KORIE
After a quick stop at the grocery store for some ice cream, I shoulder my way into Holden’s apartment like I own the place, balancing two pints in one hand and my keys in the other. I don’t knock. I never do.
My arms are still shaking from the climb, but it’s a good shaking, the kind that settles deep into your muscles and promises soreness tomorrow.
I should go more often. I’d forgotten how much I like it all—the problem-solving, the burn, the undeniable satisfaction of figuring out a route before Holden does.
Okay, yeah. Winning helped.
Grinning to myself, I drop the ice cream onto the counter and try hard not to think about how aware I was of Holden at the gym. The way he’d actually slowed down and studied the wall instead of just muscling his way up it like he normally does. The way he’d laughed when I beat him—again.
It was fun.
“Holden? You home?”
A door clicks open behind me.
I whirl around to greet Holden… and immediately wish I hadn’t.
He’s stepping out of his bedroom, dragging a T-shirt down over his head, blond hair still damp and curling at the ends, skin flushed from a shower, and he has a faint sheen still clinging to his collarbone before the fabric settles. He smells of soap and something woodsy.
Something in my chest misfires, and I look away so fast I’m surprised I don’t get whiplash.
“Put some clothes on already,” I say, dramatically hiding my eyes.
“I am wearing clothes.” He sounds way too amused.
“Maybe before you leave the room next time.”
“It’s my house, doofus.” He ruffles my hair as he steps past me to get a drink of water.
I shove one of the pints of ice cream into his chest without really looking at him. “Peace offering. You know. For losing.”
He snorts. “You’re insufferable.”
“Hey, at least I got you Rocky Road.”
He’s smiling in a way that knocks me off-kilter. Or rather, more off-kilter.
I step away.
“Mine is… something,” I say, forgetting the name of the ice cream already. Something with too many things in it. Chocolate chunks, caramel swirls, something neon. Holden will judge me for it in approximately three seconds.
Right on cue, he wrinkles his nose and snatches the carton from me, looking horrified. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s art,” I say, yanking open the drawer for some spoons. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“It looks like they dumped whatever was in their pantry into the mix.”
“Well, call me a trash panda then, because I’m gonna love it.”
He turns to lean against the counter, bare feet crossed at the ankles. As he pops his carton open, his gaze drifts to my arms. “You were impressive today.”
Dammit, I shouldn’t like the way he’s noticing me. “Thanks. I was just thinking I should come in more.”
“Yeah? Miss me that much, do you?”
I nudge him. “I miss winning.”
Holden really is relaxed today. Far more himself than he had been at the pizza parlor. Climbing must’ve loosened something in him. I always like the softness around his eyes when he’s like this.
We end up on the couch, and I tuck my feet under me, facing Holden. He puts a movie on, but dives right into conversation. After about twenty minutes, something howls on screen, and we both jerk our heads in that direction.
“Wait. There’s a dog in this?”
Holden laughs beside me. “Oh, sure, now you’re interested.”
“Hey!” I shove him. “I’m not the only one who likes dogs. You cried when Marley died.”
“That was different,” he shoots back immediately, expression softening at the mention of the wire-haired Schnauzer. “That dog had a whole, like… character arc in his personality.”
I grin. “Dude. I’m pretty sure it was you who had a character arc. You went from ‘I don’t want a dog’ to ‘this is my emotional support animal’ in about two seconds.”
“I did not.”
“You so did. You fell in love with him so fast.”
He nudges my knee with his. “And yet, you’re still the one who named him.”
I tilt my head, glaring. “Because you were gonna name him Tank!”
“Tank is a strong name.”
“For a Schnauzer? No. Tank is something you name a dog with muscle. That dog was all rolls, and no muscle.”
Holden laughs, warm and easy, and it settles something low in my chest. God, I love this. How easy it always is with him.
“Marley was…” My voice fades, the memory aching. We both loved that dog so much our parents let us claim co-custody of him just so we could take him back and forth between houses for weeks at a time.
“He was something,” Holden offers.
“Yeah. Something.”
On screen, a bomb explodes. Neither of us looks.
“Hey, do you still talk to Mrs. Alvarez?” he asks, like it just occurred to him. He’s probably remembering the many times Marley escaped my yard and went to hers.
“Sometimes. She still thinks you’re the reason her garden died.”
“Whatever. I watered those plants.”
“You drowned those plants.”
“They were thirsty.”
“Some of them were cacti, Holden,” I say, biting back a laugh. “You watered them like they were tomatoes.”
He groans. “Okay, in my defense—”
“Nope. Don’t even try it.” I lean over, bumping my shoulder into his. “Just admit it. You gave a cactus root rot.”
“I was nine!”
A laugh slips out. “Still!”
Holden’s cheeks go a little red. “You were there too, you know.”
My fingers freeze around the carton of ice cream. The tone in his voice lands… weird. All soft and strangely affectionate. Like he’s recalling that memory differently.
I push back, ignoring it. “I was only there because someone had to keep an eye on you. You were committing plant murder.”
He huffs a laugh, but he presses his shoulder into me. “Well, whatever. If I’m guilty, so are you.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
That soft smile grows, touching his eyes. “Hey, do you remember when…”
His voice trails off in my head. I’m too distracted by how we’re suddenly leaning into each other, arms and sides pressed close together.
How did that happen? Or rather, why am I noticing it?
It’s not new. We’ve sat like this a hundred times.
A thousand, even. So why is my brain catching on it like it means something now? And why is my heart racing?
I turn back to the TV. Holden shifts on the couch, switching legs on the ottoman. It draws us even closer. I suck in a breath.
His voice cuts off automatically, and he looks down, as if realizing how we’re basically plastered together, shoulder to hip.
He flicks his attention back up, gives me a cheeky, carefully guarded smile as he swallows.
For a moment, nothing else exists. I can feel the heat of him through the fabric of our clothes, and then his smile morphs into the softer, shy one I’ve seen so many times—the one that says he’s in on a secret.
Suddenly, I feel like I’m fourteen again and about to kiss Connor Rhodes. My gaze drops to his lips.
Fuck.
What am I doing!
Like a cord is ripped from my back, I pull away.
“I gotta… yeah. Bathroom,” I say, already pushing to my feet like I’ve just remembered something urgent.
Holden blinks up at me. If he’s confused, he’s hiding it well.
With the door closed, I brace my hands on the edge of the sink and stare at myself in the mirror.
“Get a grip,” I mutter. “It’s nothing.”
It was literally nothing! Our shoulders touched. That’s it. We’ve always been that way. Some even call us touchy. It’s not new. It’s not—shit, who am I kidding? It’s all new. My heart has never felt like it was flinging itself off a cliff just from Holden touching me.
I rub my sternum, exhaling hard. I’d splash cold water on my face if it didn’t ruin my makeup. I need to come to my senses. The ground beneath me seems to sway, and the lights overhead seem to get brighter.
I slam my eyes shut.
I can’t do this.
The feeling is twice as strong. I can’t. This is Holden. My best friend. I can’t be feeling things for him… if that’s even what this is.
I stay in the bathroom so long I’m surprised Holden doesn’t come to check on me.
When I come back out, Holden has cleaned up the empty ice cream containers and replaced our dirty spoons with two glasses of ice water.
A different movie is queued up on screen, and right away, I can tell it’s something more to my taste. Something cheekier.
He glances up when I walk in, but says nothing.
I was prepared to leave, yet here I am, dropping back onto the couch as if nothing happened. I purposely leave more space between us, though. Once again, if Holden is confused or even disappointed in my choice, he doesn’t comment on it. Just hands me a drink.
“Thought we’d try something you might actually pay attention to.”
“Ha. You’re assuming I’ll even be able to stay awake.”
I glance toward the door without meaning to. We both have work in the morning, and it’s already late. Plus tonight has already crossed back over into what-the-fuck territory and I’m not sure how to handle it.
“Stay,” Holden says, like he can hear the thoughts rapid-firing in my head.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
My heart squeezes. How easily Holden reads me…
“Holden.” I don’t finish the thought, because what can I say? This weird, unsettled feeling is exactly why I don’t open my heart to people. It’s pulling me under. I don’t know how to control it.
“I should probably—”
“Stay,” he says again, softer this time. Not pushing, exactly. Just… pleading. Hoping. For what, though? That’s the question. What are we even doing? Is he even feeling any of this? I can’t be sure. He’d noticed my spiral—no doubt. But is he feeling it? Is Holden feeling anything I am?
“Fine, but like I said, I might fall asleep. And if I do, that’s on you.”
He starts the movie, and the room gets quiet except for the drone of the TV. Once again, I’m aware of everything. The way he shifts beside me. The sound of his breathing. The faint brush of fabric when he moves his arm along the back of the couch.
I keep my focus locked on the screen like it’s the most important thing in the world, but it’s not working.
At some point, his hand drops down from the back. He clears his throat, shifting his weight. It’s not a big movement, but enough to lessen the twelve-inch gap I had purposely set between us.
His hand lands on the couch, right in the middle, only an inch from my own. His whole body seems stiff now. Even his leg has stopped bouncing, which is a miracle for him.
I worry my lip, frozen and captivated at the same time.
A minute passes, and I can almost focus on the movie again. But then his fingers brush mine, so light I almost miss it. It could have been an accident. Hell, it probably was an accident—except Holden doesn’t pull away.
And neither do I.
My pulse kicks in again, sharp and insistent. Thump, thump, thump. I stare at the screen, but am not seeing a damn thing. For the second time tonight, all I can think about is that point of contact—as tiny as it is.
I close my eyes. Why did I have to reach for his hand that night? Now I know how perfectly we fit together, which is something I never should’ve known. Or ever even wanted to know. It’s making me want it again now.
Why is my heart aching to reach out to him?
Holden shifts his hand closer, covering mine. Not holding, but not… not holding either. Like a question. A possibility.
I could crack a joke, turn my hand over, and pretend it’s no big deal again. Just two friends doing… you know, not-friend things. But that’s an even worse lie than going on a fake date with him.
Because if I reached for him, it would mean something now. And I don’t know what Holden would do with that. That’s just the truth of it. I don’t know if he’s in this with me, or just… faking it.
I pull my hand away, shifting in my seat and trying to pretend like nothing happened.
Don’t look at him.
Don’t look—
I turn.
Holden’s watching me, eyes light despite the dark of the room. There’s no confusion there, no hurt. Just… something. Longing, maybe? I can’t be sure. It’s something I’ve never seen in him before, at least not directed at me. Which only makes it all worse.
Dammit. Everything is so blurry now. Messy. This is exactly why I don’t date! One of the reasons, anyway.
Damn Hattie and her stupid idea.
Damn Holden for convincing me to say yes.
Things could’ve stayed easy. Now it’s complicated.
And, still. When I really think about it, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to go back.
I fold my arms over myself and stay for the rest of the movie.