Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2) Page 7

  “Exactly. Which is why we’ve graduated from the stock market to weather.”

  I laugh, and cherish her return grin. “Oh, I see. So what does a guy have to do to get to sports scores?”

  “I’m not sure you could handle that,” she responds with a sly look.

  “Oh, really?” I ask, warming to the challenge.

  “October is the best month for sports.”

  And the magic vanishes as Wes steps in.

  Spence is up front with Jesse, Eli and Sweeny, Casey and Callie are hand-in-hand several paces behind, which leaves our awkward threesome bringing up the rear.

  “Oh, hey, Wes,” Holland greets, and I have to admit I like the slight hint of disappointment in her tone. I don’t know if he picks up on it, but he clearly has no intention of leaving the two of us alone to explore our gentle flirting.

  “Great day for the beach,” he says, and we nod.

  “Gorgeous,” Holland replies.

  “Not as many people as I would have expected,” I add, desperate for anything to fill the uncomfortable cloud surrounding us. I can see Holland holding in a smile, and I love that she knows how awkward this is too. I’m about to excuse myself to join another group, rather than endure this agony, when Jesse, Spence, Eli, and Sweeny do us a huge favor by ripping off their shirts and plunging into the water. Casey and Callie pull to a stop, and I’m not at all surprised that Casey jumps to join them. He drags Callie after him as she screams, laughing and trying to smack him away at the same time.

  “Oh my gosh, they are so adorable,” Holland observes.

  I glance over, basking in the momentary warmth of watching the happiness of my two closest friends.

  “They’re for real,” I say.

  “Almost gives you hope, huh?”

  My stomach drops. I can’t even respond, and she studies me hard, confusing me with all kinds of emotions. I’ve completely forgotten about Wes. So has she.

  “Hope is a complicated word,” I manage finally.

  After another long silence, she nods and focuses back on our companions.

  “Come on guys! You need to get in here! The water is so warm!” They’re calling to us, waving us in from the shore.

  Holland laughs. “We should. Let’s go!”

  She pulls off her top and starts slipping out of her shorts, exposing a body that makes my mouth go dry. I can’t stop staring, any earlier reservation completely gone. As soon as she started moving, so did Wes, and he’s in the water on his way to the group before she even finishes dropping her shorts and tank a safe distance from the water’s edge.

  I still haven’t budged by the time she returns, and she gives me an annoyed look.

  “You’re still dressed!” she whines, hands on her hips.

  I laugh. “You go. I’ll guard our stuff.”

  She glares at me, making it clear that’s not going to work for her.

  “Not a chance.”

  She grabs the hem of my shirt and starts pulling it up my chest.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” I cry.

  “Stripping you so you have fun for five seconds.”

  Shocked, amused, and completely turned on, I stop resisting and let her yank it over my head. The humor fades as she stills, inches away, our bodies close, but totally off-limits to each other. She’s at the right angle that I can see her eyes through her sunglasses now, tracking every detail of my form, and I’m sure I hear her suck in her breath a bit.

  “My god,” she whispers. “Seriously?” She searches my eyes and I can sense every ounce of her sudden fascination. My blood pounds, my heart racing. She wants to touch me. It’s all over her face, her body language. She even glances at the others, testing her limits, and I follow her gaze. I’m sure I feel the same pain of frustration she does at their attention.

  We’re on stage.

  She lets out an awkward laugh and takes my hand instead, pulling me toward the waves as if nothing had happened. I have to force a smile to hide the volcano erupting inside me, and nearly wince as we step into the surf. The water may have been warm for ocean water, but it feels like ice against my burning skin.

  The others laugh and splash in the distance, but my gaze is glued to Holland. I love everything about the joy on her face as she joins in the fun. The fact that someone so deep and introspective is also able to let go so completely. It’s captivating, magnetizing. I’ve never been able to do that, not without the assistance of substances that could totally abduct my brain and mask my consciousness. I don’t regret getting clean for a second, but I do miss those moments of stepping outside my own saturated existence. It gets exhausting being me.

  “Luke, get over here!” Holland yells.

  “Yeah, come on, grumpy!’ Callie echoes, and I roll my eyes.

  “Ok, I’m coming,” I concede, fighting the small waves as they crash against my knees. I have to jump to avoid being slapped in the face by a few more, but finally reach the three of them hovering a few feet beyond the breaking point. The rest of our group is a hundred yards away, diving into the ripples, and I understand their position much better when I notice a cluster of bikini-clad women setting up nearby at the water’s edge. It’s only a matter of time before that party happens.

  “Wow, they’re pretty hot.”

  The voice startles me, and I almost jump at the intrusion.

  “Huh?”

  “Those girls.”

  “Oh, what? No,” I say, shaking my head and focusing back on Holland. She’s grinning, so I know she’s just teasing me. “Not my type,” I add, not sure why.

  “Hot girls in bikinis aren’t your type?”

  “Not unless they’re just as hot when they open their mouths.”

  She laughs. “How can you tell they’re not your type then?”

  She’s close now, way closer than she needs to be. I can feel the heat of her body, the intentional contact that can still be disguised as an accident as she pretends to squint at the gathering on the beach. It’s messing with my head again, not that I would have known how to answer her question anyway. I just know from experience and that’s not a conversation we need to have right now. Or ever.

  “I don’t know. Just my gut. They picked that spot to be noticed. They’ve been studying our boys just as much as our guys are checking them out. There’s nothing wrong with the game, it’s just not my thing.”

  “Really? Your reputation says otherwise.” Surprised, I glance over at her, and she shrugs. “What? Am I wrong?”

  I stiffen a bit, annoyed at her bluntness, at myself for making her right in the first place. “About my reputation? No. About me? Maybe.”

  “You don’t even know what I think about you yet, so how do you know?”

  “I know you think I’m hot,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood. She laughs and shoves me a bit. The playful contact is enough for my body to react again. Shit. I’m just glad the water is past my waist.

  “Everyone thinks you’re hot. That shouldn’t even count as an observation.” She quiets. “What I didn’t know was that you were also a little shy, kinda sweet, and so damn intelligent.”

  “Careful. You’re going to ruin my reputation as a badass.”

  She grins. “Don’t worry. I think your bad reputation is safe.”

  I smile and shake my head. “I said badass, not bad!”

  She returns it. “I know.” She grows serious. “I also learned you’re a hard person to avoid. Way harder than I thought.”

  I glance at her. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugs and stares off at the other group again, but I had caught her revealing gaze before it fled. “I don’t know how to explain it exactly.” She stops and shakes her head. “Let’s just let that one go, ok?” she pleads, and I’m disappointed I have to accept when Wes spots us and breaks up the conversation anyway.

  ∞∞∞

  Holland and I don’t get another moment alone on the beach, and we’ve barely even exchanged complete sentences with each other by the
time we return to the hotel to clean up for dinner. No one else seems to notice the change in our silence, no one except Wes. I can’t help but observe how he seemed to be a constant presence for the rest of the day, always the third wheel, the barrier separating us from any chance of exploring whatever that was by the water’s edge, her cryptic comments later on.

  Part of me is disappointed, but another part is strangely relieved. These feelings for Holland are confusing at best, and I’m having a terrible time converting them into a reality I can process. Better to make the entire issue a non-starter. I’m very comfortable with my plan to try to avoid her for the rest of the tour when she catches my arm just as the others disappear around the corner of the hall to their respective rooms.

  “Hey, um, do you have a sec?” she says. “Can we talk?”

  I swallow. “Yeah, sure, what’s up?”

  She glances around. “Not here. Maybe in your room or mine?”

  My heart races, blood pounding violently. The memories of her wet body close to mine is ravaging my brain. Her eyes as they scanned me with that hunger for possession. Even I’m not that stupid.

  “Holland, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say quietly.

  Our eyes meet and she knows exactly what I mean. I can tell she feels it too as she bites her lip and studies me again with a troubling intensity. It makes everything so much worse.

  “No, I know. You’re right.” She seems frustrated and grows quiet for a second. “Come out with me then,” she offers.

  I stare at her. “What do you mean?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Let’s go do something.” Suddenly, her face lights up. “Let’s play mini golf! I haven’t done that in fifteen years!”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. “Mini golf? Are you serious?”

  She shrugs. “Why not? You’re too much of a badass to slap a tiny ball around a pirate ship?”

  I grin and shake my head. I have no chance against that challenge. “You are serious! Crap. Ok, fine. But I have to warn you, I don’t think I’ve ever actually played mini golf.”

  “What?” she cries. “Never? That’s so wrong! Ok, you’re coming. Let’s go.”

  “Right now?” I laugh.

  “Yes, right now!”

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  She shrugs. “We’ll grab a hot dog or something from the snack bar. Quit whining and walk, rock star.”

  She practically pushes me back to the elevator, and I’m still in disbelief that this girl is getting me to agree to a game that involves golf clubs and pirates.

  “You don’t even want to change first?”

  “Change? What’s wrong with my outfit? You don’t like it?” she teases.

  I roll my eyes. She knows full well how good she looks. “I love your outfit, I just know you women. You have outfits for everything. I can’t believe your beach outfit is the same as your golf outfit.”

  “Ok, first of all. It’s mini golf, not golf. There is a huge difference which drastically affects the dress code.”

  I grin, loving how she can match me at every turn. “Ok, fine. And second?”

  “And second, you can just toss everything you think you know about ‘women’ out the window. It’s time someone exposes you to the big secret.” She stops and glances around before leaning close. “No two are alike,” she whispers.

  I offer a shy smile. “Fair enough. I’m sorry.”

  She’s clearly not offended, just being gently honest, and grabs my hand as the elevator doors open back to the lobby. “Let’s walk. It’s not far.”

  I like that idea as well, and am surprised when she doesn’t let go of my hand. Instead, she laces her fingers with mine, and falls into a casual stride beside me, as if this is just another walk in our long history of walks. It’s almost surreal how effortlessly she fits into my universe.

  I want to call her out on her recent behavior, which is completely at odds with her earlier warnings, but her hand feels so good in mine. I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense, I need it there at the moment and can’t risk losing my grip.

  “I’m sorry about Wes,” she begins as we move out of the hotel complex and onto the sidewalk toward Highway 17.

  “What about him?”

  She shrugs. “He’s being difficult. He’s protective, you know?”

  “I can see that.”

  “It’s complicated,” she mumbles, and something about her tone unnerves me. There’s history there, deep history that is going to impact more than I can imagine I think.

  I glance away. “It’s fine. I get it. I’m used to it,” I mutter.

  She seems hurt by that for some reason. “You shouldn’t be. It’s not fair that you have to be.”

  I try not to react. “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  She nods. “Yeah, among other things. Luke…” She pulls us to a stop and faces me. “I know I don’t really know you and you don’t know me. But I want to make sure you understand something. I don’t, I won’t, judge you for your past. I know all about the rumors and perceptions of how you were before, but I believe in the present. I want us to be friends.” She quiets and meets my eyes. “I respect you as an artist. I’m glad you’re back sharing your gift with the world.”

  I just stare for a moment, not sure how to respond to any of that. I’m filled with so many conflicting emotions I don’t know where to start. So, as usual, I go with nothing.

  “Thanks. You’re very talented too,” I manage finally, totally lame, but it’s all I’ve got. She grins and shakes her head.

  “Am I now?” she muses, moving forward again, the brief cloud lifting. This time she takes my arm, which still feels completely natural for some reason.

  “What? You’re not?” I challenge.

  “Oh, I am! Incredibly talented, actually.” I love her playful expression.

  “So what’s so funny?” I ask.

  “Nothing, just us.”

  I laugh. “Us?”

  She returns my grin and leans against me a little as we walk. “Yeah. Our conversations. The open book talking to a piece of granite. I pour out my soul and get ‘thanks,’ ‘ok,’ ‘sure.’”

  I laugh again and meet her gaze. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I advertise myself any differently?”

  She scoffs. “No, my friend. You are exactly as advertised.”

  ∞∞∞

  “Holy crap, you’re terrible!” Holland laughs as I hit the limit on yet another hole. Thankfully, the final one.

  “I told you I never played before!” I return.

  “Yeah, but the 7-stroke max was meant as a limit, not a goal!”

  I give her a mock glare. “Oh, really. Then I suppose I should stick to fronting a highly successful rock band instead of smacking a ball through fake alligators.”

  “Crocodiles.”

  “Huh?”

  “Um yeah, pretty sure those are supposed to be crocodiles.”

  “Oh, whatever! I’m hungry anyway. Let’s grab some food. What’s the final score?”

  “I have no idea. These tiny cards are way too small to keep track of all your strokes.”

  “Hilarious,” I mumble, following her to the equipment stand to return our clubs. The girl in the booth is looking at us strangely, and I try to ignore it. She thinks she recognizes us. She does, but is too shy to risk being wrong. I’m fine with that.

  I buy Holland a hot dog and drink at the snack bar, and we settle onto a painted cement ledge surrounding the tables. We’re quiet as we eat, enjoying the warm evening air and rare moment of “normal.” A couple of teens strum some rough versions of popular songs on a guitar nearby, and I can see Holland’s look of amusement as she watches them. But her smile isn’t critical, only content as she takes in these kids’ love of music and fearlessness at expressing it. Something strange happens in me as well as I study them. Watching the two boys treat that guitar like it’s the answer to something in their lives. That was me once. Hell, that was me most of my life. There wa
s a time when that was all I had.

  I jump up from the ledge, startling Holland, startling myself, but my brain has latched onto an idea and won’t let go. I move toward the boys and notice their surprise as I approach with a warm smile.

  “Hi, I’m Luke,” I say holding out my hand.

  The boys’ jaws are on the ground as they shake it. “Wait, are you…”

  “Oh, shit! You’re Luke Craven!” the other one cries.

  I exchange a smile with Holland across the snack area, suddenly filled with something I can’t identify. Joy, maybe? I don’t know what it is, but my heart is warm as I turn back to the boys and absorb their awed expressions.

  “Mind if I play with you?” I ask, motioning toward the guitar. They don’t even move at first, as if my request made no sense to them. Finally, one of them nods, eyes wide, and grabs the guitar from his friend’s hands and holds it out to me.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking it into my own. I already know from listening to them earlier that it’s grossly out of tune. The strings are dull and should have been replaced ages ago. It’s actually not a bad guitar once I get it balanced in my arms, and for rocking the snack bar at Pirate’s Adventure Mini Golf, should do just fine.

  We’ve gained a lot more attention, and I can feel the crowd gathering as I give the instrument a quick tune. The action on the guitar is rougher than I’m used to as I test out some chords, but it reminds me so much of my own beater I’ve been carrying around since I was eleven that I feel a strange air of familiarity. My “Percy” is in my hotel room now, beside my bed, waiting to hold me and comfort me like it always is. Like it had since the day my father gave it to me and told me to take care of it after he was gone. I had. It was the only thing I ever took care of.

  I draw in a deep breath and start to play. I cast a quick look toward Holland and love the moment when her face ignites in shocked recognition. Her smile is priceless, the way her eyes dance as she shakes her head, staring at me in disbelief. I almost lose my rhythm as my grin widens and I have to look away to concentrate.

  “Wait, that’s ‘Perfect Storm’!” Someone in the crowd announces. “Tracing Holland, right?”