Chapter Twenty-Three Hollis #2
I can practically hear Pres groan, but she agrees, and I drape an arm over her shoulder as we join her brother and Omar at the bar.
Myles signals to the bartender, and when she approaches, he leans in to tell her his order.
She nods, and a few minutes later, she’s pouring a line of tequila shots for us.
I stare at them, and a strange sense of déjà vu begins to wash over me. I turn toward Presley, and then the memory slams into me.
It’s so vivid I can almost taste the salt on her neck, smell the citrus from the lime, and feel her eager body pressed against mine as I lean forward and—
Oh, fuck.
“To Pres and Hollis!” Myles shouts, pulling me back to reality. I lock eyes with Pres, who’s staring at me with a mixture of concern and confusion.
We both take a shot of tequila and down it at the same time. The liquid burns all the way down, but I barely notice it as I grab Presley’s hand and say, “We’re gonna go dance.”
“Maybe we’ll join you!” Myles shouts back.
“Take your time,” I tell him. And good luck finding us.
I pull us onto the dance floor, but when we reach the middle, I just keep moving us through the crowd.
“Where are we going?” Pres hollers into my ear as we make our way to the other side.
“Somewhere we can talk,” I simply tell her.
When I was here last week, there was a discreet hallway somewhere nearby that led to Sonia’s office and a few supply closets. If it were my club, I would have a security guard stationed at its entrance to keep people like me from wandering in, but thankfully, Sonia isn’t me.
We slip relatively unnoticed down the hallway. There are a few people lingering around the entrance, but it’s dark, and they’re…distracted. It’s fairly empty as you venture further, and the locked doors probably serve as a deterrent for anyone looking for a place to hook up.
Luckily for me, I happen to know the code.
I’ll apologize to Sonia later.
We stop at the second door, and as I begin to enter the code, I hear Pres gasp behind me. “How the hell—”
“I saw her punch it in.” I shrug. “I can’t help that she didn’t bother to hide it or that I happened to remember it.”
“You remember everything.”
Not when I’m drunk, apparently…
Just as the light turns green and the lock clicks open, I turn. “Usually just the things that matter, but I guess this came in handy.”
I push the door open, and we step inside.
I quickly close it to avoid any unwanted attention, and we’re immediately plunged into darkness.
I feel around for a light but can’t find one, so I do the next best thing.
I pull out my phone and turn on my flashlight.
Pres is standing in front of me, the satin of her dress shimmering in the dim light.
“What exactly are we doing in here, Hollis? What was so important that you had to pull me into a”—she looks around—“broom closet to talk?”
“Because I think it’s my fault we ended up married.”
“What? Why?”
I set my phone down on the metal shelf next to me and absentmindedly run my hand through my hair. It’s getting way too long. The curls are gonna turn into fucking ringlets if I don’t get a haircut soon.
Pres watches me, waiting for a response. “You were right earlier. We did go to a nightclub, and it was your idea. But everything that happened after that was entirely mine.” Or at least, I think it was.
“What do you mean?” she asks tentatively, taking a step back. That’s never a good sign.
“It was the shots that brought it all back,” I explain. “I remember standing next to a bar just like that in Vegas, challenging you to do tequila shots for your birthday.”
“Okay. I don’t see how that leads to us getting married, though.”
“We ordered shots at the club. A lot of shots,” I emphasize. “And then we danced for a while. When we returned to the bar, I challenged you to a body shot, Pres. And when it got to the part when I was supposed to suck on the lime…”
Her eyes go wide. A hand jerks to her mouth like she’s remembering the exact moment when—
“You kissed me.”
“I kissed you,” I confirm. “I grabbed the lime you had wedged between your lips, tossed it to the floor, and kissed you instead. I’m so sorry, Pres. I shouldn’t have. You were drunk and nursing a broken heart, and I—”
“You were drunk too.”
“Still.” I shake my head. “It doesn’t excuse my behavior.”
“And I wasn’t nursing a broken heart.”
“You—what?”
Her steady gaze meets mine. “I was pissed and embarrassed for not realizing what Jace was doing behind my back, but I was not heartsick over it. Jace and I had been broken up for a month by then.”
My pulse quickens. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know,” she admits. “I wanted to tell you that night in the pantry, but I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” I take a tentative step forward.
Her breath hitches, and it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to reach out and touch her.
“I didn’t want things to change between us.”
“Change is inevitable, Pres. I probably know that better than most. My whole childhood was a lesson in adapting to change. But I’ve learned since then that it’s not all bad. Change can be a good thing.”
“It can?” She swallows in anticipation as I watch her tongue dart out and lick her bottom lip.
Fucking hell. I want to bite that lip with my teeth.
I want to press her up against this wall, run my hands all over the smooth satin that barely covers her body, and keep her here until she’s crying out my name.
But I will not break her rule.
I won’t be another guy who breaks her trust.
It doesn’t mean I can’t take advantage of the evening, though.
“Come on, let me show you,” I say, holding out my hand.
She takes it, and I quickly lead us out of the stuffy stockroom and back toward the dance floor. I do a quick scan for Myles and find him near the center dancing with Omar. They’re practically glued together.
Yeah, definitely not just work friends.
I hear Pres groan, and I turn to see her grimacing. “I do not want to watch my baby brother make out on the dance floor, Beck.”
“Then focus on me,” I tell her, grabbing her hips and pulling her close. “Gotta sell it, remember?”
The sudden gasp of surprise that escapes from her lips is an instant turn on, and she doesn’t need any more convincing to keep her attention.
I forgot how well we move together.
Like everything, dancing with Pres is easy. Every movement is fluid and effortless, like we’ve been doing it for years.
God, and now I’m thinking about sex.
Her arms twist around my neck, pulling us closer. The satin fabric of her dress makes me want to run my hands all over it. All over her. It’s like a dirty slip and slide.
She leans in, her lips brushing my ear, and she says seven words that make my heart stutter. “You can kiss me if you want.”
My first reaction is, hell yes.
But then I replay the words in my head.
If you want…
“Do you want me to?” I pull back to gauge her reaction.
She bites her bottom lip like she does when she’s trying to hold back some strong emotion. The problem is, I don’t know which one it happens to be—anticipation? Nervousness? Anxiousness?
All three?
“If it helps,” she says, her gaze briefly darting over my shoulder in the direction of her brother and his dance partner.
My heart sinks, and I reach up and tip her chin back to face me. “That’s not what I asked,” I emphasize. “Do you want to kiss me, Pres?”
I can see the indecision in her eyes, and I already have my answer.
I lean in, making sure she can hear me. I swear she shivers as I curl my hand around her waist. “I’m happy to play the part of a loving couple for your family, Pres, but I can’t kiss you.
” She starts to pull back, but I hold her, needing to finish. “Not like this.”
She jerks back to look at me, so I have to raise my voice for her to hear the next part. “The next time we kiss, it won’t be for show, Pres. And there will be nothing platonic about it.”
As confident as my words may sound, all I can think in that moment is…please, let there be a next time.