Holding Out: Returning Home Book 4 Page 2

  Fucking hot.

  She peeked up from the card and caught him staring at her, probably open-mouthed, and the flush in her cheeks deepened. And—

  Damn. His something was not so much hanging down any more. More . . . well, not quite stiff, not quite yet, but well on its way.

  “Time!” Jake cried.

  Griff’s jeans were too tight.

  “What was the word?”

  “Floppy,” Jake announced, waggling his eyebrows.

  Griff snuck another look at Becca. She was biting her lower lip. White tooth, plump red flesh.

  Not. At. All. Floppy.

  Mira grabbed a card, and the game sailed on. Thankfully.

  But he couldn’t help himself; he chanced another look at Becca.

  She returned his glance. Raised an eyebrow. And smirked.

  Well, fuck.

  It was good that he had a solid plan to de-frustrate himself after this dinner, otherwise he’d be tempted to initiate some taboo of his own.

  2

  “So, what happened to your date?” Alia asked Becca, hanging the dishcloth over the oven handle.

  They had just finished the end-of-evening straightening up—putting the last of the dishes away, wiping down the counters, washing out the sink. Mira and Jake had gone home, and Griff was making a beer run. He said it was poor form to leave your hosts beer-less after such a great evening, and since he’d been responsible for a good quarter of the beer consumed, it was his God-given duty to remedy the situation. Nate stayed behind to put Robbie down.

  “Whatever. The guy was just an asshole.” Becca pulled out the stool from the kitchen island and sat. Alia took a seat next to her.

  Becca knew if she told her sister the story, she’d end up feeling sorry for herself, and New Becca didn’t feel sorry for herself. New Becca was brave and bold and believed in herself. New Becca went after what she wanted and if someone else didn’t like it, that someone could fuck himself. She had watched her sister come out of her shell, and it had inspired Becca to do the same. She was still a work in progress, but she was proud of how far she’d come.

  “Becca.”

  Unfortunately, Alia was the best bullshit detector—or at least the best detector of Becca’s specific brand of bullshit—on earth. There was really no getting around it. Becca sighed. “We were sexting before the date we were supposed to have tonight. He said some stuff—”

  “What kind of stuff?” Alia demanded, sisterly antennae obviously on high alert.

  “Rough-ish stuff he wanted to do to me. Not bad rough, just . . .”

  “Not first-timer stuff.” Alia sighed. She obviously could feel the punchline coming.

  Becca shook her head. “Not first-timer stuff. So, I figured I’d better tell him. And he said he didn’t do virgins.”

  “He—he said what?”

  Alia might have been surprised, shocked even, but Becca hadn’t been. Not at all. She shook her head. “There are two categories of guys—the ones who are falling all over themselves to pop my cherry because it’s some kind of virgin fetish thing or they think I’ll be extra tight or whatever, and the ones who can’t put enough distance between themselves and me because of the stupid myth that no woman can ever get over her first time.”

  It was Alia’s turn to shake her head. “There are guys who aren’t like that.”

  Becca raised her eyebrows. “Really? You should introduce me to them, because I can’t figure out where they live.”

  Alia snaked an arm around her sister’s shoulders and squeezed. “You’ve just had a run of super bad luck with men.”

  That was true for sure. So many jerks and losers, bad blind dates, non-starters, and all-around assholes who’d said hurtful things without a second thought. Not to mention the awkward situation with Nate before he and Alia had gotten together, which was now just a humorous footnote. But none of that had hurt like what Todd had done.

  Probably nothing ever would hurt like what Todd had done.

  “You know what, hon? Those guys don’t deserve your virginity.”

  That made Becca smile. “Well, I’m not sure it’s such a cherry on top at this point, but I like the way you think.”

  Upstairs, they could hear Nate singing Robbie a lullaby. Nate was a great guy, even if he could get a little too into the big brother role at times. She was so damn happy for her sister. Now, if only she could find someone like Nate for herself.

  She had a flashback to the ovary-busting sight of Griff grinning stupidly at Robbie. She was half tempted to ask Alia if she could have that photo, just to take it out and look at it on shitty days. But that would probably be a bad idea. She had a half-crush on Griff already, and he was a terrible choice for her. He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was a player and a commitment-phobe. She couldn’t guess which of the two categories he’d fall into—virgin fetishist or run-screaming-in-the-other-direction—but either way, she wasn’t going to find out.

  “Did you ever read Mom’s ratty old copy of Valley of Horses?”

  Becca’s mouth fell open. All these years, she’d thought she was the only Drake sister to have discovered the dog-eared book—which had originally been their grandmother’s—and read it by flashlight in a closet. Even though she’d been what teachers referred to as a reluctant reader, she’d devoured every page of that big, fat saga with wide-eyed delight (and damp panties).

  “Oh my God. I loved that book. Jondalar and his mighty wang. It was like a magic wand, devirginizing women everywhere. First Rites of Pleasure. You’re right! That’s exactly what I need. I need my own personal Jondalar.”

  Alia laughed. “Totally. Do they have guys like him anymore?”

  “Yeah, they call them escorts. And don’t think I haven’t considered that.”

  Alia’s eyes got big. “You wouldn’t actually do anything like that, would you?”

  She sounded genuinely concerned, which made Becca roll her eyes internally. Her sister had so little faith in her judgment. “No, of course not! No hiring people to take my virginity. As tempting as it is.” She bit her lip. “Somehow, I don’t think the reality would match my fantasy of Jondalar laying me down on a bed of furs.”

  “Nothing’s that good,” Alia said, a faraway look in her eyes.

  They observed a reverent moment of silence, remembering Jondalar’s skill. Or Becca did, anyway. She suspected that Alia’s mind had roamed elsewhere, probably to Nate.

  The front door opened, and Griff came into the kitchen, brown bag in hand. “Hello, ladies,” he said, Princess Bride–style.

  “Hello, Fezzik,” Becca said.

  “You got my reference,” he said, pleased.

  “It’s my favorite movie.”

  “Who’s your favorite character?”

  “Inigo Montoya,” she said without hesitation.

  “Good answer.” He grinned at her.

  Maybe because she’d written him off as a sexual partner, Griff was one of those guys who she found attractive but not intimidating. He had rumpled brown hair and gray eyes, and a kick-ass body that rocked his usual uniform of T-shirt and battered jeans. He came across calm. Steady. Easygoing.

  Although she thought she’d caught something else in his eyes right after the Taboo blushing fiasco. Something she would have called predatory.

  It had made heat flush all over her body.

  She was still feeling self-conscious about falling apart over the word floppy. She hated how easily she blushed. And unfortunately, even New Becca couldn’t control that reaction.

  She peeked in Griff’s direction, but his attention was on the paper bag in his hands. He pulled out a six pack of beer and opened the fridge.

  “You want this in here in the cardboard? Or I can put the bottles in individually.”

  “Either way.” Alia shrugged. “I seriously cannot bring myself to care about shit like that since Robbie was born. Thanks for getting more beer, though. That’s something I can firmly stand behind.”

  He loaded t
he six pack into the fridge and closed the door. “I should head out. This was really fun.” He hugged Alia. “Thanks for loaning me Robbie.”

  “You big softie.” She turned to Becca. “Wasn’t that the cutest stinkin’ thing?”

  “It was pretty damn cute,” Becca said, figuring if she owned it, it wouldn’t seem like she was crushing on him.

  “Yeah. So. I’m outta here,” Griff said, grinning. He hesitated, and there was an awkward moment when Becca wasn’t sure if he was going to hug her or not. Then he said, “Hug it out, sister,” and drew her into his arms.

  It was a different kind of hug than the awkward A-frame one he’d greeted her with. He felt ah-mazing. Like no kidding. He was head-to-toe muscle, not a soft spot on this guy. Also, he smelled good. Like . . . she tried to figure it out. Something musky. Something leathery. Something piney. Had some deodorant manufacturer actually managed to cram every appealing male scent into one stick that dispensed Griff?

  She realized she was still hugging him and stepped back.

  “Yeah. Um. Bye, guys,” he said.

  She watched him go, thinking, That is a guy who can make going look as good as coming. Those jeans were the universe’s gift to women everywhere.

  Too bad Griff didn’t offer a First Rites of Pleasure service.

  An idea formed itself in the back of her mind, and then she squashed it dead, dead, dead. The door shut behind him, sealing out the dangerous notion.

  Alia leaned on the counter.

  “How’s the job search coming?”

  “It’s coming.”

  The salon where Becca worked was closing soon, and she had been on the hunt for a new gig. She tried not to talk to Alia about stuff like that too much, though, because Alia got way up in her business about it.

  “If you need help with anything—”

  Aaand, here she goes.

  “I could read your cover letters? Proof your resumes?”

  “Jenina’s great with that,” Becca said, referring to her roommate, who worked in marketing.

  “If you need help with choosing clothes for intervie—”

  “I can choose my own clothes,” Becca said tightly.

  Alia looked unconvinced. “Just make sure you don’t wear anything too revealing, right?”

  “A-li-a,” Becca said.

  “Sorry. Sorry! You know I worry.”

  “Have a little faith in me.”

  “I do. You know I do. And you know I love you like crazy.” She pulled Becca into a hug.

  Becca hugged back, hard, but she wasn’t so sure about the rest. About Alia having faith in her. Alia had done more to support her than anyone else in the world, but she’d also known Becca at her worst, seen her struggle and flail and fall apart more than anyone else ever had. She was pretty sure that in Alia’s eyes, Becca was still closer to twelve years old than twenty-four.

  “Hey.”

  Alia’s expression was serious, and Becca wondered if she, too, had been thinking about their childhood.

  “Robbie and I drove to Portland and saw Mom on Tuesday.”

  That would be a yes.

  “She looked good. She said her medications were still making her really tired—”

  “Li—”

  “Okay,” Alia said. “I’ll shut up. But—she asked about you. She’d love to see you, you know.”

  Becca shook her head.

  “I guess it’s just nice to see her doing better, and it’s helpful for me to, I don’t know, start fresh with her. I thought maybe if you saw her now, some of your anger—”

  “I’m not mad at her. None of it was her fault—she couldn’t help being sick. I just don’t want to put myself in a position to be—” Becca stopped.

  Alia’s eyes were sympathetic. “Hurt. Disappointed.”

  “Exactly. Can we not talk about this?”

  Alia sighed. “I just think—”

  Becca raised an eyebrow. “You said you’d shut up.”

  That made Alia smile. “I did, didn’t I?” She gave Becca another hug, then leaned heavily on the kitchen counter. “God, I’m so stinking tired. I feel like that kid is sucking my life force out of me. Bex, you’re sleeping on the pull-out. I’ll help you make it up.”

  “Is everything in the linen closet? I’ll take care of it myself.”

  Alia gave her a grateful look. “Oh my God, would you? I swear when you get pregnant and have a baby, I will wait on you hand and foot.”

  “Ha!” Becca said. “I would like to see that.”

  Alia went upstairs, her footsteps heavy.

  “First,” Becca said aloud, “I would need to have sex.”

  She sighed.

  She got the bedding and stepped into the dark living room, colliding with someone. A short, terrified shriek escaped her. The someone felt like a wall of muscle and smelled of Griff, and he grabbed her arms to steady her.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I left my phone on the kitchen island.”

  “Oh, it’s you.” Her heart was pounding, two-thirds from being scared into an early grave, and one-third from the effects of Griff up-close-and-personal.

  He was still holding onto her arms. His hands were warm. And strong. She obeyed an impulse that came from nowhere. “I was just going to watch The Princess Bride before bed. You want to stay and watch with me?”

  “What, like now?” He let go of her arms and stepped back.

  Damn, she thought. The offer had just popped out, but he wasn’t into it, which made her—weird and pathetic?

  He tilted his head and looked at her curiously. Not like he thought she was weird and pathetic. More like . . . like he’d never quite seen her before, but she was coming into focus. It was a nice feeling.

  He shrugged. “I mean, I don’t have anywhere to be. If you aren’t too tired.”

  “Nah.” She shrugged. “I’m wired to the gills, to be honest.”

  A little bubble of excitement, which had no right to be there at all, formed in her chest. Probably better to pop that sucker before it exploded in her face. She shouldn’t have made the Princess Bride overture, but now that she had, she should definitely keep two feet of couch space between them, send him home, and go to sleep.

  That would happen anyway, because she and Griff had known each other for two years and if he’d had the slightest interest in making a move on her, he would have done it ages ago. Instead, he’d always treated her like Alia’s little sister, and she was sure that her PG movie selection was going to firmly root her in that territory.

  Even so, the dangerous, NC-17 idea she’d had earlier raised its snaky little head and hissed enticingly at her.

  Shut up, she told it.

  But it didn’t.

  3

  The woman on the couch next to him smelled so good it was killing him. Some girly scent like vanilla. He didn’t think it was fair that women used food scents on their bodies. It made him think about licking them even when he knew better.

  And he definitely knew better than to lick Becca, even if she did smell like a cupcake. The thought made him remember their winning streak in Taboo and he smiled.

  His other problem was that she was just far enough away that they weren’t touching, but close enough that he could feel her warmth, which meant the skin all down the side of his arm was lit up with awareness. And not just his arm, if he was being honest. Pretty much his whole body.

  He had no idea how this had happened. How watching The Princess Bride had somehow morphed into a sexual minefield.

  He’d been on his way to get laid. He had a plan. Buy himself a drink. Survey the bar. Buy the prettiest girl there a drink, or two. Ask her about herself. Listen. Tell her how beautiful she was. Ask if she wanted to go somewhere else. And so on.

  Instead he was watching Inigo Montoya cross swords with the six-fingered man and thinking about a little swordplay of his own.

  He told himself that as soon as the credits rolled, he was going to jump to his feet and get the hell out of there.

&
nbsp; But then the credits rolled, and he didn’t move. Becca got up, turned on a lamp, and sat down a little farther from him on the couch. It was theoretically a safe distance. It did stop the buzz that had been leaping between her skin and his, but now he could see her, and she was extra pretty in the low light.

  And he still didn’t get up. Instead, he sought around for small talk.

  “Hey. You still working at that salon place?”

  “Yeah. Well, sort of. Julia’s Salon and Day Spa.”

  “Sort of?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “The building got bought and they raised the rent. The owner can’t afford to stay there, so she’s going to close that business and semi-retire to Bainbridge Island, open a smaller salon there. So—” She sighed. “I’ve got to find a new job.”

  “Will you stay in Seattle?” Alia always talked about how much she wished Becca would move closer. She said she worried about her living and working on her own way up there—that Becca would forget to pay rent or get in some kind of trouble. The way Alia talked about Becca made her out to be, well, dumb was the wrong word, but maybe flaky, and since Griff knew Becca only a little, from family get-togethers over the last couple of years, he’d never questioned that impression. But now that he was paying attention, she seemed pretty damn competent. “How come you don’t live closer to Alia and Nate? In Portland or something?”

  “We all needed a little space.”

  “Oh, yeah, right.” He always forgot that there was a story there. Becca and Nate had dated before he and Alia got together.

  “No, not that,” Becca said, reading his mind. “We’re all over that. Nate and I were never anything except a bad idea. But Alia was like my mom growing up, and I didn’t want her to feel like she had to keep taking care of me. For both our sakes, I wanted to be on my own for a while.”

  “And that’s been good?”

  “It’s been great,” Becca said. She pushed her beer mug away from her on the coffee table.

  “So, what kind of job are you trying to get?”

  She shrugged. “Just another reception desk job. There are plenty of salons, and there’s a lot of turnover. Me being in this position for two years was crazy long.”