Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“Going out with the guys tonight,” he says unapologetically. “I’ll cut it in the morning before I go to work.”
“You’ll have Mrs. Hamersby over here tearing you a new one if you do,” I remind him. Wade tried to cut the grass very early once, and she came out in curlers and her bathrobe, a flyswatter in hand threatening to smack him. Wade turned on his innate charm and next thing I knew, she’d invited him over so she could make him breakfast.
“It will hold one more day,” he says, considering whether he wants to deal with our eighty-year-old neighbor tomorrow morning. “I’ll do it after work. What are you up to tonight?”
Going to track down Holland, I think to myself. She’s been ignoring my texts all day.
“Probably just chill out here,” I say vaguely, pushing past him to head to the bathroom.
“Kat had lunch with Holland today,” Wade says, and I jerk at the revelation, turning to face him. I know Kat had been wanting to get together with her but had no clue they’d connected. I barely saw Kat today as we were all so busy.
“That’s cool,” I say, not wanting to appear too interested. Because Holland and I are keeping this—well, whatever this is right now—secret, I hold myself in reserve. Had to do a lot of that eleven years ago and it sucked, especially when we were all together. It was torture for us to speak to each other just as friends, and not to touch each other, and… it just sucked not being out in the open.
“Good to see Holland back, huh? Brings back memories.”
“Yeah, it does,” I agree, and because I feel the need to act somewhat normal around my brother, I say, “Feels like old times.”
“Just as hot as she ever was, huh?”
Hotter. “Dude… she’s like a sister to us. Don’t say things like that.”
Wade snorts. “Just saying. But you know what I was thinking… we should all go camping like we used to. Just the gang, you know? We could even talk Abby into coming in for the weekend. Could be fun.”
I hesitate, the idea of spending a weekend sharing Holland’s attention not sitting well. “Yeah, maybe,” I say noncommittally, stepping past him and into the bathroom.
“Or we could hit up a bar in Louisville. Get out, have some fun.” Wade moves to his bedroom door. “Think about it.”
“I will.”
But I won’t. I intend to lock Holland down with some sort of plan for us to see each other. It could be we go to Louisville but not a bar. Maybe dinner, then a hotel where I’m going to take advantage of this tryst idea.
But that’s three days away and I don’t want to wait that long to see her.
Wade disappears into his bedroom, and I jump in the shower. Surprisingly, there’s ample hot water left and as it cascades over me, I ponder how to handle Holland.
This morning, in her dad’s office, things got crazy. Never in a million years did I think we’d have sex on the desk, but fuck… there was no holding that train back once we started. I feel like she had an ulterior motive in going all the way with it, but I can’t work it out. While I have no illusions she wants to resume where we left off, she seems more than amenable to us hooking up while she’s here.
That’s all well and good and sex with Holland is the best I’ve ever had. Even I know that’s because I loved her then, and I still love her now. But I’ve got long-range goals in mind and they all center around finding my way back into her heart. Only then might I have a chance at her forgiveness, and better yet… getting her to stay.
As expected, Holland is proving to be stubborn. I’ve been trying to reach her all afternoon, but she hasn’t answered my calls or texts. Frustration gnaws at me. I want more than just a tryst. I want to make amends and try for something real. Letting her go the first time was a colossal mistake, and I don’t want to repeat it. But if she won’t give me the time of day, I can’t start my nefarious plan to win her back.
I have to go searching for her.
After my shower, I sit on the edge of my bed, towel wrapped around my waist, and try calling her one more time. No answer. Determined, I dress quickly in jeans and a gray T-shirt, grab my keys, and head out to her mother’s house.
♦
Debbie Rhodes’s house—the house Holland grew up in under her father’s alcoholic abuse and mother’s apathy—is a modest, two-story home with peeling paint and overgrown shrubs. It’s clear that maintenance hasn’t been a priority, but I never remembered it being anything other. While neither I nor my siblings ever hung out at the Rhodes’ household, we’ve been here before to pick up Holland for a group outing or to travel to a horse show.