Chapter 16
Lainey
Why must this man be so infuriatingly attractive, and why must he smell so goddamn good?
He knows exactly what he’s doing as he leans over my body, standing in nothing but a towel as water slowly drips off him.
When I marched myself over here in the cold night air, I planned on bursting in and yelling at Holland for making me think about my parents and how depressing it is that neither of them actually give a shit about me. For bringing up a forbidden topic.
I know he didn’t do it on purpose. I know I act like it doesn’t bother me. I can see it being hard to tell if it even bothers me from an outsider standpoint, I guess.
I feel like I do a great job at hiding the fact that some days, it actually crushes me. I’ve been told it would be beneficial to see a therapist, mainly by Mrs. Monroe who says that a therapist could help me “work through my feelings”.
Honestly, it could help, although I hate the thought of talking to someone who is only there because I’m paying them to listen. Which is hilarious because I’m a psychology major. I’m just not sure if it’s truly what I want to do with my life.
The fact that my parents act as if I don’t exist and only contact me once in a blue moon doesn’t exactly bother me twenty-four seven. I don’t let it. If I did, it would destroy me.
When I was little, sure. I didn’t know how to regulate my feelings, but now? I know how to push those feelings down and bottle them up. Until I’m reminded by a stupid boy that my life is pathetic.
This is why I turned to sex and drinking. It would help distract me from my reality.
My eyes meet Holland’s green ones, which are no longer locked on my nipples. I mentally chastise myself for not putting on a bra before I walked over here in a fit of rage.
Then again, I didn’t imagine I’d be getting this close to him. Why has he not moved? Do I even want him to move? I mean, I just felt his dick rub against my leg, and damn. That thing seems big.
Shit, Lainey. Don’t think about his dick. This is Holland. This is Ellie’s brother. Think with your head, Lane, not your vagina.
God, it’s right there. All I’d have to do is push the towel down, and it would be free.
I have to physically keep my eyes from traveling south as I glare at him. He’s smirking, as if he can read my mind, and I pray he can’t because damn, that would be embarrassing.
Deciding that the temptation is too much, and that he’d never let me live it down if I made a move first, I push up on my elbows, causing him to back up. At first, I don’t think he’ll move, but he does, taking a step to the side to let me up.
Clearing my throat, I move toward the door. I no longer feel like yelling, and this whole thing was a waste of time. I should have just stayed home and wallowed, except I had to get the last word.
“Where are you going?”
Holland asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed where I just vacated. He looks delicious, and I hate myself for thinking that.
“I’m leaving,”
I tell him, reaching for the doorknob. Before I twist it, Holland scoffs. I freeze before looking back at him with narrowed eyes. Did he just scoff at me? Really? “Something funny?”
Holland shakes his head, a cocky grin on his face as he looks down at the floor. His wet, dirty blonde hair drips as it falls over his face.
“Nothing,”
he shrugs and chuckles to himself without even looking up at me. My arms cross over my chest and my foot taps impatiently as I wait for him to tell me exactly what he thinks is funny.
Nothing about this situation is funny. Nothing about the sexual tension in the room that I know we both feel is funny. Nothing about the reason I even came over here in the first place is funny.
I know he can tell I’m uncomfortable, that much is obvious by the knowing smirk on his lips. I hate that he knows me so well, because he can read me like a freaking book.
Letting out a huff, I say, “Tell me, now.”
Holland shakes his head as he leans back on his forearms, getting comfortable as he watches me. I’m really tempted to walk over there and slap his smug face.
“Why?”
he asks. My blood begins to boil. He knows what he’s doing, and I hate him for it.
“Because I want to know what you think is funny about this situation,”
I tell him, standing taller than before. I don’t want him to know he’s affecting me, even though I’m pretty sure he knows that he is.
Holland shrugs his shoulders, and I’m practically drooling at the sight of his abs contorting as he moves. God, why does he have to be so hot. He could have grown up to be ugly, but no.
“I don’t think I’m gonna tell you,”
he taunts. I hold in a growl of frustration at his stupidity.
“Fine,”
I spit. My arms fall to my sides as I turn around and take a step back toward the door. If he doesn’t want to tell me, fine. I’m not standing here like an idiot waiting for him to give me an answer.
Before I can open the door though, a hand slams on it from above me. The loud noise startles me a bit, but I don’t show it. I can feel him behind me. I feel his body heat, and I smell his soap.
I almost feel the need to clench my thighs together for some friction, except that would be crazy because I can’t be sexually attracted to this guy. Not this one.
Looking up at the strong arm above me, I watch the muscles cord as he applies pressure to the door so I can’t open it. Oh lord. Who knew a forearm could be so damn attractive.
Holland’s breath fans over the back of my neck as he leans down to whisper in my ear.
“Where ya going, Bug?”
he asks in an almost taunting tone. The nickname makes my face heat, and I have to stop myself from pressing back against him.
The name would usually piss me off, however all I can think about is the way I can feel his breath on me and the heat radiating off of his body. I can’t think clearly, and it’s making me crazy because I’m not the kind of girl that gets crazy over guys.
Guys don’t usually get me flustered, or nervous. I’m confident, and I’m good at acting like I don’t care. It makes it easier that a lot of the time, I really don’t. It’s just a way to release tension or anger.
Maybe it’s not the healthiest coping mechanism, but hey. I’m trying here.
My breathing picks up as Holland moves an inch closer to me, his front against my back, and the distinct feeling of something hard pressed against my ass. Oh my God.
Please tell me that’s his phone and not his rock-hard erection against me right now. Please tell me my best friends’ brother doesn’t have a hard on for me at this very moment. For the love of everything holy, please tell me I’m not fucking turned on.
There is no way I am turned on. Not with Holland Monroe. He’s a prick, a ladies’ man. He’s not what you’re looking for, Lane. He’s the opposite of everything you want, which is something easy and uncomplicated.
This whole thing would be so complicated and not at all easy. Ellie would find out, and I would have to explain to my best friend why I’m fucking her brother.
Personally, that doesn’t sound that appealing to me, and I’d like to avoid having that conversation like the plague. So no, I cannot be turned on my Holland Charles Monroe. That can’t happen.
So why can I feel the wetness between my thighs? Why is my breathing so crazy? Why do I have goosebumps?
“You wanna know what I think, Lainey Bug?”
Holland whispers in a deep tone, causing a shiver to run down my spine. I shake my head.
“Not particularly.”
I feel a puff of air as Holland chuckles softly. A large hand runs up my thigh, lifting my tank up slightly in the process.
The warmth of his fingertips against my skin makes me tremble. My breath hitches as he moves in closer, effectively trapping me between him and the door.
“I think you were about to give in to your urges. I think you got so worked up having me on top of you that you just couldn’t take it anymore,”
he states as if everything he’s saying is face rather than his assumptions.
To be fair, he’s not completely wrong. I was having… urges. I would not have given in, even if I didn’t get up.
Holland’s finger draws light circles on my bare skin, and it makes me shiver. I bite the inside of my lip to stop the noise that was about to escape my mouth. Fuck him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s not going to win this.
“You want me, Barkley. Admit it.”
Instead of barking out a laugh like I’d like to, I turn around so that I’m facing him. My back is against the cold door, and Holland’s hand is still on the door next to my head. I have to look up to look him in the eyes.
Giving him my best sexy smile, I say, “and so what if I did, Monroe? What then?”
I ask seductively. His eyes narrow and darken. He goes from looking teasing to looking hungry, his eyes falling from my face to my legs and back up again.
“We could definitely arrange something,”
Holland winks. Shaking my head, I scoff.
“You’re so sure of yourself,”
I tell him. Tilting my head, my eyes lock with his.
“What makes you think you’re so irresistible?”
Holland’s gaze darkens, his confidence shifting into something more primal.
“Because I know what I’m doing,”
he murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“And I know you’ve been thinking about it too.”
He couldn’t know that. I’ve never shown anything close to lust or want for him. Even knowing this, my breath hitches, and I force myself to stay in control. This is my game now.
Taking a step closer, my chest brushes against his as I lean in.
“Prove it,”
I challenge, my voice barely above a whisper.
Holland’s smirk falters for a moment, replaced by a hungry look that sends a shiver down my spine. He looks like he might call my bluff, but instead he reaches out, his fingers brushing the strap of my tank top, but I catch his hand before he can pull it down.
“Not so fast,”
I say, my voice sweet but firm.
“If you’re so sure I want you, then let me take the lead.”
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t argue. Seeing the challenge in his gaze makes me want to make this even more difficult for him. Holland Monroe needs to be knocked down a peg or two, and I’m the one to do it.