Loving Our Collision (Bolts of Love #2)

Chapter 1

The Premier

Holly

Ipicture myself casting a curse on Rodney for setting me up on a date with Jorge this evening.

Why I thought Rodney would know who I’d like to date, I have no idea.

I mean, the man is an awesome mentor, got me started in my field with good clients, and has tutored me as my work has increased, but lately…

things have not been great. Between an influx of clients I’ve quit working for and now this failed date, I think his judgment is slipping when it comes to who I should be a public relations manager for.

Jorge doesn’t look too bad. Maybe a little too much Botox in the face, but he has a nice muscular build. He’s classically handsome with a golden tan look, coiffed hair, and a pleasant face. But there is no spark between us.

The spark got snuffed out the minute he started talking. He hasn’t stopped since. All he wants to talk about is money, and how he makes so much money from investments while he helps direct films, which is apparently his passion. I’m so tired of hearing about the two subjects.

The longer Jorge talks, the more I want to run away.

People think red carpets are all glamorous. Some of them are, but sometimes they mean waiting in line forever before you make it onto the carpet to take pictures before heading into the movie.

Jorge’s arm has been wrapped around my waist since we got in line twenty minutes ago.

The possessive gesture is not appreciated, and I’m using all the tools in my toolbox to convey it without using words.

Does my stiff back, straight shoulders, and the fact I flinch when his hand moves an inch tell him nothing?

Apparently not, as his fingers subtly caress my back through the thin layer of my lilac-colored satin dress. This dress is one of my favorites, but now it’s stained by his touch.

The red carpet looms in front of me, never ending.

I need to escape, but there isn’t anywhere to go except forward.

I wish I didn’t have to be here, but my older brother asked me to.

Seeing as Alex is the star of this movie, and this movie is helping to give me a paycheck for being his public relations and social media manager, the least I could do was show up to support him.

Most of the time, I get away with not being at his movie premieres and instead use my contacts to send me the photos I need for his social media accounts.

But not tonight.

I already snapped pictures of Alex and Reina before they arrived, and before my date showed up. They’re dressed to the nines and stunning, as always. I’m not usually a jealous person, or at least I think I’m not, but their love has me green with envy.

Maybe that’s why I said yes to this date—because I want someone to look at me with as much love as Reina does when she sees Alex. She loves each imperfect part of him, which gives me hope that a man can love me and my broken self, too. Maybe.

So here I am. With a date I’m going to make Rodney totally regret setting me up with.

I mean seriously, I’m twenty-four. Why'd he set me up with a man I’m sure is at least ten years older than me?

No judge on age gaps, but they're not for me.

I adjust my hair, the blonde curls having moved out of their designated position when I was looking around for an escape.

Jorge’s arm doesn’t move from my lower back, despite my efforts.

It seems nothing will make his hand unlatch from my back as we continue our snail’s pace through the line, each step bringing us closer to the red carpet and endless photos.

My cheeks already ache from fake smiling. .

“Are you having a good time?” Jorge asks with a tone that makes me think he’s enjoying this maybe even less than I am.

It’s probably my lack of responses that have turned him off.

Although, his hand, which continues to linger and inch down my back, makes me think he might be enjoying our date, just not the location.

“It’s a beautiful night.” See. That’s a good response. Nice and neutral. It really is perfect weather, not that California has anything else. The cool evening breeze is coming in handy tonight because I’m sweating bullets in all the wrong places in this curve-hugging dress.

The couple in front of us exits the waiting line, entering the red carpet, which puts us on deck.

Finally.

We get the signal, and I walk in my five-inch heels next to Jorge to the first photographer.

We stop, and I get into the pose I’ve practiced many times in front of the mirror.

Just as I’m thinking things might go well, fingers drift down my back, trailing a row of goosebumps—the bad kind—under my dress.

Jorge’s hand is in dangerous territory.

Oh no.

He is not going there.

I sharply turn, forcing Jorge’s hand to move back toward the acceptable place where a man’s hand should be.

I put on an air of confidence and remind myself to fake it till I make it, ignoring my revulsion at creating conflict in such a public place.

My mind wants to flashback to fights my parents got into in public, but I bury those memories with a shovel and focus on the man next to me who has no right to touch me.

My eyes meet Jorge, and my smile turns brittle.

Before I’m able to give him a piece of my mind, I spy a face that is out of place and oddly familiar and comforting to see.

“Holly!” Mateo’s deep, cheerful voice exclaims. His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his broad chest. Leather and pine greet me as he holds me against him.

The smell of Mateo is soothing and a nice reprieve from whatever costly cologne Jorge was wearing.

My muscles loosen the longer I'm in his embrace. My heart beats faster the longer Mateo holds me. I tell myself it’s not because I like him. It’s because he’s my life preserver.

The only time I’ve seen Mateo in a suit was at Alex’s wedding. I have a sneaking suspicion this is the same one he wore then. Granted, I’ve only caught a short glimpse of him before he hugged me, but it's hard to forget what the best man wore at the wedding.

Because this is Mateo, my brother’s best friend.

Mateo is attractive, but he’s off limits. One, because he’s a farm boy from Oregon, which means we live in two separate states. Two, because he’s my brother’s best friend and that would be weird.

But those facts don’t keep me from noticing his muscles, the way this navy suit complements his curly brown hair, or keep the temptation to bury my nose in the crook of his neck at bay.

They just remind me to bury those thoughts six feet under.

Speaking of six feet under, Mateo’s appearance is quite timely. He might be my ticket out of here and away from Jorge, or he might help me bury the body. Who knows what this night will bring now?

His lips brush my ear, sending a tingle up my spine and goosebumps along my arms. The good kind of goosebumps. “Do you need help?” he whispers.

“Yes,” I breathe out. His grip immediately loosens, and his hands move from my back to cap my shoulders. He blocks the flashing of the cameras, and I’m relieved to let my smile drop for a second.

I watch Mateo as he looks at Jorge. The turn of his head gives me a great view of his strong jawline, the five o’clock shadow emphasizing his cheekbones, and how soft his curls look. My fingers twitch at my sides as I resist the urge to bury them in his hair.

Don’t check out your rescuer, Holly. You’re in the middle of trying to escape. Pay attention.

Mateo smiles, a small crinkle that could almost be a dimple showing up under his beard.

The air about him is relaxed as he addresses Jorge.

“Hey man, do you mind if I steal your date for a bit? It’s been so long since I’ve seen Holly.

I’ve missed her so much. You know Holly’s older brother, Alex?

He’s my best friend. I was just thinking about how he said that Holly wants to come dirt biking on my farm this summer and I want to coordinate details with her about it. ”

Dirt biking? Really? That’s what he’s coming up with to rescue me? I don’t even know how to dirt bike, nor do I want to. It literally has dirt in the name of the activity.

Dirt and I are not friends.

The hole he’s dug for me gets deeper as he continues talking. “I’ll just be a few minutes. You go ahead and take pictures up there. We’ll catch up with you.” He smiles at Jorge and waves his arm ahead of us toward the next bunch of photographers.

Jorge's jaw ticks, and his eyebrows lower a fraction of an inch. My shoulders tighten as my eyes meet his. There is no way he’s going to pry me away from my Mateo-sized life preserver.

“Go ahead, Jorge. I’ll catch up with you later.

” I offer him my professional smile. The one I pull out when I’m trying to fool people into believing I’m enjoying their company or that I’m confident in what I’m doing.

It’s pretty convincing, and I can see the single wheel turning in Jorge’s head as he looks at me.

Mateo drops one of his hands from my shoulder, moving to my side and pulling me against him.

I’m trying to focus on the conversation and not the way I fit perfectly under Mateo’s arm.

Our height difference is smaller with my heels on, and the way my body is on fire where it’s pressed up against him reminds me to remember my two rules for why I’m not going to be interested in Mateo.

“I need to catch up with Mateo and plan that dirt biking trip.” I turn my head and peer up at Mateo, raising an eyebrow, because seriously, does the man even know me?

“Yep. Dirt biking. We have some great trails in Oregon, and your brother has really enjoyed going dirt biking with me. Alex said you’d enjoy it.”

I widen my eyes, and Mateo’s lips quirk, giving a hint of his mischievous nature. I hope he gets my telepathic message that there will not be dirt biking trips in my future. This charade will end at the end of the red carpet.

No, thank you.