Chapter 16 The Way He Thinks Of You
THE WAY HE THINKS OF YOU
Istarted receiving invites to Holt’s family movie/game night every Thursday mid-way through last year.
It’s a late event, usually starting around eight and ending around half-past ten.
But Herman works late most nights, and Elise can usually be found at the Wilder office in town.
Now that Tate has finished school and is working full-time for his dad at Wilder Builds and Reno’s, he’s no longer chaperoning the goings-on between me and Holt pre movie/game night.
Sometimes, Mom and Dad even join, especially when one of the family nights turns into outdoor games and a fire. Dad brings a pack of beers for the guys and Mom brings wine for herself and Elise.
I love the way our families fit together. Living across the street, the good relationship we have, it all feels like the set-up to a picture-perfect Hallmark movie.
Or a Shakespearean tragedy.
I guess it depends on how you look at it.
This tight relationship could go super sideways if things between me and Holt don’t work out. But they will. We’re solid.
He promised.
“How much do you need?” I giggle as Holt tosses another shirt into the suitcase, again, unfolded. Like I’ve done to the others, I pluck the shirt from the pile and fold it. Unlike with the others, Holt notices.
With a raised brow, he turns from his dresser to stalk slowly toward me. My heart jitters with every step. “Are you folding my clothes?”
“Someone has to.” I’m not giggling anymore. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can feel my heart thudding in my throat.
“Am I not packing to my girlfriend’s satisfaction?” He drops his hands to the bed on either side of me, his voice pitching low as he moves in closer until I’m toppling back against his pillows.
A rush of anxious breath tumbles from my chest as Holt pulls the folded shirt from between my hands, tossing it back into his suitcase, again, unfolded. And then he’s kissing me.
It’s a deep kiss. Deeper than I’m used to, but I don’t want it to stop. My hands find his neck, fingers sinking into thick hair as he grips my hip in one big hand, his thumb sliding under the hem of my shirt to graze burning hot skin.
At his touch, a shuddering breath rushes from my lips that Holt swallows. Then he sinks into me. Really sinking into me. He gives my body his weight, crushing me into his bed beneath him and igniting a hot, uncontrolled flame deep within the core of me.
He feels so good against me like this, his weight so right. Instinctively, I let my legs fall to the side, parting for him. As he settles there against me, a heat unlike any I’ve ever known floods me. I can’t think about anything but him, us, in this moment.
“Holt.” I’m not sure if I moan or beg or protest against his lips.
I just know that his words only throw kindling to the flame of my want for him as he grinds into me. “You feel so good, Faye.”
“You too.” My words are breathy, choppy.
“I’ve thought of you like this so many times.” He’s kissing a trail of searing kisses down my neck now. I arch into him, desperate for more. Driven by a need my body knows without any former experience. Primal. Primitive. Ancient.
“I want you, Faye. So bad.”
“I want you, too.” Even as I say the words, I know I’m not ready. My body is hot. My heart is pounding, and I think I might die if he stops grinding into me like this—but I’m not ready for more than this. This heated exploration, and the sweet innocence of it.
I’m so madly in love with this boy.
His hand begins to move up from my hip, drifting over the skin of my belly to the cup of my bra.
He palms my breast, and a rush of wet spills into my panties as I moan into his mouth.
We’re all over the place. There is no finesse to our kisses, no method to the way we touch.
There is only this ancient rhythm to the grind of our bodies as we explore this newfound wonder together.
The front door slams downstairs and I screech as Holt surges up from the bed. My face is on fire and my lips feel swollen as I push myself up into the same cross-legged position I’d been in before Holt’s kisses took me down.
“Fuck,” Holt curses, wiping at his mouth as he shifts to the side to discretely adjust himself in his pants. My blush deepens and my heart thunders loudly in my ears.
Heavy footfalls sound on the stairs, and I reach quickly for the rumpled shirt in his suitcase, busying myself with folding it as Tate appears in the open door.
Oh, my goodness, we forgot to close the door!
I’m horrified. What if someone had walked in on that?
I want to crawl under Holt’s covers to hide from Tate. Better yet, I want to crawl under his bed and hide from the world.
“Hey.” Tate leans a shoulder into the frame. I can literally feel his gaze moving between me and Holt. And I feel the moment he realizes he walked into something. Interrupted something. His pitch drops, and he says warningly to Holt, “Mom’s a lot quieter than me.”
“Fuck off, man.” Holt throws him a finger as though his words weren’t enough. I flinch.
Tate doesn’t look fazed. “I’m driving you to the airport tomorrow. Make sure you’re packed.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Holt throws a hand to his half-packed suitcase.
“Not packing.” Tate throws me a look, and there’s something in it that feels disappointed.
I shift, uncomfortable, as I pluck the sweats Holt tossed into the suitcase.
I busy myself with folding them so I can avoid Tate.
After another minute passes, Tate pushes off the door with, “Mom wants a fire tonight. Hot dogs and smores.” I can feel his gaze burning into me.
“I stopped and grabbed a bar of peanut butter cups for you, Faye.”
I can’t look at him. My voice shakes. “Thank you.”
“I know how you like them with your smores,” he says, and then he’s gone.
I release a big breath only to find Holt glaring at his empty door. I drop his sweats into his suitcase and push up from his bed. “That was close.”
“I don’t like that.”
“What?” I glance back at the door, because he’s still staring at it.
“The way he looks at you. The way he thinks of you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nerves spike inside me, because it’s kind of a lie. But Tate is an intense person, so I’ve always brushed it off as no more than that.
This is the first time Holt has ever said anything about it.
“He stopped to get you the chocolate he knows you like, Faye, because he knows you don’t like smores without peanut butter cups.”
I shrug. “So?”
“So?” Holt scowls. “That’s my job.”
“You didn’t know we were doing smores tonight.”
Holt pushes a hand through his hair. “It’s more than the chocolate.”
“Tate’s a friend. And he’s your brother. There’s nothing more to it.”
“Peach.” There’s a sneer to the word, faint, but there. It’s the first time Holt’s called me Peach, that I haven’t liked it. That it’s felt wrong. “He’s wanted you since the day you moved in.”
Something unpleasant flips in my belly. I whisper, “That’s not true.”
Holt takes a step toward me, and then another and another until we’re standing close. I can feel his exhale when I tip my head back to look up into his dark eyes. They’re filled with a hardness I’m not used to. And there’s a tenseness to his jaw that makes me think he’s grinding his teeth.
“Are you attracted to him?”
“What is this about, Holt?” I shake my head. I’m at a loss, annoyed, and uncomfortable. I feel unexplainably afraid.
“Are you, Faye?” He pushes.
“God, no.” I add, “He’s handsome, but you’re the only one I want.”
He runs another hand through his hair. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m just freaking out about this trip.” His hands come to either side of my neck and he looks deep into my eyes. “I don’t want to be away from you for two weeks.”
“I don’t want you to be gone, either.”
His forehead meets mine. I can taste the sweet musk of his exhale, and I shiver in memory of his kiss. He sounds wounded when he says, “I’m going to miss your birthday.”
“You are.” I ignore the tickle of pain in my chest.
“Your sweet sixteen.”
I close my eyes against the sting of emotion I feel at that. I’ve been struggling with it for a while, but it’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it. And me and Andy are going to get pedicures. It’ll be fine.
I force a soft smile. “You’ll make it up to me.”
“I will. I promise.”