Chapter Twenty-Four Presley
Chapter Twenty-Four
PRESLEY
Cash
Is there a reason I don’t have access to the bar’s financials?
I’ve been staring at this text from Cash for twenty minutes, trying to figure out how to respond.
Yeah, because we’re royally fucked, and I’m trying to figure out how to get us un-fucked, so I removed the bar’s financial records from the server before you could find them.
Also, could you stop being such a snoop and maybe obsess over something else? Thanks.
Somehow, I don’t think that will go over with my super anal, super grumpy older brother.
Me
Uh, I don’t know. Maybe something is wrong with the interwebs?
Interwebs—a term used by people who don’t know shit about technology. It’s also good for diverting snobby older brothers who think they know everything about everything.
He’s probably rolling his eyes right now, mumbling under his breath about how awful his life is that he has to deal with crap like this.
Cash
I can send out someone from IT to look at your computer and modem.
Fuck. I didn’t think about that.
Me
No need. I’ll have Hollis take a look.
Cash
Still blissfully happy, then?
I roll my eyes. Asshole.
Me
Yep. You should try it.
Cash
No fucking thank you.
I set my phone on the coffee table and look up just in time to see Hollis walking down the hall. My stomach does this annoying little flip at the mere sight of him.
It’s an epidemic, this attraction I have for him, because it’s getting worse day after day.
Yesterday, he bent over in the kitchen to get a dish towel off the floor, and I swear I had to hold back a moan. His ass in athletic shorts should be illegal.
And ever since the club, when he simultaneously turned down my request for a kiss and then promised a real one at some future date, I’ve been a mess.
What does that mean?
Does he like me?
Does he want more?
And aren’t those stupid questions to ponder over in regard to your own freaking husband?
I try not to think about it. That’s healthy, right?
I watch as he walks down the hallway in gray sweats and a hoodie.
He’s been holed up in my room all day. I let him borrow the space to work because it’s private and quiet.
He rarely uses it since this project mostly involves meeting people in person, whether they are contractors or pretty club owners.
Okay, so I looked her up. Whatever.
But today, he’s home, and since it’s Monday and the bar is closed, we have a whole night to ourselves.
He’s requested a movie marathon—eighties themed, of course.
I still remember a similar night back in high school, where we were all arguing over which one to watch first—Back to the Future or Ferris Bueller’s Day Off—and my dad turned to Hollis and asked which one he liked better, and he sheepishly answered he hadn’t seen either.
The truth was, he hadn’t seen any of them.
We sort of made it our mission to make sure he got caught up on all the cult classics after that. You truly haven’t lived until you’ve sobbed into a bucket of popcorn during the swamp of sadness scene in The NeverEnding Story.
“All done?” I ask as he joins me on the couch.
“Yeah, I think so,” he replies, leaning his head back on the cushion. His messy curls frame his face, and I resist the urge to reach out and touch them. “I sent everything over to Jonas to look over. He’ll let me know what he wants to do next.”
His boss appears to have a very hands-off approach. So far, this is the most I’ve heard him talk about the man who also happens to be his best friend.
“Is he going to come check on the progress at some point?” I ask.
He gives me a sideways glance and smirks. “Don’t trust in my abilities, Pres?”
“What?” I exclaim. “No, I just mean—” He chuckles, clearly pleased with himself. I push him playfully on the shoulder. “You’re mean.”
“He trusts me,” he answers. “And we talk every day.”
“You do?” That was news to me.
“We do,” he confirms.
“Do you…” I hesitate. “Talk about me?”
His lips twitch. “Sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?” I joke, hating the way my heart is pounding. I shouldn’t care what his best friend thinks about me.
But I do. God, I really do.
Now he breaks out into a full grin. “If it were up to Jonas, we’d do nothing but talk about you. He finds your presence in my life very interesting.”
“Because I’m your pretend wife?”
“Because you’re a woman.”
My brow furrows as I try to make sense of what he’s saying, and then it dawns on me. “Do you not usually date women? Are you—”
“No.” He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “I’m not gay. Or bi. I just don’t usually date.”
“At all?” The words come out louder than intended, but seriously, he’s gorgeous. How can he not date?
“Not in the traditional sense.” Which translates to…he’s strictly a hookup guy. Oh great. My husband is a fuckboy.
I raise my hand, plastering on a smile, before he has a chance to respond. “I have three brothers. No need to explain.”
“Clearly I do.” He shakes his head. “’Cause I can see how you might have interpreted that, and while yes, when I do spend time with a woman, it’s usually brief—”
I groan. “Hollis, this is—”
“Uncomfortable? Yeah, it is. But I need you to understand, okay? Will you let me try to explain?”
I nod.
“Good, okay.” He lets out a breath. “I’m not good at letting people in. I never have been. It’s why I move around so much, why I suck at making friends. I don’t know. Maybe growing up the way I did broke something in me.”
“You’re not broken, Hollis,” I say.
He stares up at the ceiling, clearly unconvinced.
“I used to believe her, you know, when I was little? She’d tell me we were moving and things would be better, and I’d believe her.
I’d think, finally, I’m going to have a real home like everyone else.
But then a few months later, I’d be alone in a dingy hotel room, eating stale Cheerios, wondering what I did wrong this time. ”
Fucking hell.
He’s never opened up this much about his past. Even when he was living with us, I’d just get snippets, and then he’d close himself off with a broad smile and quick-witted joke.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell him.
“I know that now. I do, but it still doesn’t make it any easier to trust people. To let my guard down.”
“Sounds lonely,” I say, feeling a heavy weight of emotion settle on my chest.
“It can be.”
“So you…” God, please don’t make me say it.
“Sometimes,” he thankfully answers for me. “When the loneliness gets unbearable.”
I nod, the pain in his voice making me focus less on my jealousy and more on him. “My family never really understood why I stayed with Jace so long. It was because the thought of being alone was more unbearable than staying with him.”
He turns to face me, his eyes full of sadness. “Pres.”
I shake my head, trying to keep the tears at bay. “It took me a while to realize that. I have an amazing family. Why would I ever feel lonely, right?”
“Like you’ve said, they all have their own lives. It’s easy to feel isolated.”
I nod. “When I took over the bar, I thought it would bring us all closer together. Instead, it just felt like I was more on my own than ever. Maybe that’s why I latched on to Jace.
It’s definitely why I defended him so fiercely, because even though Jace was a shitty boyfriend, he was still better than not having one at all. Than not having anyone at all.”
“What made you change your mind?”
I manage a smile. “An old friend reminded me I was worth more.”
“You are.”
Our eyes meet, and it’s so intense that my heart begins to race, forcing me to look away.
“You, um…you’ve never found anyone you’ve trusted? That you’ve thought might be worth pursuing?”
“Not romantically,” he says. “Just Jonas. And I only let him in because he’s incredibly insistent.”
“You let me in,” I say, before adding, “You sought me out.”
“Yeah.” He smiles softly. “I did. And that’s why Jonas is so taken with you.”
“And what about you?” I ask. “Are you…taken with me?”
He looks at me with those light green eyes. “Presley Creed, I’ve always been completely and utterly…taken by you.”
“Are you sure that it’s okay if I come with you?” I ask for the fifth time since we left the apartment.
“Yeah, Pres, it’s fine,” he assures me, looking hot as fuck sitting in the driver’s seat of my black Jeep as we head down the 101. This old thing has seen better days, but when he’s behind the wheel? Automatic upgrade.
“You won’t get in trouble?”
His lip twitches. “No. I can promise you I won’t get in any trouble.”
“’Cause I can sit in the car while you—”
He takes my hand in his and squeezes. “I want you there,” he says. “It will be nice to show you what I’ve been working on when I sneak off during the day with your car for hours.”
“Okay.” I try not to let it show, but that tiny bit of contact has me reeling. Since the nightclub, we haven’t needed to pretend or show any public PDA, so he’s been the perfect gentleman.
He follows every single rule I put in place.
He’s kept his word, going to great lengths to maintain work boundaries. Everyone at the bar knows we’re married, but it never gets in the way. When we work together, he’s professional, both with the staff and the customers.
He is nothing like Jace, and yet I have him permanently stationed behind the bar when I know he could be doing so much more. Hell, I won’t even let him go into the stockroom unaccompanied.
But then again, I haven’t let anyone go into the stockroom alone in weeks. It’s like ever since Jace fucked me over, I’ve completely lost faith in humanity.
I don’t even know how to trust my husband.
He came here to help me save the bar. I’m assuming he thought that meant helping me go through the finances and find a way to keep us from closing. But instead, I have him slinging drinks and taking out the trash.
“We’re here,” he announces.
I look up, and a small gasp escapes me. When he said he needed to stop by the club, I was expecting something similar to the place we went to a couple of weeks ago with Myles.