Page 26 of Home With Holden

I didn’t have to find out, though, because Holden’s siblings were so welcoming, and they were way easier to talk to than the moody alpha who hadstillmanaged not to show up.

Was I getting stood up at a non-date thing? Ugh, of course.

Still, it was hard not to feel a little jealous of Holden. It was easy to see that he had a big, loving family—the kind of family I’d always wished for but never had.

And don’t get any ideas... these ones aren’t yours and never will be.

The snide but timely reminder had me wanting to duck out. But just as I was about to, the tasting finally started.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I quickly realized this was way more serious than I’d thought. It started with small pours of bourbon being handed out, and I watched as people swirled, sniffed, and sipped before casually spitting the bourbon into small buckets placed around the room.

Spit it out? Okay, I definitely hadn’t seen that coming.

And seriously—who the hell spits out perfectly good bourbon?

And it was actually not bad. So yeah, nope. Not happening. No spitting here.

I’d been raised on thewaste not, want notmotto.

And from the information given out on most of these samples, I could tell they were way out of my price range. So, I drank every single drop of my samples. It was probably a bad idea because it didn’t take long to feel the warmth of the bourbon settle into my stomach.

It was nice. Actually, more than nice—it was smooth, rich, like liquid fire that made everything feel a little softer around the edges. By the fourth or fifth sample, I stopped counting. The room took on this warm, fuzzy glow, and I felt the weight of the past few weeks lifting off my shoulders.

I knew it hadn’t really—not deep down. But feeling good for a few hours sounded like a nice idea.

Maybe it was the bourbon, or maybe it was the fact that I’d spent so much time around Holden’s family tonight, and they’dbeen so nice. And somehow, that kindness made me feel even lonelier. The sadness hit me out of nowhere. The loneliness. Everyone here was so damn close, so damn comfortable with each other, and I was just... me. The outsider. The guy who didn’t really belong anywhere.

I downed another glass, and by the time the tasting was over, I was smashed.

Like... absolutely smashed.

And it was great!

I stumbled as I stood up, and before I knew it, Holden was right there, his large hand steadying me.

“Whoa,” he murmured, his brow furrowed as he looked me over. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I slurred, waving him off with a weak attempt at a smile. “More than fine. You’re the one who’s not fine. Or maybe you are. I don’t know. I can’t figure you out.”

Holden raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

“No shit,” I muttered, wobbling slightly on my feet. “But you know what? I don’t care.”

He sighed, wrapping an arm around my waist as he started guiding me toward the exit. “Come on. Let’s get you back to your room.”

“You don’t have to be nice to me, you know,” I rambled as we walked. Or maybe he was doing most of the walking while I stumbled along. “I know you don’t... want me. You invited me tonight and didn’t even show up. So rude.”

Holden’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything, just kept steering me through the hallway.

“I’m serious,” I continued, my drunken brain deciding that now was the perfect time to let it all out. “I know I’m not... I’m not like you. I’m not strong, or... or important. You’re this big, important alpha. I’m just... me. Charles didn’t want me either,you know? And he wasn’t even close to being as... alpha-y as you.”

At the mention of Charles, I could swear I heard Holden growl low in his throat, but in my drunken state, I barely registered it. If anything, it sounded like a purr.

“But it’s fine,” I babbled, my words slurring together. “I don’t expect you to mate me or anything. I’m not stupid. I get it. But... I mean... if you wanted to... I wouldn’t say no. To like... you know... ravaging me during my next heat or something.”

Holden stopped dead in his tracks, his grip on me tightening as he let out a frustrated sigh. “Mylo,” he said, his voice deeper than I’d ever heard it, “you’re drunk.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” I muttered, barely able to keep my eyes open. “But I’m also serious. You could have me. If you wanted.”