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“I have to run to the store and pick up a few things. Do either of you need anything?”
“Nope,” Hollis and I reply at the same time.
“Okay. If you think of anything, just message.”
He strides down the street, and Hollis and I walk silently back to our building. He holds the door open, and we don’t say a word until we’re alone in the elevator.
“What in the actual fuck, Hollis?”
He leans against the rail. “I didn’t know you were going to the diner.”
“This is about way more than the diner.” I cross my arms. “You don’t get to kiss me, tell me it’s a mistake, and shove me into the arms of someone else you deem more age appropriate, then act like a territorial ass and ruin the fucking date you sent me on!” I snap.
“You’re—”
I hold up a hand. “I’m not done.” The elevator stops, and the doors slide open.
An adorable elderly couple gets on with us. As usual, we talk about the weather. When we reach my floor, I give Hollis a pointed look, and he gets off the elevator with me.
“Do you have a foot fetish or something?” I whisper-hiss once the doors close behind us.
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”
“What? No. You were the one rubbing my foot on your dick, not the other way around.” I hate how good it felt to have him touching me though.
“You were playing footsies with me under the table,” he reminds me.
“You crashed my date, Hollis!” I’m so furious, and turned on, and confused. “You either want me or you don’t.”
The smirk slides off his face. “It’s not that simple, Princess.”
I stalk down the hall, and he falls into step beside me.
“Isn’t it, though? You can’t play head games with me. It’s not fair.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“You’re saying one thing and doing the opposite. I’m pretty sure that’s the working definition of head games.”
“You don’t want to date that kid,” he grumbles.
It annoys me that he calls him a kid when Jameson and I are the same age. “You mean you don’t want me to date him.” I stop when I reach my apartment, then remember the girls are still there, waiting for a report. I can’t invite Hollis in to continue an argument that’s probably going nowhere good.
Hollis crosses his deliciously thick forearms across his equally thick chest. “You’re right. I don’t want you to date him. He’s too fame-smitten, and not smitten enough with you.”
He’s not wrong. Jameson spent the entire meal talking to my dad and not me. He didn’t even try to include me in the conversation much. That was all my dad, and only occasionally. Meanwhile, Hollis sat there, being gorgeous and doing bad things under the damn table with his best friend right beside him and my date across from him. The fucking nerve. “So what’s your plan? Are you going to vet every guy I date until you deem one worthy of my attention?”
“If that’s what it takes to make sure you don’t end up with an asshole, then yes.”
I prop my fist on my hip and lean in, eyes narrowed. My anger is made that much worse when I’m forced to rage-whisper because we’re still in the damn hall outside my apartment. “There’s one sure-fire way to ensure that.”
He gives me a dark look. “You know that can’t happen.”
I throw my hands in the air. My frustration is boundless. “You can’t keep saying that and then pull the shit you did today!”
His expression shifts, and his arms drop to his sides. Shame lurks behind his eyes. “I know.”
“Then why did you do it in the first place?” My heart aches so badly. He’s right here in front of me, but he’s so far out of reach. Sure, I’m lying to my dad and hockey players should be on my date-never list. Hollis just looks so earnest as he regards me. And I’m so angry at him for putting us in a box labeled don’t open when it’s clear he feels some type of way.
