Chapter 37
Lainey
Seeing Holland play will never not be one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. The way he takes over the field, the way his team listens to him. It’s like he was born to play, he was born to lead.
I admire that he has something that he loves to do so much. I feel the same way about dance. I love the dance team, and I’m really good at it.
Even with being so good at dance, I don ‘t think I’ve ever felt that passionate about it. I wish I could have that drive, that passion for something. I’ve been too focused on other things like school and partying and guys to really ever find something that I loved to do.
The psychology student in me would say that I’m letting my past trauma take over my future. I need to let go of the fact that I won’t ever have a normal family. I’ll never have a relationship with my parents like some kids do.
My mom won’t ask me how school’s been or about the boy I like. My dad won’t show me how to fix my car if it breaks down. I won’t ever know what it’s like to be tucked in at night by parents who love you more than life itself.
I have to be okay with that. I have to move past that and appreciate the things I do have, like friends who would do anything for me, and a family who may not be blood, but have always taken care of me as if they were. That’s what I need to focus on.
It can be hard to focus on the good things in your life when there’s bad things happening too. It’s easier to let yourself feel down and depressed.
The thing is, though, that when I’m with Holland, none of that stuff matters. I’m not the girl with the broken home. I’m the prettiest girl in the world. God, I sound ridiculous. I’ve never been romantic. I was never one of those girls that watched romance movies and read novels of prince charming.
But somehow, Holland has changed my outlook on everything. I don’t know if I should be grateful or if I should hate him for it.
Except, when I think about him, I don’t feel hate at all.
I don’t feel rage or jealousy. It’s like, all of those feelings have dissipated and have been replaced by one feeling.
One aching, longing, disturbing feeling that I never thought I was capable of feeling.
That four-letter word that can cause so much pain and destruction.
How do I tell him that I’m in love with him? I mean, does he even feel the same? What if he doesn’t? He says I’m his, but what if that’s just something he says until he’s had enough?
More importantly, how am I supposed to tell his sister?
Ellie is my oldest friend, and I don’t want her to disapprove.
If she does, I don’t know what I’d do. Do I keep going with whatever this is between Holland and I, or do I stop seeing him to save our friendship.
Would she really make me choose between her and her brother?
I just need to talk to her. I need to tell her what’s going on and get this weight off my chest. Obviously, the feelings I’m having aren’t going to go away any time soon, and I know I can’t keep hiding this.
Okay, I’ll tell her tonight. When she gets home from her theatre practice, I’ll have an actual adult conversation with her about the fact that I am in love with her brother, and because she loves me and wants me to be happy, she will approve, and everything will be peachy.
With a heavy sigh, I fall back onto my mattress and stare up at the ceiling. When did life get so complicated? I miss when things didn’t seem so serious. Things weren’t life or death.
Now, it seems like every little decision that you make can shape your life for the worse or the better. You have to calculate everything you do to make sure you’re staying in the right direction. And if you fuck up, well you’re shit out of luck.
God, have I always been this cynical? I’m only twenty-two for crying out loud. I should be partying it up and not giving a damn. But here I am, lying in bed on a Saturday night, contemplating every decision I’ve made up until this point.
Is this what your twenties are supposed to feel like? Like all hope is lost?
The sound of a knock on the door has me jolting upright so quickly my head spins.
Who the hell is that? Haley is spending the night at a guy’s house and Ellie should still be at practice. Holland should be at the club tonight. He has a ton of work to catch up on, and I wasn’t really up for clubbing.
Did someone break in? Shit, do I need a weapon? Wait, I don’t have a weapon. I guess I could use my lamp and-
Another knock makes me jump, and I am fully prepared to knock whoever it is out with a bedside lamp if it comes to that.
“Lainey, open up. It’s me,” the familiar voice calls out. Breathing out a huge sigh of relief, I decide that I’m going to kill Holland for scaring the piss out of me.
Swinging open the door a bit too aggressively, I have to stop myself from drooling as Holland leans against the door frame in his black V-neck and dark jeans. His dirty blonde hair is wavy, and a stray piece sits in his face.
The muscles on his biceps and forearms bulge as he stands with his arms crossed over his perfectly chiselled chest. Pull it together, Lainey.
“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me! What the hell are you doing here?” I scold, hitting him in the shoulder.
Holland chuckles lightly before stepping around me and into my room, landing on the edge of my bed.
“Nice to see you too,” he says as he leans back on his arms. I groan inwardly as I watch his muscles flex under his shirt with the movement.
Rolling my eyes, I try my best to seem cool and collected.
“You’re supposed to be at the club,” I tell him, as if he doesn’t know that.
“I got done early. Wanted to see my girl. Is that okay with you?” Swoon. Okay, ew, who am I?
“No, it’s not. I almost hit you with a lamp!”
Holland guffaws. “A lamp?”
“Yes!” I exclaim, annoyed that he’s not taking this seriously. “A lamp. I thought you were a freaking burglar or something! What is wrong with you?”
He shakes his head and continues to laugh, which only annoys me more because what the hell? I seriously could have hurt him.
“You couldn’t find anything other than a lamp?” he asks, and I think he’s being completely serious right now.
“Seriously? That’s what you got out of that?”
“No, I mean, there’s just plenty of other things you could have used. Like the pepper spray I got you last Christmas,” he explains, shrugging. Okay, I’ll be honest. I totally forgot about the pepper spray. But that’s beside the point.
“Listen, Ball Boy. Don’t just show up here unannounced. What if Ellie was home? How would you explain that?” I ask, because it’s just dawned on me that this could have ended terribly if my best friend had been home.
Holland sits up straight, watching me intently as I pace back and forth.
“I would’ve figured something out. But I knew she was at rehearsal,” he nods toward me. “Come here.”
I stop dead in my tracks at his command. He thinks he can just show up here, scare the shit out of me, and then make demands? Oh, hell no. Not happening.
“No, I’m pissed at you!” I say, and he smirks. Without warning, he grabs my wrist and tugs me to him so I’m standing in between his legs, looking down at him on my bed.
“Look at you, all fired up. It’s kind of… adorable.” His lips curve into a mischievous smile. I go to push him, but he grabs both of my wrists and holds tight. The gesture makes my stomach flip. Oh, no, Lainey. Do not get turned on by this. Not right now. You’re mad at him, remember?
My vagina doesn’t seem to get the memo, because I can already feel myself getting wet at the feeling of Hollands strong hands around my wrists.
“Shut up,” I tell him through gritted teeth. He chuckles smugly, as if he can see the effect he’s having on me, and I hate that I’m so transparent.
“Make me,” he challenges, and ugh! I want to slap his stupid, gorgeous face.
I roll my eyes, and his hand comes under my chin, grabbing me and forcing me to look at him.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me, gorgeous. You know that turns me on.”
Fuck. I’m done for.
His hands snake around my back and make their way down to my ass, where he rests his hands before squeezing tightly. I supress a moan.
“Be a good girl, for once, and get on the bed,” he demands, and I think my ovaries explode. God damn.
I do as I’m told, if only for the fact that if I don’t, I think he might pick me up and throw me on the bed.