Chapter 19
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“You haven’t said anything for a while. It’s making me nervous,” Hollis says as we travel across yet another bridge.
“Sorry,” I say. “I don’t really feel like talking.”
“That’s okay. We can just listen to music.
” We gave up on the radio an hour ago after the supposed classic rock station played Nickelback.
Surprisingly, Hollis was more upset about it than I was and insisted we listen to my road-trip playlist again.
So I imagine hell has reached record-low temperatures.
“Never Going Back Again” comes on, and I automatically reach out to guard the on/off button for the stereo. “Okay, I know you don’t like Fleetwood Mac. But this one’s super short and it isn’t even Stevie Nicks singing, so please can we just—”
“Millicent,” he says. “I wasn’t going to turn it off. I don’t mind this song, and I know how much you like it.”
“Wait,” I say. “No. Stop that. Stop not being rude about my music. It makes me feel like you feel sorry for me, and there’s no reason for you to feel sorry for me yet. Don’t act like I’ve already failed.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you, but sweetheart—”
“ Sweetheart? ” I react to the term of endearment as if he reached over and pinched my arm. “What the hell is going on with you? Why are you calling me that? Stop it.”
Hollis’s eyes dart to the side for a second and his frown shifts from his standard one to the medium-deep one that means he’s frustrated. “No, you stop it.”
“Why don’t you make me,” I grumble.
“Because,” Hollis says. “I don’t make monkeys, I just train ’em.”
“Oh yeah, well— Wait. Was that— Hollis, did you just quote Pee-wee’s Big Adventure ?”
My eyes blink rapidly like they’re trying to clear a speck of dust, unable to believe what they’re seeing.
Hollis’s mouth is slowly transforming, the corners stretching and lifting, his lips parting and exposing teeth.
But it doesn’t end at that gorgeous, genuine smile.
No! The teeth part a bit and a loud, joyful sound comes from somewhere deep inside of his body.
Holy shit. Hollis is laughing. Not exhaling a huff of amusement, but full on laughing .
It hits me in the chest like a massive and unexpected wave, made more unexpected because I somehow convinced myself my feelings for him were a bathtub instead of an ocean.
“Pull over.” My voice comes out scratchy. Maybe my heart is clawing my esophagus as it tries to climb its way out.
The laugh fades into its more familiar, less destructive version. “What? Why?”
“Pull over,” I repeat. “Please.”
I’ve lost awareness of our surroundings, so it’s pure luck that I’ve made this demand while on one of the islands and not in the middle of a long stretch of road over the water. Hollis turns into an empty parking lot for a gift shop called The Sea+Shell, which isn’t open this early in the morning.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Do not tell me you left Mrs. Nash at my dad’s—”
“No, no. I have her. I just needed, I need...” I bury my fingers into my hair, hard against my scalp.
“What do you need, Mill?”
I need you. Now and after this is all over.
Because I think I’m falling in love with you, and I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry. I know that’s not how this arrangement is supposed to work, and that you don’t do relationships.
I don’t expect you to feel the same way, I just.
.. shit. I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t mean to do it.
That is what’s going to come out of my mouth in about three seconds if I do not take immediate action.
With getting to Elsie in time (and then actually meeting her) already claiming every available square inch of my anxiety—not to mention that Hollis and I will still be stuck in this car together for another hour—I know this is not the time to take this leap.
I lean toward the driver’s side, trying to close the distance between us, but the seat belt protests my sudden movement and locks, pulling me back against the seat.
“I need you—” is all that manages to slip past my lips before Hollis pushes the button to free me from the belt.
He pulls me to him, his kiss saving both of us from my inability to keep anything to myself.
My right foot is twisted in the strap of my backpack, and the gear shift is digging into my hip.
But it’s the most right I’ve felt since I left his arms this morning.
Hollis releases his own seat belt so he can adjust the angle, and his hands are in my hair, gripping, gently pulling to tilt my head back more.
“Good,” he says against my lips. I have no idea if it’s commentary on my needing him or my kissing performance; either way, I’ll take it.
I practically throw his glasses onto the dashboard, then reach for the hem of his T-shirt and slide my hand inside to touch the warm skin of his stomach. Hollis’s tongue leaves my mouth, and I whimper in protest until it reappears against the sensitive skin under my ear.
“Condom?” I gasp.
His response is either a nuzzle or a head shake. “Buried in my bag in the trunk,” he says.
For the briefest of seconds, I imagine declaring that I don’t care, that I want him inside me right now and Rule Number Two be damned. Even though the madness is extremely fleeting and I am almost certain I haven’t said anything aloud, Hollis freezes. “No. We... No, Mill. We can’t.”
Rule Number Two might be discarded in a fit of passion (or, let’s be real, stupidity).
But Rule Number One is nonnegotiable. Besides, I know that the heat and tension twisting through my body is more emotional than physical.
Sex isn’t going to ease it—not completely.
And do we really want to have to pay to get Ryan’s car detailed before returning it to him?
I cradle Hollis’s stubbled jaw in my hand and turn his head until our lips match up again. Our kisses are slow, soft. A cooldown stretch after an ill-advised sprint.
“I’m nervous not knowing how this ends,” I whisper against his mouth.
“Me too,” he responds as he retrieves his glasses. His full attention shifts to removing a fingerprint from one of the lenses with the hem of his shirt. “But let’s go find out together.”
We’re pulling into the nursing facility’s parking lot by the time I realize we might not have been talking about the same thing.