Page 21 of In Your Dreams, Holden Rhodes

She dissolved in laughter.

Margaritas and tacos? It was perfect. Women loved those things. Holden’s eyes were on the TV above the bar, watching sports replays, but his gaze dropped to mine. I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

“Tuesday night, buddy.”

He made a noise in his throat that sounded like acknowledgement.

Hannah and Div gave us quizzical smiles.

“Holden and I are old friends,” I told them. I reached over and squeezed Holden’s wrist and the horrified look he shot me could have given me a sunburn. “Super great friends, and now I’m back in town, he’s showing me around.”

Our handshake from yesterday flashed into my head. His hand had been warm, calloused, and huge. Likehuge. Likedirty images running through my headof what else he could do with that handhuge.

Hannah bit back a smile, eyes glittering as she glanced at Holden. “That’s so nice of you, Holden.”

“Yep.” He folded his arms over his chest and kept his gaze on the bar.

Ugh. Even in the face of Hannah’s adorable sweetness, he was surly and dickish. I rolled my eyes and moved to the other side of the bar to key their orders in. How would I findthis guya wife?

The bar got busy and the rest of the evening flew by. Olivia was patient with me, especially when the ice bin behind the bar counter was empty so I dipped glasses into the ice machine out back and broke a glass—meaning we had to thaw and drain the machine.

Holden sat at the bar and drank two beers in silence. Every time I looked, his eyes were on the TV above the bar, but when I turned my back, my skin prickled. At one point, I turned and his gaze lifted to the TV.

Was he staring at my ass?

I flushed with heat between my legs.

No, I told myself, shaking my head. I wasn’t even going there.

“Gross,” I said to him with a knowing expression. “You need to stop that unless you want to end up with Blow-Up Belinda.”

He cringed and sipped his beer and I snorted.

By the end of the night, my feet ached and the blisters on my toes shrieked with every step. I reeked like rotten garbage, because when Olivia asked me to take the garbage out, I stupidly,so stupidly, hauled the heavy bag out of the bin and dragged it down the hall to the dumpsters out in the alley. When I tried to heave it into the dumpster, the bag ripped open. Hot, slimy, wet garbage slopped all over me, filling my flats with rotting juice. The stench wafted up and I gagged.

Fuck, I hated taking out the garbage. I hated the smell, the way it sounded, the fruit flies, everything. I stood in the alley, scooping up garbage with the plastic bag and shoveling it into the dumpster. Grant was probably on a beach right now, spending my money and drinking champagne with a new girlfriend.

And I was here, shoveling half-chewed onion rings into a dumpster because yet again, I fell for the wrong guy.

When I squelched back inside, Olivia stood in the hall, staring at me with a grimace. I stunk like a Port-a-Potty at Coachella.

“Did you—”

“Yeah. I did, and I don’t want to talk about it.” My tone was hollow like I had just returned from war.

She disappeared a moment and returned with a wad of cash. “Your tips. Once we sort the paperwork out, I’ll deposit your pay check.” She winced at my stained clothes. “But please leave.”

My eyes burned and my stomach rolled with shame as I took the money. “I’m sorry about the ice thing tonight.”

She snorted. “It’s fine. Last year, I pulled the keg handle too hard and got foam all over the floor. People fuck up.”

I gave her a tight smile. I seemed to fuck up harder and more often than most people.

“See you Wednesday?” The bar was closed on Mondays and Tuesdays.

I nodded and shot her a smile back. “See you Wednesday.” I raised my arms on instinct to hug her but she took a step back.

“No.” She shook her head, holding her hands up in between us. “No.”

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