Page 6 of Wish You Would

Holden and I spend the rest of the afternoon locked away in our respective bedrooms. Attempting to get my life together, I unpack my suitcase, organizing my stuff in the bedroom’s small walk-in closet. I let Bear out of her carrier and watch as she explores the empty room, looking for an escape hatch. After spending an hour or so on the floor with my laptop, I stand and stretch, realizing how hungry I am. I tuck Bear back in her crate and then head down to the kitchen to make myself something to eat.

There’s no sign of Holden, who must still be working upstairs in his room. I open the fridge to find it’s about as empty as my new bedroom. There’s a liter of milk, a bunch of energy drinks, parmesan cheese and a few apples in the crisper. The state of his pantry isn’t much better—I find some pasta and a few different boxes of cereal. Does this man live on energy drinks and Cap’n Crunch?

I’ll go to the grocery store tomorrow.

But for now, I can make spaghetti. I take the parmesan from the fridge and grab a small bottle of olive oil and salt and pepper from the kitchen counter.

I’m tossing the cooked pasta in a pan with a splash of olive oil when the creek of a floorboard down the hall stiffens my spine. I was hoping I wouldn’t see him for the rest of tonight, but I guess a man has to eat. Especially one of Holden’s size. He must be six-foot-one. Probably 200 pounds, maybe more with all that muscle. And that is exactly the reason I was hoping to avoid him.

I can’t look at the man without imagining him naked. Imagining what he has going on under his clothes. Does hehave chest hair? Is he hiding a 6-pack or an 8-pack under his T-shirt? How big is he? Is he long and straight or does his dick have a curve to it?

I look up from the stove to find Holden leaning against the doorframe, watching me. I feel my heartbeat kick up a notch. Why can’t I just look at him like a roommate? Or Tucker and Daisy’s best friend?

Because he’s ridiculously hot, that’s why. Too attractive for his own good. And any girl in my shoes would want to see Holden Banks naked.

“Briar.” He snaps me back to reality.

Turning my attention back to the pan, I sprinkle in some parmesan and toss the noodles to coat them. “Hey.”

A pair of gray joggers and a faded Reed Point University T-shirt grace his body, stretched perfectly over his pecs and broad shoulders.

God, he’s perfect.

“I was going to order us takeout. You should have told me that you are hungry.”

“Oh.” I awkwardly shrug my shoulders. “That’s okay. I made enough for both of us but if you’d rather order in, that’s fine. You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”

I turn my gaze to meet his sea-green eyes and find him staring back at me with a frustrated expression. Does he just hate pasta? Or avoid carbs? His reaction catches me off guard. It’s becoming crystal clear that Holden Banks isn’t interested in my cooking or my company. I’m surprised by this version of him. I didn’t know him very well when I last lived in Reed Point, but he always seemed so fun and charming.

“You don’t need to cook for me, so we’re clear, but it smells good. Thanks.”

He grabs two plates from the cupboard and sets themdown next to the stove. I pile pasta onto each, and then he takes them to the table. I slide into the chair opposite his.

“Can I grab you a drink?” he asks before shovelling a heaping forkful into his mouth.

“I’m fine, thanks. Not a big energy drink girl. I’ll make myself a cup of tea after dinner.”

“Huh.”

I pause and look at him, my fork hovering halfway to my mouth. “What’s thehuhfor?”

“Nothing, I just didn’t take you for a tea drinker.”

“What’s wrong with drinking tea?”

“Nothing,” he says through a mouthful of pasta. “If you like water-flavored nothing.”

I shoot him an unimpressed glare before taking a bite. “So, what you’re saying is, I’m not going to find a selection of tea in your pantry?”

Holden laughs. It’s the first one I’ve heard from him all day. “Unfortunately for you, you won’t. But I have water, that’s practically the same thing, right?”

“Well, that’s a start.” I smile, noticing the crinkle at the corners of his eyes. “What’s your favorite drink?”

Holden hums, sitting back in his chair. Another frown. I immediately miss his smile. “A cold beer. Gin. A cup of coffee in the morning.”

“I can’t stand the taste of coffee. I’m telling you, there’s nothing better than a steaming cup of peppermint tea before bed. You should try it sometime.”

He shrugs. “I’ll take your word for it.”

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