“Yeah, yeah, you’re all put upon and tortured but you still need fun in your life. Come on, dance a few songs with me and then we’ll clean up.”
Holly’s eyes flick toward the teen girls in the corner, oblivious to anybody outside their little world. Her shoulders slump and she caves. A few songs won’t hurt. Maybe she is a bit overworked, it would explain her hallucination earlier.
Carmen cheers as Holly begins rocking in rhythm to the music. The tiny woman boogies into the back and cranks up the music until it reverberates through the café, no longer a subtle background beat.
They dance around the coffee shop, weaving around the tables. Holly ignores the young girls who watch them with fascination and awe. She dances, Carmen sings. Holly lets go for the first time in years. She doesn’t know how many songs it takes or when the teens slip out but eventually, Carmen turns the music back down and draws Holly back to reality – and cleaning.
“Feel better?” Carmen asks as they scrub at the coffee stained counter.
Holly nods. “Yeah, I really do.”
Carmen turns on her mega-watt smile. “See, just a little dancin’ can set you right as rain.”
“Thanks, Carmen.” Holly inclines her head toward her friend.
“Anytime, lady, anytime.” Carmen tosses her soiled rag in the tub. “I think it looks good out here, how’s about we do those dishes and head out?”
Holly surveys the café. It’s not bad, not how she would normally leave it for the morning shift but it’s going on ten-thirty and she really needs to get started grading those papers, and, shit, she has her own paper to finish up before her first class in the morning.
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
“Don’t go getting all tense on me again, Hol.” Carmen watches her warily.
“I’m fine. Let’s just get the dishes done and lock up.” Holly brushes off the concern. “Seriously, I’m fine, I feel so much better after our little dance party. I don’t know how you do that. Maybe you are a bad influence on me.”
“Who, moi?” Carmen asks innocently. “I just pulled you out from behind that bar and made you shake your booty until you looked chill again.”
“Right,” Holly says as she disappears into the kitchen and starts the dish water.
“I’m gonna lock up,” called Carmen through the swinging doors.
Holly washes the dishes ignoring the burning sensation along her chapped knuckles. She really should take better care of her hands.
“Hey, Carmen, you know something that can help with my hands?”
Carmen slides in beside her and starts pulling the dishes from the sanitizer. “Yeah, I’ve got some good stuff. I’ll drop it off to you tomorrow, ‘kay?”
“Great, thanks.” Holly’s hands are on fire so she moves faster. Scrub, check, scrub, drop in sanitizer, repeat. She and Carmen form an effective assembly line and finish early. Holly scribbles a note for the morning crew and clocks out.
“You wanna get a drink before you head home?” Carmen asks hopefully. She’s been hounding Holly to have drinks for weeks.
“I can’t,” Holly says regretfully. “I have too much to do.”
“Okay.” Carmen doesn’t hide her disappointment. “How about lunch tomorrow? I can bring you that hand cream?”
“I have class so we’d have to eat on campus.” It’s the best she can do.
“Deal. I’ll meet you by the food trucks, ‘kay?” Satisfied, Carmen gives her a quick hug and takes off.
Holly turns toward Westlake to catch her bus. She may have to wait a bit. There’s less traffic on the sidewalks now, though the restaurants and bars offer enough music to fill the streets with sound. Holly watches the faces that pass her, struck with the urge to stop and work in her journal. Surely there are character options in these crowds.
But the essays. Her paper. Holly keeps moving, catches her bus and finds it mostly empty. A few drunk college kids occupy the back and a homeless man seems to be sleeping in one of the handicap seats toward the middle. Holly selects a seat near the front and watches the city pass her by. The drunk passengers exit the bus loudly, pulling her out of her stupor in time to avoid missing her own stop. She pulls the wire to alert the driver. He barely pays attention as she exits the bus, even when she thanks him.
It’s dark on her street. They still haven’t replaced the bulbs in the two streetlights in front of her building. Nice. Holly trudges up the walkway to the house she rents. She wonders if Greg is home. For a second, she hopes he isn’t. There’s a light on in the living room but the house seems quiet. Holly fumbles with her keys and unlocks the door of the old Victorian. It creaks despite her attempt to open it quietly. She pauses to see if Greg calls out to her. He doesn’t. Holly shuts the door. She thinks she sees something in the darkness but dismisses it and locks the door behind her. It’s been a strange night.
Dropping her keys in the bowl, Holly notes Greg must be home since his keys are already present and accounted for. He must have gone to bed. Holly shakes off her jacket and hangs it on the hook. She could use a shower but that would wake Greg for sure. Then they would have to talk and probably have sex and Holly just couldn’t deal with all that right now. Not that she didn’t love her boyfriend, she does, it’s just that lately things feel forced. Holly pushes the thoughts aside, drops her bag on the worn leather sofa and heads to the kitchen for a glass of wine. Dear god, does that sound amazing. She uncorks a fresh bottle of Cab and pours a generous glass for herself.
Settling into her favorite spot on the sofa, Holly sets her wine down and pulls out her laptop. The blue screen comes to life and in minutes she’s writing again. Some bullshit about existentialism and its impact on modern literature. She vehemently disagrees on this topic but her prof is not one to accept alternate viewpoints. If Holly intends to pass this course and finish her MFA, she desperately needs Professor Conway’s blessing.
It pains her to write the words. To praise somebody for writing about nature as if it were something more than just that. Good thing she poured wine to help her through this heaping pile of manure. Conway will love it though. Holly finishes up her own paper before starting on the essays for Gilson’s class.
She refills her glass of wine and digs in. The first few aren’t bad. Holly’s eyes start to burn with fatigue but she needs to finish a few more before calling it quits. She contemplates sliding from the couch to the floor so it’s more comfortable to use the coffee table but opts to settle back into the pillows, it feels so much better.
CHAPTER THREE
He grins at her, the kind that reaches his eyes and bring out his dimples. Holly can’t help but smile back. He’s older, but not much. Time has been good to him.
“I’ve missed you, Hol.”
“Me, too.” Holly falls into his arms. He smells so good. His shoulders are broader but not too broad. His chest is hard. It used to be softer.
He pulls back and runs his fingertips along her jawline, tilts her chin up and slants his mouth over hers. His tongue probes her mouth and he pulls her into him. Holly moans, her body tingles everywhere. He kisses along her jawline, down her neck, and back to her lips. His hair is loose and shines in the moonlight.
“I love you, Hol.”
“I love you, too,” she breathes. Her body responds to his touch as he lifts her shirt over her head. His shirt disappears, his chest bare and sculpted and paler than she remembers. She pauses, thinks, something isn’t right. Then his lips are on hers again, his hands unfastening her bra and freeing her breasts. He kisses her and the world feels right. Holly arcs into him, naked and needy. His fingers are like fire on her skin, exploring every inch of her body. She wants him more than she’s ever wanted anything.
He stretches her on the floor – or is it grass? Holly doesn’t care. She feels him hard against her, the length of his body covering hers, his hair falling around them, tickling her electrified skin. She touches him; he’s cold so she wraps her arms around his waist to pull him closer, to share her warmth
with him. He shudders. His eyes meet hers and he traces along her side, her waist, the curve of her hip. He watches her reaction, holds her gaze as his fingers reach her thigh, crawl back up her inner leg, oh so close to bringing her relief.
His lips find hers as his fingers find their mark, sliding into her core. Holly moans into their kiss, wanting more, wanting all of him. His fingers move faster, skillfully teasing a reaction from every inch of her body. She digs her nails into the small of his back and down his hips, writhing beneath him to get where she truly wants to be. He withdraws some and regards her, his eyes full of emotion and longing and something she can’t quite place.
“What’s the matter?” Her voice is dreamy; she just wants him back inside her.
“Nothing,” he says simply.
“Then why are you so far away?” Holly asks.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” He answers her question with his own.
“Yes,” she responds breathlessly. “More than anything. I want you.”
“I want you, too.” He adjusts his weight and she feels his sex against hers.
Holly closes her eyes, expecting him to push inside her, to feel him fill her, complete her. But he doesn’t. She opens her eyes. He’s slipping away from her. She reaches for him. He says her name. He screams for her.
“HOLLY!”
Her eyes snap open. Greg is standing over her, confused and angry. She pats her body, still clothed, essays splayed on her lap.
“What the hell is going on with you?” Greg asks. “And who the hell is Tristan?”
Holly recoils. The dream. She was dreaming of Tristan. “What did I say?”
“You said a good deal about Tristan and how you love him and it sure sounded like there was a whole lot of love going on,” Greg accuses.
“I – I was dreaming, Greg,” Holly grumbles, trying to regain her composure. “I don’t even remember it,” she lies.
“Well, whoever Tristan is, it sounds like he means something to you.” Greg backs off. “You don’t know a Tristan?”
“Not anymore,” Holly explains. “I went to school with a boy named Tristan but he moved away years ago. Come on, you know the brain does crazy stuff, especially when somebody’s tired. I haven’t been sleeping well, you know that, too. I probably just saw something that reminded me of when I was a kid. I’m sure it was something stupid.”
“It didn’t sound stupid,” Greg mutters. “And dreams are the brain’s way of making sense of things or bringing our subconscious to the surface.”
Holly sits up and shifts the papers off her lap. “You are just being paranoid. I haven’t seen Tristan since he moved to Louisiana eight years ago. Seriously, Greg. I live with you, I’m with you.” She stands up and wraps her arms around Greg, burying her face in his chest to hide her lies.
“I’ve just never heard you like that, Hol,” Greg says into her hair. “You seemed really, er, aroused and then you said another guy’s name.”
“I’m sorry, but it was just a stupid dream. Probably brought on by the two glasses of wine I had while grading the essays.” Holly reasons with him. She is annoyed at his insecurity all of a sudden.
“Two glasses?” Greg asks. “The whole bottle is empty, Hol.”
“Well, then there’s your answer. I guess I drank a little too much and look what happened.”
“But you don’t seem hung-over.” He pulls away and studies her face.
“I have a headache,” Holly lies again. She actually feels pretty great, especially for somebody who plowed through a bottle of wine in a few hours, if that.
“Take some aspirin and hydrate, okay?” Greg seems to believe her. “I have to get to campus. There’s some new adjunct professor who selected me to be his TA next semester. He wants to meet with me and go over his style or whatever.”
“That’s great, Greg.” Holly forces a smile. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Hol.” He smiles a lopsided grin, his trademark. “Will I see you tonight?”
“Maybe. But I’ll have to finish grading these essays.” Holly gestures toward the mess.
“So would it be okay if I go out with the guys?” Greg asks sheepishly.
“Of course. Celebrate, have a great time.” Holly hides her own relief. Has he always been this irritating?
Greg leans in and kisses her forehead. “Happy grading!” He grabs his satchel and keys and leaves without another glance her way.
Holly stands in the middle of the living room. Parts of the dream come back to her. The way she felt, the longing, the love. It was definitely about Tristan, but why? Why now? She recalls seeing somebody who looked like him yesterday and smacks herself in the forehead. Duh. She thought she saw him yesterday, that explains why she’d dream about him now. Mystery solved. Life can go back to normal starting with the stack of essays.
Holly settles into the couch and pulls out her phone. Shit! She’s got class in twenty minutes! Why didn’t Greg say anything? Holly jumps off the couch and scrambles to get ready, nearly forgetting her laptop and phone in the process. She drops her keys three times in her attempt to lock the door and nearly decides to skip class. The familiar nagging voice in her head reminds her how important this class is. Holly manages to lock the door and takes off for campus.
She’s only ten minutes late to class but earns a glare from her professor. Not good. Holly feverishly scribbles notes in her journal, not daring to unpack her laptop and attract more attention. Of course, Professor Conway calls on her several times throughout class, her way of acknowledging and punishing Holly’s tardiness. Holly answers sufficiently and earns the equivalent of a compliment each time.
Hopefully, it makes up for being late. As the lecture comes to a close, Professor Conway reminds the class to submit their papers and begin researching their next project. Holly freezes. She didn’t print her paper! The rest of the class begins packing up. Holly fumbles through her bag, mind racing. She can go to the print lab, get a copy and take it to Conway’s office. Her mind runs through the apologies and excuses she could give when something in her bag slices her finger. She yanks her finger out and sees a paper cut on the pad of her index finger. How?
Holly pulls everything out of her bag and finds a pristine copy of her paper – perfectly formatted and stapled in the corner just as Conway specified. Maybe she printed it sometime after her second glass of wine and before she finished the bottle.
Hell, it doesn’t matter how that copy made it to her bag, it just matters she can turn it in without repercussions from Conway. Holly sets the paper on the desk beside her and repacks her bag. She is now the last one out of the room and has to face Conway directly.
“Miss Chamberlain.” Professor Conway furrows her bushy brow and leans on her gnarled walking stick. She resembles an owl in a bad polyester suit and outdated feathered hairdo. Holly might hate this woman a little bit.
“Hello, Professor.” Holly forces a warm smile and lies through her teeth. “I apologize for my tardiness. I was detained by one of the students in Professor Gilson’s lecture.”
“See that it doesn’t happen again, Miss Chamberlain.” Conway scowls at her. “If you cannot take your own classes seriously then it would seem you are not serious about completing your degree.”
“I am truly sorry, Professor.” Holly is seething but continues to smile at the old bitch. “It will not happen again.” She hands her paper to Conway and heads for the door.
“This paper had better be stellar, Miss Chamberlain,” Conway calls from behind her desk.
Holly turns and nods. “I hope you like it.” She hightails it out of there before Conway can say another word. Holly doesn’t slow down until she approaches the food trucks and spots Carmen lounging under a tree.
“Hey-ya, Hol.” Carmen greets her lazily, a pair of over-sized sunglasses hiding most of her face.
“Hung-over?” Holly asks.
“Yeah. May have partied a little too hard last night,” Carmen mumbles. “But it was worth it. W
ish ya’d been there.”
Holly settles in the patch of grass next to her friend and leans against the tree trunk. The smell of greasy food sets her stomach rumbling. “You know that’s not my scene.”
“Why’d you sit down? Aren’t we gonna eat?” Carmen asks. “That is your stomach growling, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess so.” Holly chuckles and pushes back off the ground. “This is just such a nice spot to sit and it’s been a weird day so far.”
“Weird day, huh?” Carmen pops up next to her, suddenly interested. “What’s up?”
“I had a dream about an old boyfriend last night,” Holly starts. She’s never told anybody about Tristan so she pushes past that to the other parts, “after finishing a bottle of wine even though I only remember having two glasses. I somehow fell asleep on the couch, completely overslept, and was late to Conway’s class. Oh, and I apparently managed to print out my paper without even remembering it.”
Promised By Blood_A Paranormal Vampire Romance Page 2
