Page 9

MERIT

“A bar? This is the ‘someplace special’?” I ask.

He points up at the sign. The Last Call . I break out in a wide smile. “It’s Will’s bar!”

He turns off the ignition to his truck and sits back, looking at me. “I can’t believe you’ve never been here before. It’s a really popular bar. Will and Cullen get the greatest bands.”

“Since I work on Fridays and Saturdays, I don’t really go out on the weekends.” I watch as a couple walk through the bar’s front door, hand in hand. “When I was married, Edward required me to go to functions with him, but he and his friends didn’t really hang out at bars.”

Holt lifts an eyebrow. “Required you?”

Wrong choice of words. I look out the window, pretending I didn’t hear the question.

Holt refuses to let it go. He uses the opportunity to his advantage, grabbing my hand in his before I realize what he’s doing. My head snaps in his direction. Underneath the ambient light of the streetlamp, I study his face. His cheeks are sunburnt from football practice. The spattering of freckles across his nose has darkened, and his wavy blond hair looks a shade lighter. His thumb rubs back and forth across my skin. Wet desire pools between my thighs.

“What do you mean, he required you?”

I halfheartedly attempt to pull my hand from his grasp, but he doesn’t let me go.

Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to keep holding his hand.

“Nothing. It was just a poor choice of words.”

“Sounds like there’s more to the story, if you ask me.” His hand circles around, and he slowly traces his finger up my arm, stopping and caressing the inside crease of my elbow.

Nervous energy bounces around my body. I feel like a pinball machine is stuck inside my stomach. I chuckle. “Good thing I didn’t ask you.”

I like that I can tease Holt. I missed that. My family was always one for teasing laughter and sarcastic jokes. When I first met Edward, I thought he was like that. I was wrong. Very wrong. He had a picture-perfect vision of life in his mind, and it was my job to live up to that ideal scenario.

Smiling, Holt licks his lips.

His perfectly pink-brown lips.

The lips I keep seeing every time I close my eyes.

Anger pours over my heart like ice water. The lips I saw kissing that supermodel in picture after picture. Damn the Internet.

He gives my arm a soft squeeze. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

I sigh in satisfaction; glad I won that battle. Because I really don’t feel like talking about Edward. Talk about an epic buzzkill.

I also sigh in satisfaction when Holt leads me through the front door with his hand on the small of my back. Immediately grabbing my hand, he weaves me through the throngs of people, making a beeline for the bar.

I could really get used to these public displays of affection. Apparently, I didn’t realize what I was missing all those years with Edward.

Behind the bar, a tall, good-looking guy with dark brown hair waves at us. Two cases of beer are sitting in front of him, blocking two barstools from use. I watch as he reaches over the counter and hides them on his side. “Good thing you showed up when you did. The band tonight is going to be really good. I wasn’t sure how long I could save your seats.”

“You know better than to give my seat away. I can still pummel your ass.” Holt winks at me, letting me know he’s not serious.

The guy rolls his eyes and tosses a towel over his shoulder. “Oh please, the older you get, the softer you get. I even heard you were playing with dolls the other day.”

Holt furrows his brow. “Will has the biggest mouth ever. And in my defense, it was mermaid dolls, and we were in the pool.” He holds out one of the barstools, helping me sit down.

The guy leans across the bar, offering his hand. “You must be Merit. I’m Cullen. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too.”

Without asking, he places a beer bottle in front of Holt. Holt scoots closer to me. “What would you like to drink? Cullen is a wiz and can make anything you want.” He points behind Cullen to a large, handwritten menu hanging on the wall. “They also have a huge non-alcoholic drink menu if you want that.”

“All of those are non-alcoholic cocktails?”

“Yep. They did it for Ella. She doesn’t drink. It’s actually been a huge success.”

“Well, those look great, but I think I’ll just stick with a beer.” My eyes flicker down to his bottle.

Cullen is already helping the person next to us, but when Holt holds his bottle in the air, Cullen wordlessly places a fresh beer bottle in front of me. I smile, mouthing a thank you.

“You must come here a lot.”

Amusement settles on Holt’s face. “What makes you say that?”

“You have an unspoken language with your bartender.”

He bursts out laughing. “I guess I do. But I’m sure it has more to do with the fact that I used to change his diapers than the fact that he’s my bartender.”

I lift my own bottle to my lips, letting the cold liquid slide down my throat, praying it loosens some of the humming tension in my muscles—the underlying tension that’s always present when I’m with Holt.

The calm tension.

Again, I don’t know how I can feel two opposite things at one time, but I do…

Now, I know what people are talking about when they say ‘the calm among the storm’.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself out of my head and into conversation. “I’m sorry we couldn’t go out until later tonight. I had some customers come in right at closing time. It threw me behind, but I tried to get ready as quickly as possible.”

His blue eyes scan my face. “Well, you look beautiful. And just so you know, I would wait all night long if I had to.” He rubs his fingers across his lips. “But I must say, I’m glad Kyra is closing the store for you tomorrow night. It will give us even more time together.”

“Speaking of, don’t you think it’s a little presumptuous to schedule tomorrow’s date before you even go on today’s date?”

He pouts, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmmm. I actually don’t think we’re being proactive enough. Why don’t we go ahead and schedule all our future dates? What are you doing for the next sixty years?”

Ummm… Holy. Crap.

I’m not sure what look befalls my face, but it must be pretty damn humorous based on the way Holt is cackling.

I don’t even have time to properly formulate a response because a very flirtatious—and tipsy—woman works her way between our barstools. She flashes a smile at Holt. “Sorry. I’m just needing to order a drink. You don’t mind, do you?”

What a stupid question.

He tries to look at me over her head, but she wiggles around like a worm, blocking him from view. He politely clears his throat. Cullen is at the far end of the bar, so he turns to the other bartender, holds his hands in the air, and snaps his fingers, begging for attention. The other guy immediately comes over to us, and the girl orders some fancy-sounding drink.

Of course, she would order something that would require her to wait around.

“It’s a nice night, huh?”

Holt nods.

Accepting that as an invitation to rub her breasts in his face, she inches closer to him. “We’re celebrating tonight. One of my friends got a big promotion at work.” She giggles. “I’m getting too old for all of this. I’m sure I’ll be hurting tomorrow.”

Holt takes a drink of his beer. “Mmmm.”

She glances at his bottle. “Looks like you’re running low. How about I get you a fresh drink and you can join us?”

I can’t see much past her hips and ass, but what I do see infuriates me.

Infuriates the hell out of me.

She runs a red-painted nail up the inside of Holt’s muscular thigh. Her voice lowers to a purr. “We could have a really good time.”

The second her fingers start to snake underneath the hem of his shorts, he snatches her hand and pushes it away. Not violently. But definitely firmly. He leans closer to her, whispering, but I can still hear him. “I am having a really good time. With my girl.” He lifts his chin, pointing in my direction.

She looks over her shoulder, studying me with an evil, judging eye. Deciding I don’t measure up to her opinion of herself, she turns back to Holt. “Are you serious?”

“As a fucking heart attack.”

By now, Cullen has come back over, eyeing our trio with suspicion. “Everything okay?”

“Put her drink on my tab,” Holt orders. “We hope you have a good evening with your friends, ma’am. We’ll let you get back to them.”

Huffing, she grabs her free drink and scurries away.

I still can’t believe how much Holt gets hit on. And this woman didn’t even seem to know he’s some famous football player. I think she just wanted him because he’s super-hot. I watch as she weaves through the crowd. She’s wearing really high heels and a short, tight red dress. It rides up her ass with every step. And her circular neckline is cut so low, a small breeze would probably cause her nipples to flop out.

I absolutely hated when Edward asked me to wear outfits like that. The black dresses were a compromise. He hated when I wore vibrant colors. So, I compromised with black. It was at least better than beige. He wanted me to wear dresses so short the common passerby could perform a gynecological exam on me. I preferred shorts and leggings. So, I compromised with the black dresses at mid-thigh.

Compromise, compromise, compromise.

Fucking compromise.

And the bastard still cheated on me.

“Are you okay?” Cullen’s voice draws me back into the moment.

“Huh?”

“You look like you smell something bad. Your face is all scrunched up.”

I feel the red heat of embarrassment shooting across my cheeks like a flare.

Holt immediately starts laughing. “That’s the face she makes when I get hit on. She hates it.”

I sit up in my seat. “What!”

Cullen chuckles. “Ahh, like Ella rolling her eyes.”

My mouth falls open, and I stutter to find the right words. “I didn’t… I don’t…”

Holt scoots closer, closing the space between us so no one else can weasel their way in. “Oh, but you do.” He playfully winks, making me angry and giddy at the same time.

We spend the next hour talking. Will eventually shows up, returning to the bar after sneaking home to tuck the kids into bed. The area around us clears out a little when the band starts to play, and the majority of the crowd shifts over to the next room to hear them. Holt asks if I want to get closer to the band, listen to the music, dance.

I love music as much as the next person, but I’m quite content where I am— listening to Holt, Cullen, and Will hash out old stories. Their families remind me so much of my own.

After a while, I excuse myself to go to the restroom. Walking past the pool tables, I actually see the older, adult sister of one of the small kids who comes into the store frequently. Stopping, I chat for a few minutes. I’m surprised when I see Holt’s large frame wandering to the back of the bar. He’s scanning the room, searching for something.

Or someone.

Maybe me?

When he spots me, he breaks out into a massive smile. I hate the way it makes my heart thunder in my chest.

But I also love it. And that’s damn scary.

He points at me, mouthing the question to ask if I’m okay. I smile and nod, letting him know that I’m good. He heads back to the bar while I say goodbye to my customer and continue on to the bathroom. After washing my hands, I’m heading out the door when a large group of hyper, college-aged girls come racing in.

And one slams right into me.

Spilling her bright red drink all down the front of my yellow blouse.

“Ah! My Hurricane!” The plastic cup tumbles to the floor and rolls underneath the first bathroom stall.

I stare down at my soaked top. The red liquid covers me from neck to stomach. My wet shirt clings to my chest, highlighting the valley between my breasts like a well-traveled road.

Freakin’ great.

Her little doe eyes widen like saucers when she sees what’s happened to me. “Oh no! I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Look at your shirt.”

Grabbing a handful of paper towels, I wipe the rogue drops of liquor streaming down my arms. “Yeah.”

Her friends gather around, studying the damage. Whispering, they wait on my reaction. “I’m really sorry. Was it expensive?”

I politely smile. “No, it’s fine. It was an accident.”

“Are you sure?” She scrambles down, fiddling with the zipper on her clutch. “Let me get some cash. I can pay for your dry-cleaning. I feel just terrible about this.”

Like dry-cleaning stands a chance against this shirt. It officially just became a dust rag.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t worry about it. Have a good night.”

I make my way back up to the front. I tug the purse from my shoulder and hold it in front of my body. I guess Holt can tell something is going on because he lifts an eyebrow, studying me with narrowed eyes. I ignore his look and give him a fake smile.

But he’s not buying what I’m selling.

His arm darts in front of me, blocking me from sitting on my barstool. “What’s going on?”

“What? Nothing.”

His smile fades and his brow furrows.

Once again, I’m annoyed that he can read my mind.

Or my face.

I guess both.

He shakes his head. “I can tell something’s wrong. You need to tell me because I won’t let it go.”

Growling in frustration, I drop my purse and stare up at the ceiling. Things like this should embarrass me. But… I’m me. Way worse things than this have happened. My head jerks forward when I hear more laughter mixed with Holt’s rambunctious cackle.

Cullen and Will are both shocked by my current appearance. Not shocked enough to keep their chuckles to themselves, however. Holt swivels on his stool. Leaning back against the bar, he turns his ballcap around backward and folds his hands behind his head.

I follow his every move. My mouth grows dry and my body grows restless. He has no idea how sexy he looks when he does that.

Or maybe he does…which is possibly why he keeps doing it.

He clears his throat. “Get into a fight with a pitcher of fruit punch?”

“Nope. The fruit punch knows I can kick its ass. This,” I touch my shirt, “is the work of a hurricane.”

Holt shakes his head in good humor. “Only you, Mer.”

Cullen rolls his eyes. “Oh man, don’t tell me those college girls are already shit-faced?”

I shake my head. “No, they didn’t seem drunk. This was just an accident. I was leaving the bathroom right as they were coming in. She bumped into me by accident.”

Will taps Holt on the shoulder, grabbing his attention. “Take her in back. There’s an extra box of bar T-shirts next to the whiskey order.” He frowns at me. “It’ll be too big for you, Merit, but at least it’s clean.”

“That will be great, Will. I really appreciate it.”

Allowing Holt to grab my hand, I let him lead me through the bar, past a swinging door, and into the back room. There’s shelves and boxes filled with liquor on the right—gins, tequilas, vodkas…anything and everything. To the left is a large, refrigerated room with beer and kegs. At the far end are two large wooden desks with computers, and overflowing with paperwork. Behind the desks is a shelf of whiskey and one lone box. Letting go of my hand, Holt opens it and pilfers through it.

I grip my purse with both hands, unsure what to do now that his fingers aren’t wrapped around mine. It’s unnerving how attached I’ve grown to that feeling in just a couple of days—the feeling of being connected to him.

“What’s your favorite color?” Holt asks.

“Blue.” Like your eyes. I keep that last part to myself, of course.

Tugging a blue T-shirt from the box, he proudly holds it out, waiting on me to grab it. I glance around, looking for a separate room for me to change in.

There isn’t one.

Holt’s voice is low and raspy. He tosses the T-shirt on one of the desks. “You change here.” He walks past me, gently grazing his body against mine. “I promise to be good.” He leans against one of the shelves, watching the doorway, standing vigil.

My mouth drops open, and I slowly exhale, doing my best to keep my panting breath silent, lest I sound like a dog in heat. Setting my purse on a stack of purchase orders, I pull the alcohol-soaked shirt from my body. The pink liquid even soaked through to my bra. Grabbing the fresh T-shirt, I flip it around, trying to grab the hem. Right then, my elbow hits the table lamp on the desk and sends it flying to the floor. The plastic lampshade cracks.

“Merit!”

I don’t have time to tell him to stop. I don’t have time to tell him not to look. His reflexes are too fast.

I mean, he did win two Super Bowls.

For a second, he doesn’t see my body. He only looks at my face and the cracked lamp, rolled halfway under the shelf stacked with the whiskey. “Are you okay?”

“I… I think I broke the lamp.”

And then he looks at me.

All the air is immediately sucked from the room. The filtered noise of the crowd disappears. The pounding music from the band evaporates. Even the beating of my own heart stops. Silence falls, creating a thick, soupy wall between us.

His eyes slowly cascade down my body, absorbing the sight of me, standing there, in my bra and shorts. His chest heaves, searching for the oxygen that I can’t find.

Looking down, I’m ashamed by what he must see. My plain, nude-colored bra is tie-dyed with splotches of the spilled cocktail. If Edward were standing in front of me, he would probably be yelling by now. Or pouting like a spoiled little brat. He refused to let me wear normal undergarments. No simple white cotton panties. No plain, nude-colored bras—even though they are the most practical (outside of my sports bras for work) because I can wear them under anything without the color bleeding through. He wanted sexy at all times. According to their husbands, the other high society wives wore sexy lingerie, so that meant I had to as well. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a lie. The couple of times I got roped into shopping with some of them, it’s like I was in the middle of a soft-core porn movie. Push-up bras, thongs, garter-belts. And everything was black. Black lace, black satin, black silk.

And see-through was a must.

It’s actually pretty gross when the seventy-year-old wife of the eighty-year-old law firm partner is wearing see-through panties and wants you to help her try on a leather and suede dress in Saks.

Before Edward, I liked to take the most practical approach to my underwear. I’d wear all of my crazy, happy colors on the outside, and put the tame ones on the inside. I can wear taupe underwear with a white outfit, but I can’t wear black lace with it. It shows through. Plus, the lace is bumpy. Why spend the money on something I can’t wear all the time?

And don’t get me started on the see-through part. Why would I want the grocery boy to see my nipple hard-on while I’m buying ice cream?

But no one could ‘beat’ Edward.

So…that meant I had to wear thongs. Thongs that made my asshole raw.

I could’ve said no.

But yelling Edward and pouting Edward were both equally hated by me during our time together.

He wasn’t worth the effort.

But now?

Now, I really wish I was wearing some sexy black number. With lace trim. With push-up cups, that make my large breasts perk like they did five years ago.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble under my breath, apologizing for my lackluster appearance.

Holt takes two steps forward. My body feels scorched by his stare. “I’ll buy them a new one.”

Huh?

Oh. He thinks I’m apologizing about the lamp. I look down at the floor, wondering if I should pick it up first, or put the T-shirt on first.

I side glance at him. He cocks his head, absorbing me to memory. “But that’s not why you’re apologizing, is it?”

My mind can’t be that easy to read? Can it?

Looking back to the lamp, I blink several times, take a deep breath, and force my head back up. I’m surprised to find him standing right in front of me. His body looms over me, shadowing my nakedness from the rest of the room. Nerves quiver in my stomach. My thundering heart pumps scalding blood through every nook and cranny of my body, making me feel on fire.

My brain swims with only one thought.

Him.

I need him to extinguish the inferno consuming me.

“Why are you really apologizing, Mer?” His whisper is so low, if he were any farther away from me, I wouldn’t be able to hear it.

I lick my lips. “It’s not important.”

“It’s important to me. Everything you do is important to me. Everything you think, everything you say.”

I swallow. My throat makes a weird gurgling sound. “But why?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Or maybe I do, and I’m too afraid to say it. Too afraid to scare you away. But I feel like you’re the truth after a lifetime of frauds. I finally feel like a believer. And not a skeptic.” He reaches up and grabs the backward ballcap from his head, tossing it over on one of the desks.

The flex of his muscles deprives me of all common sense, and before I know what’s happening, I’m dropping the shirt to the floor, and my trembling fingers are brushing across his tight stomach, traveling up the ridges of his ribs.

Holy shit.

I’m really glad he wore his shirt untucked tonight.

He sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth. His eyes dance across my face.

And lower.

He studies the mounds of my cleavage.

His eyes hood with desire, mimicking my own, I’m sure. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

I shake my head. “No.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t lie, Merit.”

“Mmmm?”

“You want me to kiss you. It’s written all over your face.”

When I don’t say anything, he slides his hand across the bare skin of my back and presses his body against mine. His calloused fingers trace my spine. The steel length of his erection digs into my stomach. It feels more erotic, more sensual, than anything I ever did with my husband.

And my body responds. My nipples harden to the point of pain, and wetness soaks my core.

“Tell me the truth.”

I’m not sure how he expects me to even form an answer. My brain has no blood flow; it’s all in my clit. “What do you think, sir ?”

His chuckle is short-lived as he turns almost feral.

He crashes his mouth to mine. Our kiss isn’t innocent. It doesn’t start as some closed-mouth peck and then morph into something more.

It’s already something more .

From the very first second.

His tongue pushes into my mouth, tangling and tasting. My hands leave his chest and circle around to his back. My nails scratch against him, begging him to hold me tighter, kiss me deeper. With wild abandon. And he listens. With a firm, yet gentle tug, he pulls my hair, snapping my neck, exposing my throat. He trails kisses around my jaw, down the length of my neck, and across my collarbone. I can’t decide if I want him to keep kissing lower or come back to my lips.

My breasts throb with the need to be touched, but my mouth is so lonely.

So damn lonely.

He must hear my silent plea as he races back up, plunging his tongue into my mouth once again.

I feel like I’m walking on air, walking through time and space with more happiness and joy than I ever thought possible.

With more passion. More desire.

More… everything.

And then, reality slides the carpeted air right out from under my feet.

“Oh! Sorry!” Cullen’s voice echoes through my brain and bounces around like a marble.

My vision is blurry, and I have to blink several times to clear the heated fog from my head.

Good thing Holt has fast reflexes. He quickly spins around and blocks my state of undress from Cullen’s shocked eyes. “Really, C? Whatever you need couldn’t wait five fucking minutes?”

Cullen doubles over in laughter. “We need beer, man. It’s a bar. What do you expect me to do?” I peek around Holt’s shoulder and watch as Cullen looks from us to the lamp on the floor. “Fun times?”

I stand on my tiptoes, grabbing Holt’s waist for balance. There’s a low rumble in his chest that makes it hard for me to focus. I clear my throat. “I accidentally broke your lamp. I’ll be happy to replace it. Or reimburse you.”

Cullen opens the door to the fridge and grabs a case of beer. “Trust me, the look on Holt’s face is more than payment enough.” His good-humored laugh resonates through the room even after he leaves.

I bury my head between Holt’s shoulder blades and let the burn of bright red embarrassment drown my face. My lips tangle against his shirt. “I’m sorry,” I say, for what feels like the umpteenth time tonight.

He spins around. Trying to ignore my swollen and heaving chest, he rubs his hands against the chill bumps that have suddenly covered my arms. “For what?”

“For embarrassing you in front of your friend.”

His face breaks out into a wide smile. “Embarrassing me ?” He lifts his eyebrows. “When Cullen was in middle school, Ridge and I once caught him taking a shit behind a bush in the backyard because we were throwing a party, and he didn’t want the girls to smell him. I think he’s the one who should be embarrassed.”

The image makes me giggle so hard I snort.

Holt picks up the discarded bar T-shirt and clicks his tongue, motioning with his head for me to lift my arms in the air. He slides the T-shirt over my head, and my body shudders at every single spot where he touches me.

He gently grabs my face and caresses his thumb across my lips. “Just so you know, there’s nothing you could ever do that would embarrass me.”

“You obviously don’t know me well enough.”

I watch in heated passion as Holt licks his lips. “Let’s resolve that problem, shall we?”

And when his mouth slants over mine, sending visions of a lifetime of perfect kisses—just like this one—flooding into my brain, I have no other option but to kiss him harder. Fuck reading my face and my mind. I need him to read my heart.