Chapter Twenty-Three Hollis
Chapter Twenty-Three
HOLLIS
After much debate, it’s been decided that Myles will be our first victim. Ally? Whatever.
I suggested we go with Mercury, but I was shot down. Since they are Presley’s siblings and I haven’t exactly been around for the last decade, I decided to trust her judgment over mine.
Plus, she says Myles is a closet romantic at heart, so there’s that.
With Myles’s crazy schedule, it takes a week to arrange, but Pres goes with the story that I’m in town visiting and would love to catch up.
We decide dropping the marriage bomb is better in person when we’ve had a chance to properly display our love and affection for each other.
That’s the plan, at least.
Ever since I ran out of the living room last week like I was being chased by a wild boar, I haven’t touched Presley. At all. Not even a friendly pat on the shoulder. I just…can’t.
Because if I learned anything from that night on the couch, it’s that I can’t be trusted around her. Touching her leads to wanting her, and then I’m contemplating all kinds of bad choices that have nothing to do with friendship.
Which is probably how we ended up in this mess in the first place.
Of course, none of this helps my current situation because tonight, to play the part of doting husband, I will definitely have to touch her.
And it’s going to be torture.
At this point, maybe I deserve it.
“I can’t believe my brother chose a nightclub of all places,” Presley exclaims as our rideshare pulls up to the curb.
I thank the driver, and we hop out. I’m actually familiar with this club.
It’s one of the places I recently toured after meeting with the owner.
Not every club owner was as receptive to my meeting request, knowing we would soon be competition.
However, Sonia Laurant was one of the exceptions, and she was more than happy to offer her advice and expertise on the LA club scene.
She also offered to take me out to dinner. Whether or not she saw my wedding ring, I’m not sure, but I politely declined.
“He’s twenty-five, single, and trying to make it in Hollywood,” I say with a shrug. “He probably lives here.”
She laughs, then her eyes widen. “Oh my god. Did we go to a nightclub in Vegas?”
I was wondering if she would remember that. I have the credit card receipts to prove we did, but the memories of it are gradually starting to come back as well. “We did.”
She grimaces, her cheeks flushing red. “Was that my idea?”
“Maybe a little bit of both,” I lie. It was one hundred percent hers.
“I think you’re lying.” She laughs.
“I’ll never tell.” I grab her hand, pulling her toward the front of the line, trying hard to ignore the way the black satin of her dress clings to her curves. “Come on. Time to enjoy the perks of being married to a VIP.”
“Do you get to skip all the lines? Is that like your superpower as a club manager?”
“Fuck no.” I laugh. “I’m not that important. I just happen to know the owner of this one, and she said she’d put our name on the list.”
“She?”
I steal a sideways glance, grinning. “Calm yourself. She knows I’m a married man.”
“I’m not…” she says in a fluster before relenting. “Okay.”
“Myles knows to meet us inside?”
She nods. “He texted to say he’s waiting for us at the bar. He told me to tell you thanks for the ‘royal treatment’”
I chuckle. “See, he’s already on our side.”
“Why does it sound like we’re going to war?”
Because we’re risking everything, I want to say. “He’s rooting for us? Does that sound better?”
“Much.”
We walk up to the bouncer and receive the usual dirty looks from a few people waiting in line. I give him our name, and he nods quickly, ushering us inside.
Although I’ve been inside La Notte, it looks completely different now.
It’s like stepping into a fancy Italian villa under the night sky.
Thousands of twinkling lights mimic stars, while stately marble columns and plush velvet seating create a sense of luxury without feeling like you’re in a theme park.
“Okay, this is pretty cool,” Pres admits, leaning in so I can hear her. She practically has to shout in my ear, and because of the crowd we’re fighting to get to the bar, her body is pressed right up against mine. “Is this what your nightclub is like?”
“No,” I answer, trying to keep my gaze steadily on her face and not the plunging V-neck of her dress. When she walked out of her room in this short satin number, I nearly died. I swear she’s trying to torture me, one dress at a time. “We’re very exclusive.”
“You mean snobby.”
I laugh. “Yeah. It’s incredibly hard to get through our doors and even harder to get one of our VIP rooms.”
“There are multiple?”
“We have a large VIP area that overlooks the main dance floor, but we also have about eight smaller rooms. They’re fully staffed and completely private. Hendrix didn’t tell you about it?”
She makes a face. “I know you didn’t grow up with siblings, Beck, but what the hell do you think we talk about?”
I chuckle, wrapping a protective hand around her waist as I steer us the rest of the way toward the bar. “Fair enough. We should take a trip to Nashville sometime, then. I can give you a private tour.”
I don’t mean it to sound sexual, but that’s the way it comes off.
Luckily, she doesn’t have any time to react because, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Myles, or at least I think that’s him sitting by the bar, laughing it up with a tall Black guy in a fitted suit Jonas would die for.
Aside from a few pics, I haven’t seen the guy since he was eleven.
He looks up, does a double take, and then his face lights up. He waves. He says something to the guy next to him before walking away.
Jesus, it is him.
He looks so damn grown-up.
Will he even remember me? He seemed to when we talked on the phone that one time, but he could have just been trying to be polite.
We push through the rest of the crowd, and before we even reach the bar, Myles is already off his stool, pulling me into a big bear hug. “Hollis!”
“Jesus, Myles.” Pres laughs. “Don’t break him.”
“God, he just might.” I laugh, pulling back to get a good look at him.
His features have always been similar enough to the rest of the Creeds that no one really questioned his parentage, but if you look closely, you can see the slight differences. His hair is lighter than the others, a pale blond, and his eyes are a striking arctic blue.
That and—“You’re huge. Are you trying out for WWE or something?” While he’s just as tall as Hendrix, he’s more filled out. God, he really does look like the guy from that Viking movie.
I really wish I could remember his damn name…
“Jealous?” He grins.
“Kind of, yeah,” I admit. “I thought I was pretty fit until just a moment ago.”
He puffs up, looking smug. “I’ve been bulking up ’cause I’m trying to prepare for this role I heard might be coming around.”
“Oh?” Presley perks up at this news. She’s always talking about how talented Myles is. I know she’s hoping he gets his shot soon. “What’s it for?”
“Don’t really want to talk about it quite yet. Afraid I’ll jinx it, you know?”
She sighs, shaking her head. “You theater types and your superstitions.”
“You won’t be thinking that when I win an Oscar.”
She reaches up to pinch his biceps. “Get any bigger, and you’ll break the damn stage walking up there.”
He fakes a wince, acting like he’s in pain, but then laughs. “Nah. If Jason Momoa can manage, then so can—” His words come to a screeching halt as his eyes land on her left hand.
Oh, fuck. I hadn’t expected those icy blue eagle eyes of his to lock onto the tiny gold band so quickly. I thought we’d have some time to order drinks and ease into it.
Presley’s gaze darts to her wedding ring and then to me. I glance back over at Myles, who has a puzzled look about him.
“What am I missing here?” he asks, now noticing the matching ring on my finger.
“I’m not actually visiting,” I say, deciding to just come out with it like I did with his parents. Rip that band-aid right off. “I moved here a couple of weeks ago. We got married!”
He quietly looks at me, then at his sister. A moment passes. Then another. Finally, I see his mouth curve into a big grin as he opens his arms wide. “Dude, are you serious?”
We both nod.
“Give me a hug, guys! This is awesome.”
Well, that was easy.
One down. Three to go.
Myles is so happy you’d think he was the one who just got married. He’s telling everyone at the bar our joyous news, including the bartender, and every stranger that passes by. He even waves over the guy he was talking to earlier to introduce us.
“This is the sister I was telling you about,” he beams, speaking into the man’s ear. “And this is her husband, Hollis. They just got married! This is Omar. We’ve worked together on a few projects.”
Something tells me, by the way they stand just a little too close, that they are more than just work buddies.
“Congratulations,” Omar says, offering me a handshake. “So I guess you’re not in town to visit then?”
“No.” I chuckle, giving my wife a sideways glance. “Definitely not visiting.”
“Aww.” Myles sighs. “See the way he looks at her? I always knew you had a thing for each other.”
“You were twelve.” Pres scoffs. “How would you even have known?”
“I may have been twelve, but I wasn’t blind, Pres. And neither was anyone else. We all knew about you two sneaking off to the beach at night and all your”—he holds up his hands to do air quotes—“study sessions in your room.”
She points a finger at him, with a hint of amusement in her expression. “Okay, those really were study sessions, I’ll have you know.”
He laughs. “Sure, sis. Sure.”
I don’t bother correcting him. If he wants to believe we were fooling around in high school, then let him. It only solidifies our case.
And God knows, it sure as hell crossed my mind a time or two.
“Come on.” Myles motions with his hand. “Let’s do a round of shots to celebrate!”