils. “Excuse me, I spent hours laboring over a fire in order to nourish myself!”
“Since when are marshmallows nourishment?” I tease. The funny thing is, I don’t feel like my luck ran out in the least. I had a good time tonight. I want more than sex from her, but if I say that, she might run screaming for the hills.
So instead of using my words, I show her. Back at my place, I dig one of my spare keys out of a junk drawer and hand it to her.
Britt stares at the metal teeth, burnished bronze against her palm. “Why?” she asks. “Are you trying to ruin this?”
I cross my arms. “How am I ruining it?”
“This is supposed to be light. Low-key. Hell.” She holds up the key and jingles it against its cheap metal ring. “No key, even.”
“I thought you might get tired of the motel room and want… options. I have more channels than the motel.”
Britt tries not to smile and fails. “What a selling point.”
“And when you leave, you can give it back.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Fine. But it means nothing.”
“Of course not,” I say.
She doesn’t run for the hills. She doesn’t even run for the motel. As it happens, she makes a simple request.
One that I’m glad to fulfill.
“Do you remember the first night you brought me home?” she whispers.
I nuzzle my head into her neck. “How could I forget? Best night of my life. It was the night you chose me.”
Her hands rope around the back of my neck. “I wondered if you were strong enough to have me up against the wall.”
I smirk at her, my hands sliding down to grip her thighs firmly. “Guess there’s only one way to find out. But my money’s on yes.”
With a mischievous glint in her eye, Britt takes off her jeans and panties in one swipe. I lift her up, then she wraps her legs around my waist as I press her back against the cool hallway wall. Her breath quickens, matching the pace of my own racing heartbeat. The tension between us crackles in the air, charged with desire and anticipation.
I grab a condom from my wallet. Holding her with one hand, I fumble around with my belt and jeans. Once I can step out of my jeans, I capture her lips in a hungry kiss, my fingers digging into her soft flesh as I lift her effortlessly. Britt lets out a breathy moan, her nails scraping lightly against my shoulders. The heat between us ignites, consuming us both in its fiery embrace.
“Fuck me, Holden,” she whispers against my lips, her voice low and urgent. “Hard and fast. Make me come all over your cock. Just like I imagined it.”
She helps me slide the condom on my length. I need no further invitation as I push into her with a primal need, relishing in the way she arches against me. Our bodies move together in a chaotic rhythm, each thrust pushing us closer to the edge of oblivion.
The sound of our moans mingles with the creaking of the floorboards beneath us, a symphony of passion and lust. Britt’s hands roam over my body greedily, seeking out every inch of skin as if trying to memorize it.
I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent. It’s imprinted on my brain. Once this is over, I’ll always remember the way she smelled and tasted. Like heaven. The world shrinks down to just the two of us locked in this intimate embrace, lost in a haze of pleasure.
As we reach the peak together, a primal cry tears from Britt’s lips, echoing through the empty hallway. With one final thrust, we shatter into a crescendo that leaves us breathless and spent. We cling to each other, riding out the waves of pleasure until they slowly ebb away.
Britt rests her head on my chest, listening to the erratic beat of my heart. I stroke her hair gently, savoring the intimacy of the moment we shared.
I never, ever want her to leave.
And I’m scared of what’s going to happen when she does.