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Prologue
Holt
Four years ago
“You are such a fucking stud!” My stepbrother and best friend, Watson Brooks, catapulted himself at me, nearly knocking me over as he wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug. “You did it!” he exclaimed as he lifted me off the ground. He was six foot three and two-hundred-plus pounds of solid muscle.
I shoved at his chest. “Oh my God, put me down.” I could feel the blush creeping up my neck. “You’re embarrassing me.” I scoffed, even though I secretly liked it.
I loved the attention he wasn’t afraid to give me. He was Watson Brooks, mister popular racecar driver, and I was, well, Holt Walker, nerdy, shy nobody, and everything he wasn’t.
“You love it,” he teased before he placed me back on my feet and hooked an arm around my shoulders. “You know”—he squeezed tightly—” if Mom were here, she’d totally take us out to celebrate.” Our parents, my dad and his mom, were away celebrating their third wedding anniversary.
I rolled my eyes. “It’s just a chess tournament. Not a big deal.” I tried to untangle myself from Watson, but he was too strong.
Lately, things had felt funny for me. The pull I had, the feelings, everything, felt like they were wired wrong, and when he touched me... Yeah, it wasn’t right. I had developed this stupid crush on my stepbrother that simply refused to go away, no matter how far I pushed it back down inside of me.
“Not a big... H, are you serious?” Watson moved, so he was in front of me, and planted his enormous hands on my shoulders. “It’s huge!” He broke out into a giant smile that made my stomach do this funny somersault thing while his dark brown eyes sparkled with happiness. “I am not going to let my brother act like he is not the smartest person at Myers Park High, not to mention the brainiest dude I know. We’re going out.” He wiggled his brows.
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
“Watson,” I warned.
“Holt,” he growled right back.
Why, why, why did I have to fall in love with... Wait, was that was this was? Because I wasn’t sure what love even was. I was eighteen, a senior in high school, one of a handful of gay kids, never been kissed, and Watson was... Fuck. Yep, I was totally in love with him. The coolest, the nicest, not to mention the friendliest guy in school, and my stepbrother. He went out of his way to make sure everyone liked him, and I was head over heels in love with him. Hell. Why me?
“Is that a yes? Because I don’t hear you protesting anymore.” Watson moved to hug me again, but I stepped back before he could get too close. “Holt, come on!” His shoulders slumped forward as he dropped his chin to his chest. His blond hair flopped down into his eyes, and it took all my strength not to push it back from his forehead. The things I wanted to do to him.
Help me. “Fine, but I don’t want—”
“I knew it!” Watson clapped his hands happily before engulfing me in another one of his bone-crushing hugs. “Nothing big, just us,” he assured me. “Watts and H.”
“Watson and Holt,” I corrected him. “Dinner. That’s it.”
He nodded. “That’s it.”
Why did he have to smell so good? The scent of gasoline and exhaust were probably gross to most people, but to me, it meant Watson. It reminded me of home.
“Just us?”
That was different. Normally, when our parents were gone, Watson wanted to throw some big party, but just the two of us? I peered up at him warily.
“Come on, come on! Let’s go.” He ushered me out the door before I had a chance to change my mind.
***
Everyone at the Waffle House knew Watson. Most of the kids there either went to our school, had already graduated, or knew of him from his racing career. So, as we sat in the booth waiting to place our order, people would stop and say hello. It made me more nervous than I already was.
“Do you know what you’re getting?” I kept my eyes cast down on the menu, afraid to look up at him. When he didn’t answer, I had no choice but glance up.
Watson grinned at me. “Winners get waffles.” He sat back and crossed his arms over his massive chest.
I was pretty sure he was just going to keep growing until he was seven feet tall. When we first met, at fifteen, he already towered over me. I was barely pushing five-six now, and I didn’t think I would get much bigger. I was built like my mom—something I was going to have to get used to. I didn’t have any memories of her, since she had died when I was two, but I had seen plenty of pictures.
“Um, what?” I stuttered.
