The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories (214 page)

“Seriously?”

“I swear. Think about it. You’re taking the most basic of ingredients: water, some kind of starch, and yeast, adding some hops, and creating something people enjoy. You add your own flavors and unique flair, like an artist’s brush strokes, and voila, you’ve made something people love.” Holden isn’t kidding; I could see that brewing is something he takes as seriously as I take my books.

“I’m excited,” I say at last, squeezing his arm.

Holden pulls into a field that has a row of parked cars. “You are?” he asks, turning to look at me as the truck rolls to a stop.

“Yeah, I can see this means a lot to you, and I want to learn all about it,” I explain.

Before I know what’s happening, Holden reaches out with both hands and grips the sides of my face, pulling me closer to him. I can’t say a word before he presses his lips against mine, then slips his arms around me in an embrace. I fall limp into his grasp, so strong and so sure I want to allow him to carry me away, keeping me safe for the rest of my days. His kiss is soft, then an intensity passes through him and into me. It leaves my head swimming, and a tremor surges through my body. I open my eyes only to see his are wide and staring at me; he’s drinking me in with all his senses.

I feel powerless to resist, and I like it, though I dare not tell him this. When Jack rocked me to my core, I told myself I never wanted to give a man that kind of power over me again. But here I was, fresh off those wounds, and Holden already seems to have that hold. I can’t allow myself to give that control away. But it’s not just myself I’m scared of getting hurt. I also don’t want to bring him that familiar pain. Holden is special, and he deserves someone in his life who can be what I wish I could be. Someone who can make him whole rather than someone he has to spend all of his time piecing back together.

“Wait,” I gasp, pushing him away from me.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asks, peering at me curiously.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

“Do what? The festival?” he questions, glancing across the street at the mass of tents.

“No—us. I think we should slow down.”

“I thought we were taking it slow.”

“I mean ...” I sigh. I want to kiss him more, but I can’t say that. Damn it, why did Bea have to plant these thoughts in my head? “Maybe you and I are a bad idea.”

“Okay.” Holden leans back, raising his hands in the air and then dropping them on his lap in frustration. “For the past couple days I could tell something was up. Now are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I insist, obviously lying.

“You pulling away from me isn’t nothing,” he argues.

I shake my head, wishing I’d continued kissing him at this point. “I’ve been thinking about us, and I just don’t think it’s a good idea we get too close.”

Holden takes my hand, looking me in the eyes, and I feel my entire body quiver at his touch. “Belle, do you like me?”

“It’s not a matter of liking you—”

“Do you enjoy spending time with me?” he presses.

“Of course I do, but—“

“No buts then. What we’re doing is perfectly fine.”

“There is a but,” I argue. “I’m eventually going to go back home. And then what?”

“And then we cross that bridge when we come to it,” he suggests.

I pull my hand away, “I’m just getting out of a long relationship that was pretty terrible for me. I’m not looking to get right back into a relationship. I was just looking for some fun.”

“Are you having fun?”

“Well, yeah, but you—”

“I what? I’m having fun, you’re having fun, so I don’t see the problem.”

I huff; he’s making so much sense, but it could be those eyes, or perhaps the lips that he is licking. “I don’t want you to think I can give you something I can’t.”

“I’m here for you to use at your will. Feel free to kiss me and do with me as you want, then you can throw me away when you’re done. I’ll find a way to handle it.” He knew he was so damn cute in that moment. That stupid grin plastered across his face ... it is irresistible.

“How generous of you.” I smile.

He leans in and kisses me again, lapping up everything I have to give. Bea worries about him falling too hard for me, but how can I be responsible after telling him that I’m not looking for a relationship. I’ve been completely honest with him. There is nothing else for me to do, but experience what life is trying to teach me. Whatever blissful, messed up thing that is.

***

T
he sun, poking itself into my room and waking me up, is annoying. I’d been up for most of the night, tossing and turning in frustration. I’ve now been here five weeks, and I’m beginning to feel pressure.

There is pressure from my parents, who, while at first didn’t seem to notice I was gone, have transformed into concerned parental figures I’ve never known. I can only assume it’s coming from prompting on Jack’s part, but they have taken to calling and leaving me messages. I don’t dare tell them where I am because I know that will be a direct funnel to my ex, the last person in the world I want to hear from. Instead I’m left stammering, telling them not to worry, that I’m safe, and just trying to figure things out. That of course only makes my mother furious.

“Figure things out? What on Earth are you talking about? Figure things out. What you should be doing is running home and begging your boss to give you your job back. And really, it’s been long enough. Don’t you think you should at least talk to Jack?” My dear mother always knows the quickest way to send me off the deep end.

Then there’s Kenzie, who’s managed to sell most of my furniture and deposit the funds into my account, but I can tell she has her own troubles. It’s clear she needs me, needs a friend, a shoulder to lean on, but I don’t have that in me right now. This time she’ll have to figure things out for herself.

What has my head spinning the most is last night. Jack is a couple months behind me, and while the pain of what he did still stings, he has become more of a distant annoyance to me. The frustration I’m feeling is all centered around Holden. After having the discussion about our no-strings relationship, it feels like each of us is waiting for the other to make the next move. Unsure what line we shouldn’t cross.

We’re still talking, every day spending time together; we even flirt insanely with one another. When it comes to physical contact, though, we both seem to be treading water, waiting for some sort of sign. Last night, after the pub closed, we went for a moonlit walk. We held hands, talked about what we hope for our futures one day, and then he walked me back to my room.

We were kissing just outside my door; he had me pressed up against the wall with his body, and I could feel him growing hard against me through his jeans. I twisted my body, shoving my key into the lock and pushed open my door. He stepped back, which I thought was to give me room to go inside. I stood there, just in front of my bed, looking at him, waiting for him to pounce.

He stared back at me. It was like he was a vampire and couldn’t enter without permission. The silence between us became awkward, and I started to nervously shift from foot to foot. I wanted to tell him he should come in and have his way with me, but I said nothing.

“Goodnight.” He broke the silence before I could come up with something.

I was left with only one response, “Goodnight.”

He turned and walked away. If there was a female equivalent to blue balls, I certainly had it last night. For the first sleepless hour I was angry. How could he not know? Then it shifted into a couple hours of self-loathing. There must be something wrong with me if he could resist my charms the way he did. Lastly, that gave way to a plan. Sheer determination to make this man fall to his knees and beg me to screw his brains out. Kenzie would be proud.

I stretch out my limbs to their fullest, as if pushing away the sleepless night. I stand and walk over to the window. Immediately, Holden captures my attention. He is at his truck, pulling something from the back. He looks so well-rested I’m once again frustrated with him. He pulls out a package and tucks it under his arm; my frustration shifts to intrigue.

I hear the front door open and, without any hesitation, his footsteps bounding up the stairs. Before I can move from the spot where I’m standing, there is a knock at the door. I glance down at my clothes: a skimpy tank top without a bra and some sleep shorts. I consider grabbing my robe. While what I’m wearing isn’t exactly what I would call sexy attire, it may be enough to fuel his curiosity. I decide to forego the robe and walk over to answer the door.

I take in a deep breath and open. He steps inside my room without even looking at me; so much for the vampire theory. “Good morning, beautiful.” The familiar greeting means nothing to me considering he hasn’t even looked at me.

He rushes to my bed and places the package on top of the mattress. With a smile that nearly splits his face, he turns and faces me. Now he sees me, and his look of excitement twists.

“What are you doing?” I inquire.

He shakes his head, as if to disperse the wicked thoughts in his mind. “Oh, I have something for you.”

It’s time to make him beg, I tell myself, and lean to one side, shoving the door closed. “Is that so?” I ask in the most suggestive tone I can muster. I know being seductive isn’t my strong suit, but it’s obvious he wants me to some extent, so how hard can this be.

“Are you all right?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

“Wow, I’m even worse at this than I thought.”

“At what?”

“Nothing, never mind.”

“Are you sure?” he follows up in a concerned tone.

I nod.

He rushes up to me and takes my hand, dragging me over to stand next to the bed. “I got you something.”

I look down at brown box.

“What?" I gasp, surprised.

"I got you a gift."

What is it?” I inquire, now genuinely interested.

“Do you remember what we talked about last night?” Holden asks me. I try to focus, but it’s difficult with him so close to me.

“We talked about so much ... what part?”

“Outside, on our walk,” he continues. I lift my shoulders in bewilderment. “Your writing, do you remember?”

“I suppose; what about it?” I feel confused.

“It keeps coming up, this love you have for books, and how you wish you could be a writer."

"I don’t get what this has to do with anything."

He smiles and squeezes my hand. "You said in college your professors used your work as an example, and that from the praise you received you considered becoming a novelist.” Holden was nearly levitating with excitement.

“Yeah, so? I’m still not fully understanding what this has to do with anything.”

“I think you should give it a go.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, not meaning to sound as frustrated as I do.

He reaches out and flips open the flaps to the box, pulling free a gleaming white case. On the cover I see the image of a sleek and slim laptop. "Maybe this will make it to easier to understand,” he says and hands me the case.

I gasp. “I still don’t think I understand.”

“I thought it was kind of self-explanatory,” he says, the excitement oozing from him.

I read the box, “Macbook Air.”

“I’ve seen you scrawling by hand in your journal, so I assumed you didn’t have a laptop,” he explains.

“No ...” I hesitate. My heart is racing, and I don’t know what to say. “I don’t, but this is too much. I can’t accept it.”

“Don’t be silly. I got it for you because I wanted you to have it,” he insists.

My hands begin to shake, and I shove the box toward him. “No, really. I can’t accept this.”

Holden looks down at the box. He’s silent. I hope I haven’t angered him. I want him to say something, anything.

At last he speaks, “When you recommend a book to be looked at for publishing, why is that?"

I furrow my brow. “Because I see something in it.”

He stares at me, runs his tongue across his lips, and says, “Just like I see something in you.”

“It’s not the same thing,” I insist.

“Isn’t it?”

“No!" I exclaim, "It’s too much money.”

“Isn’t that for me to decide?”

“Not something like this. I don’t want to be beholden to anyone.”

“And you think that’s the type of man I am?” His question sends a chill through me.

I swallow hard and wish I’d phrased my words differently. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Since we met you’ve talked mostly about writing. I consider this an investment. I expect to see you create the next best seller on it. Last night, when you were talking about the encouragement your professors had given you, it took everything in me not to tell you about it.” He looks at me, waiting for me to say something, but what can I possibly say? I’m not even sure how to process the gesture.

“You don’t like it?” he asks. “I thought you’d love it.”

“No, that’s not it.” my voice shakes. “Don’t you see? This is a waste on someone like me.”

“What? How can you say that?”

“I’ve told you before ... a writer needs to write what they know. They write from the life they’ve lived. I’m not interesting, and nobody is going to want to read anything I write,” I explain, wishing I could make him understand. I work in the publishing industry. I see books all the time that are written by talented people, but their story isn’t interesting enough. I don’t want to be one of those people.”