Chapter Seven #2
A bark of laughter escaped, scraping his throat. “My self-image is fine. I am a realist, though, and my track record speaks for itself.”
She crossed her arms, tightening the fluffy white knit over her bust. “I’m not entertaining that with you.”
Fine by him, but that incident when he was nineteen, the nosedive of his most recent relationship, and his mama’s disappointment in him made a pretty solid argument. Taking things slow meant he could protect himself while she discovered the things about him she didn’t like.
“So.” She relaxed her expression and stance with a visible effort. “I’ll handle him, we know how I shouldn’t touch you when—”
“It was your tone.” The words spilled before he really thought. A frown knit his brows together, forehead pulling. “Not the way you touched me.”
“Okay.”
He shrugged, pressing his fingers around the edge of the counter until his knuckles ached. “I don’t know why.”
Her nose wrinkled with a half-grin, half-grimace. “Childhood shit is like that sometimes. I get super weird about not having plans made when something is important. I made Lamar crazy over our trip to Houston. It all goes back to my daddy being unreliable.”
“Unreliable.” He nodded, a slow dip of his chin. “And you want to date me.”
“Enough of that.” Rolling her eyes, she pointed toward the living room. “Come on. I came over to spend time with you, not listen to you down yourself.”
She had a point — he’d much rather hang out with her than think about everything wrong with him. He did okay, and he knew his strengths. At the same time, he knew what a prize he wasn’t.
Any desire he had to wrap up with her and make out a little had died a serious death, though.
“There’s probably a quarter or so left in the game.” He leaned down and snagged the remote from the coffee table.
“It’s a rout.” She settled onto the middle cushion. “And after Tennessee lost to Alabama.”
“Those boys didn’t want to listen to Kirby if they lost.” Flicking on the television, he took the end cushion on her left. UGA was up by two more touchdowns with twelve minutes to go in the fourth quarter.
“There’s no way they can close that gap.” Holly plucked the remote out of his hold, navigating to the streaming service landing page. “Let’s find a movie or something.”
Content to sit with her, Colt stretched an arm along the sofa back. His fingers wanted to shake, still, and he flexed them.
“What is up with the half-finished foreign film?” She curled closed into him, faded magnolia and orange blossom tickling his nose. She always smelled sultry and sweet . . . when she didn’t wear the traces of medical disinfectant.
“It’s pretty decent.” He didn’t curve his arm about her shoulder or tug her into him. “The guy’s trying to survive an alien invasion.”
“It has subtitles?” She gave the screen an askance look.
“You took Mr. Davis’s class.” He lifted the remote from her easy hold and reset the film to the beginning. “You know how to read.”
“Ugh.” She dragged a hand through her hair, tousling the bright strands, sending a whiff of magnolia over him. “This better be good, Colton. Now I have to actually pay attention.”
A genuine grin pulled at his mouth, and he slumped deeper into the cushion, still not letting his arm fall about her. He was okay with that demand on her cognitive ability.
As long as she was parsing subtitles, her attention wasn’t on him. If she was reading English translations, she wasn’t parsing him.
Tonight, nerves on edge in a way he’d never been able to explain, he liked it that way.
Onscreen, the pretty boy actor started his normal day, with rich coffee in a glass-rich apartment looking out on a glittering city.
Colt wasn’t going to tell her he’d seen the movie more than once.
He liked the interplay between the leads — the female lead was as gorgeous as the guy and the settings, plucky and resourceful, and her unlikely friendship helped the male character find his way once the whole world went sideways.
He didn’t need the subtitles. If he closed his eyes, the familiar rhythm of the dialogue played over him, even in a language he didn’t understand, and images flickered against his eyelids.
He took a deep breath, scented with magnolia and orange blossoms. With a quiet noise, she settled closer against his side, her hand splayed on his belly.
He liked that, the warm steadiness of her gentle touch.
No wonder Ralph went crazy for her.
She made Colt himself feel steadier simply with her presence. That weird moment earlier aside, he could relax with her. She liked him, pretty much the way he was, so he didn’t have to knock himself out being someone he wasn’t.
Another long breath bled over his lips, the dialogue far away. Something, from the movie, from his own life maybe, played against his lids, and sleep pulled him under.
“Colt.” A gentle voice pulled at him, a gentler hand shaking his thigh. “Go to bed.”
His eyes snapped open, and he blinked at the polished wood of his ceiling. Silence hung in the room, warmth no longer blanketing his side, although Ralph’s hot breath puffed against his ankle.
Holly’s soft laugh shimmered over him, and she cupped his jaw, rubbing a caress beneath his ear. “You’re tired. Go to bed.”
Aw, holy geez, he’d fallen asleep on her? What the . . . he’d never done that with Tyler, with anybody.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” Straightening, she stepped away to pick up her bag. “You work hard and your days start early. Oh, I let Ralph out so he should be good until morning.”
“Yeah.” Elbows on his knees, he stared down at Ralph, happily gnawing on the hem of Colt’s joggers. He shouldn’t feel so damned exposed and vulnerable, but he did. “Thanks.”
“Get some rest.” Her voice laden with affection, she leaned in to kiss him, a light brush of her lips against his. “I’ll see you at church in the morning.”
“Yeah.” He stopped himself, barely, from curving a hand at her nape under the softness of her hair and pulling her mouth back to his. He didn’t even get why, except he still felt off, like his skin fit too tight even while he stood apart from his own body.
He got like that sometimes, though.
Her gaze on his face was the soft blue of a spring morning, and he dredged up a smile for her. The disconnect was about him, like always, not her. He cleared his throat. “Be careful.”
“I will.” With another kiss, she straightened, and he wanted to drag her back, wanted to lose himself in warmth and steadiness and joy. Instead, he hefted to his feet and followed her to the door. She patted the center of his chest. “Sweet dreams.”
His brain recoiled from that. Thankfully, he never remembered his dreams, but he knew they were rarely sweet. “You, too.”
With a smile, she stepped into the cool night. He watched until she was in her car and out of the driveway, then he shut the door and himself into familiar isolation.