by McGee,J. B.
The percussion increases in volume and intensity the longer we wait. “Next up is a day of hiking, fishing, and dinner by the campfire. Would the lady with the receipt ending in zero seven twenty-eight please step forward.”
Holding my breath as my gaze goes back and forth between Holden and Oliver, I’m frozen in place. This isn’t my package, either. Because hiking is basically exercising. I don’t like slimy things, and I definitely don’t like bug bites or the smell of bug spray.
Let’s say Holden did win this package of Charity’s. Am I overthinking all this? That doesn’t mean he was conspiring with her against me. It doesn’t mean he was trying to hurt me. Maybe he thinks I like all those things. I mean, it’s been a long time since we spent any quality time together. Our families used to go on hiking trips. Maybe that’s why I hate them so much.
And he’s been known to be an ass, a tease. Who’s to say that he’s not made me his own personal entertainment for the evening? That sounds like something the troublemaker would do. And goodness knows he made plenty of trouble in high school.
But nothing compared to what his father did.
I’ve known him for a long time, but surely some things are simply innate. Perhaps trusting Holden Masters could be just as catastrophic as it proved to be for his mother.
I blow out a breath through my smile. Of course, the only person left to step forward is Charity, and she does. Unlike in pageants, the last one standing is not the winner because I’m the one with the crushed dreams. My eyes avert from her to Oliver.
He shrugs and mouths, “Sorry, babe.” Then, he stands, walks to the stage, and helps Charity down.
What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened?
I gulp, and it’s as if I’ve swallowed all the blood and color in my body. Holden not only knew my package, but he bid and won it.
Of course he did. With cocky ease.
I can’t watch Charity and Oliver. I can’t look at the crowd. Not even at my mother. The only person I find my eyes being drawn to are his. His electric blue orbs are sparkling off the lights like crystal clear water glistens beneath the light of the sun. They belong to Holden. I swallow. His grin never leaves his face, but he straightens in his chair, uncrosses his arms, and leans his elbows on his knees. He rests his chin in his palms, and it’s like he’s watching the ending of his favorite movie. Not that I’d know what that movie is. I used to.
E.T.
I used to see him like this at the end of that one. It was like he was happy and a little sad all at the same time.
Instead of the people chanting for a kiss like they did with Amie and Brendon, there are gasps and whispers. But it’s like they’re all disappearing, and all I really want to do is crawl in a corner. The easiest option is probably to run to a safe place, wherever the hell that might be. Those alternatives are socially unacceptable.
And besides, Holden knows this place blindfolded. He’d find me.
Wincing isn’t even okay in this situation. I maintain my smile. He thinks I’m smiling for him. Am I?
All I can wonder is if his mother rigged it for him? She’s always been so sweet, humble, and compassionate. Even though Holden did hang out with a less than stellar group of teenagers, the ones who smoked in the bathrooms, spent their afternoons in detention instead of extra-curricular activities, and barely passed their classes, Ms. Masters made their home open to all of those kids. There were always cars there, and Mom would tell me how she fed some of them every meal they got.
Maybe that only fueled the rumor mill. Maybe that’s why her relationship with my mother has become strained over the year. I’m sure my mom would have done the same thing, but my father wouldn’t have it.
Georgette Masters wouldn’t do anything to harm a fly, let alone one of her friends’ daughters.
Holden’s sly smile hasn’t changed throughout the night, but I furrow my brows, and he does the same. What exactly does that mean? Did he mean to bid on Charity’s auction and messed up just the way Oliver had? Surely not.
But that’s it! Charity is in love with Holden. I am positive I can talk Charity into switching with us. She’d get what she wants, as would Oliver and I. Yes! That’s it. Holding my head high, I push my shoulders back and wait for Harry to announce my package.
“We obviously don’t need your number, dear. This package belongs to the ever-beautiful Camellia Spencer. It’s a lazy beach day and romantic dinner at Sunset Cove.”
I tilt my head to the side, waiting expectantly for Holden to stand. My eyes aren’t the only ones on him. Everyone’s watching Holden, which allows my breaths to come a little easier. If they’re all looking at him, then no one is looking at me. I assume he’s got all the attention because they knew he bid on a package, and mine is the only one left.
As Holden stands, then walks to the stage, it’s as if everything is in slow motion. The crowd’s blurred in the background. The thumping that sounds like speakers about to be blown is really my heart about to pound its way out of my chest only to land on the hard ground and shatter. With each step he takes, I flash back to his lips on mine, my finger in his mouth. My body tingles the way it did when his hand crept up my skirt at the table.
With each movement he makes, my body rebels against me, clenching, pulling, and twisting. In this moment, everything I experienced in the cabana, when I was really vulnerable to him, is magnified exponentially. My chest starts to burn. Instead of a scarlet A on my chest, it feels like it’s been branded on my face, no, microscopically on every pore.
If I could, I’d dry my sweaty palms, but again, socially unacceptable. Well, maybe not. But it’d sure be a sign that I’m not calm, cool, and collected. And that is what is expected.
Taking a step, I meet Holden at the stairs as he holds out his hand for me. I place mine in his as I carefully walk down to meet him. The rims of the drum are tapped as a band member counts off the start to a slow song. Holden’s never looked cockier, a single eyebrow lifted and a crooked smile. He’s also never looked sexier.
Holden whispers into my ear as he wraps me in his arms, “I, at least, expected Oliver to put up a fight. How in the hell did he guess the wrong package entirely?”
My eyes widen. “I have no idea. Honestly, I am mortified. Seems to be the theme of the night. I hoped this was all a big mix-up.” Shaking my head, I glance away, then back at him. “How much can I pay you to finally make Charity’s dreams come true?”
He chuckles, as he spins me, then pulls me quickly into his arms. “This was definitely not a mix-up, and the only person’s dreams I’m interested in making come true are my own.” He raises his brows and it’s like someone’s released butterflies to dance in rhythm with us…in my stomach. He inches in closer to my face, so close his minty breath mixed with his woodsy scent fills my nostrils. “I’m a selfish bastard like that, but you’re a part of my dreams, so I am pretty sure that I ended up right where I’m supposed to be.”
The butterflies shift. My stomach drops the way it used to when I was brave and fearless—when I rode roller coasters. But I’m clearly neither of those because if I were, I’d ride Holden.
Stop. It.
There’s only one way I can think to cool myself down from my body’s rising temperature, and that’s to get some space from him. As we swirl around the dance floor, I’m facing Oliver for the first time. As usual, he’s paying me no attention. He and Charity are smiling. Their laughs are so loud it’s like they’re right beside us. Their feet even move in perfect harmony like they’ve been dance partners for years.
That makes all the butterflies stop. And the beats of my heart. Well, at the very least, it skipped a few before racing again. I can’t be jealous of their fancy dancing when Holden and I did so much more than that in the cabana. In perfect fucking rhythm no less.
Realizing I’m holding my breath, I exhale. “Whatever,” I say, taking the lead to move us closer to my fiancé.
“Oh no you don’t.” Holden’s grip around my waist tightens, turning me in
the opposite direction, gliding far away from Oliver and Charity. And ensuring my back is now facing them. Taking that as my cue, I spin out from the side where we’re holding hands—as far as I can go—hoping he has to release me, but his grip is tighter than ever. “Did you know the tango is the dance of lovers?” He jerks me against his solid body, closer than we were before. “And it’s against the rules to break hold.”
“Almost accidental lovers, asshole.”
“Maybe that time, but not next time, tigress.”
“There won’t be a next time.” I glance over my shoulder looking for Oliver, waiting for him to storm over, cut in, and cause a scene over another man’s attention toward me. Would it be wrong to admit that Holden pursuing me feels good?
Hell yeah, it’s wrong. Every bit of this night has been wrong.
Earlier with Luke, and now with Holden, Oliver’s not even batted an eyelash. Was Holden right about what I deserve and his observations of Oliver? What if Oliver’s actions speak louder than his words?
Like earlier, my eyes scan the room, looking anywhere other than at the two men consuming my every thought.
“Look at me,” Holden urges. I don’t. “Want me to be serious about something?” Okay, so I do look at him.
I nod. “Serious and honest. That’d be a welcomed change. I’m just not sure you’re even capable.”
He cocks his head, as if he’s contemplating the statement. “I knew that date was yours because I’ve watched, Cammie. I’ve known you my entire life despite your efforts to distance yourself from me as much as possible. I’m aware of all the things you like.” As soon as his tongue darts out and licks his lips, my eyes are drawn to them. His fingers strum my back, sending electrifying pings all the way to my core. “And I’ve learned so much more from our first time being intimate together. Even if that was an accident.”
I inch up on the tip of my toes as my feet are being swept across the floor, nearly dancing on air. “Shh! And you seem to be delusional in thinking there will be a second. So, correction. Only time together.”
“We’ll see.” He laughs. “But regardless, I’m guessing I know more about how to please you than he does. Just like how I knew your package better than he did. Hell, he didn’t even know it at all.” He arches his damn eyebrow, causing a quiver to quake through me. “And you don’t have to tell me if I’m right because I can read you like a book, and on this date, I’m going to prove to you that I’m not who you think I am…that you’ve made a huge mistake with Oliver.”
“I—” The music fades as applause fills the room. What are you going to say, Cammie? No one’s ever said anything like this shit to me.
“What?” he asks.
That he’s all kinds of too late. Say it. Say it, Cammie. The room grows silent as the song is switched. “Never mind.” I shake my head. And even though I’ve released him, he places his hand at the base of my spine, following my lead for the first time on the way back to our assigned dinner seats.
Should I be surprised that we make it back to the table before Oliver? That he wouldn’t be bothered that he’s been away from me so long? That he wouldn’t miss me or be upset that another man is acting more like my date than he is?
Finally, when he sits beside me, I lean in and try to be as quiet as possible. The last thing that’s acceptable at something like this is airing dirty laundry. “How the actual fuck did you screw this up? What happened to ‘you’re about to be my wife, I think I can pick your package’?”
He shrugs, like someone’s asked him if he knows the time, but he doesn’t have a watch. My eyes are drawn to the red roses in the center of the table. All I see is red. This better be good. Like rocket science, fucking genius good.
“I figured it was you being thoughtful. You know how damn much I love to hike. Figured you’d made the date something I liked to do so it would be obvious to me.”
“It’s…” I inhale, dragging in a deep breath before putting the fakest smile on my face of all time. I clench my fists below the table. “It’s my dream date, not yours, Oliver. Everything is always about you, though, isn’t it?”
“We’re not doing this here. What’s done is done. Live with it.” Did he just treat me like my mother used to treat me when I didn’t get my way in high school?
Closing my eyes, I bite the side of my cheek. Reaching for the knife, I cut into the juicy steak that’s just been delivered. At least one thing’s gone my way. They waited to serve the rest of our food until our part in the auction was done so it’s not ice cold. I’m not sure whose idea it was to do that stupid idea of a fundraiser in the middle of dinner.
I can sense Holden’s presence on my other side, breathing in his woodsy, fresh scent mixed with my perfume. The smell of us.
There is no us.
His breath is on my ear, and I hope the goosebumps erupting everywhere on my body aren’t visible to anyone else. “Remind me where you found your definition of asshole? Was that in Webster? Because I think if I were to look it up, it’d have his name in the example instead of mine.”
Glaring at him, I take a bite, and then drop my utensils, the taste of bile overpowering every other sense. “Please excuse me, y’all.”
As I walk around the grounds, I can’t help but wonder if I’m really making the biggest mistake of my life, or if Holden’s just screwing with me because he hates these events—like I’m some game to play to pass the time?
How could my fiancé not know me well enough to pick my package? How could Oliver seem so casual about the possibility of taking another girl on a date? He seemed so relaxed and comfortable with Charity in his arms on the dance floor. He also couldn’t have seemed to have cared less that I just left him at the table alone. What guy doesn’t go after the girl when she runs away? Does he even give a fuck about my feelings? Did he intentionally stand me up in the cabana?
I shake my head. He loves me. He’s just preoccupied and distracted by the Ken McIvoy project.
He may love me, but so does my brother. There’s a difference between being in love and loving someone.
But does Oliver make love to me? Are we lovers?
I’m not sure what we do can even be called making love. Holden’s kiss did more for me than sex with Oliver. Some things should just come naturally. I shouldn’t have to try to make the sex hot with the person I’m about to marry.
Somehow, my feet made their way back to the front door stoop of the cabana. As if I didn’t manage to get myself into enough trouble here earlier, I reach into my bra and pull out the key to the door. After placing the key in the hole and turning the knob, I take one step in before my eyes are fixed on the wall Holden pushed me against earlier.
Stupid. Why did I come back here?
Closing the door, I let my weight fall against it. I clench my eyes closed and let the memories of him watching as I straightened my skirt play. Despite the clothing that covers me, I shiver. This is all his fault. How dare he come in and act like he has some kind of claim over me? My blood boils deep within my heart. Even with the fury escalating, I’d be lying if I denied the fact I briefly considered stripping in front of him and letting him continue to do whatever the hell he pleased. How exactly is that his fault, Cammie?
Shaking my head, I take a few steps, then plop down on the couch, letting out a sigh. I’ve always fought the way Holden makes me feel, the effect he’s always had on me. Why? For the sake of pleasing my parents, this stupid little Magnolia Grove society as a whole?
A Spencer with the Masters boy?
No, that’s the ultimate of unacceptable. At least now it was after everything that happened with his father. What if Holden’s right, though? What if I want more for my life than Oliver? Even if that’s not actually Holden.
I think I really do deserve better. It’s just that Holden can’t be better. And even if I end things with Oliver, there’s an overwhelming, nearly paralyzing fear of calling off the wedding. What would people think? Burying my head into my hands, I close my eyes. I
didn’t even realize how much they were burning until I get the instant relief of them being shut.
The cabana’s far enough away that I can’t hear the sound of the band or the chatter of the people. Without Holden or Oliver at my side, I exhale loudly. Maybe if after doing this a couple of times it doesn’t work, I can find another pillow to scream into. That made me feel a little better earlier. No, that’s not what’s going to fix this.
Time.
I just need some time to clear my head.
My body stiffens, my head pops up, and my heartbeat quickens at the sound of footsteps approaching. There are only two people who would come after me. My stomach flips, flutters, and bile rises in my throat, the nausea stirring. My face reddens, once again my body betraying me because, despite the unintentional betrayal to Oliver, the only thing I can think about is how I hope those footsteps belong to Holden.
Clenching my jaw tight and squeezing my fists, thinking about Oliver makes me want to scream. Scream and punch something. And I’ve never been the aggressive type. How would Oliver know I came here? The more I ponder who it could be, the more I know in my heart it has to be Holden. I knew earlier if I tried to escape the hell that’s been tonight he’d find me. He found me here earlier. It’s become abundantly clear Oliver never pays attention to what I want. From the way we spend our quality time to the ring he chose, even the location of his proposal, it’s always been about what he likes. What he wants. If only he’d paid any attention to me at all, he would have won my auction.
Was I the one to upset her or was it just all too much? I’m thinking this heaviness in my chest is probably what it feels like to be an asshole. Except, I’m watching Oliver, who has me trumped. He’s resumed business talk with his buddies, as if nothing’s happened, as if no one is missing from this goddamn table.
I narrow my eyes, clenching my jaw. Is sitting on his ass all he knows how to do? Did no one teach him that when a girl runs away she wants to be chased? Since Oliver fails to move a muscle, refusing to go after her, then maybe I’ll use this to my advantage. I will. I knew he was a special kind of douche. But this. This is just mind fuckin’ blowing.
