Page 4 of The Holiday Hookup List
I have to talk to her. She’ll probably turn me down—either with scorn, laughter, or a polite,Oh, honey, no.Hell, she probably doesn’t even like men. Wearein a gay bar, after all. But if nothing else, Ralph will be proud of me for trying.
And I’m definitely not going to think about why I want to make my therapist proud. Or how it mirrors my relationship with my father. Nope, not thinking about any of that.
Focusing onherhelps me ignore the sensory overload of the club as I move forward. Even in heels, she barely comesup to my shoulder, and she’s having a tough time getting the attention of either of the two bartenders.
Stepping up behind her, I lower my voice. “Excuse me. Can I get you a drink?”
She plants her hands on her hips and makes a disgusted sound before she turns. “You’re certainly welcome to try. I swear, I’ve been at this for a full five—Noble?”
Her dark brown eyes widen and her mouth hangs open in shock. At the sight of her familiar face, my mind goes blank.
It’s Valencia Torres. My former classmate.
Former target.
Formerobsession.
The corners of her lips tug upward in a disbelieving smile. “Gideon Noble, is that you?”
Kill me now.“I—yes.”
Her pretty mouth twists as she crosses her arms. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t my old archnemesis. What are you—” Realization dawns over her features. “Oh, my God. Were youhittingon me?”
“No. Of course not.” I say it quickly. Too quickly.
She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Are you sure?”
I want to kiss that sarcastic smirk off her face.
Fuck.Where is thiscomingfrom?
All right, I can admit it. Torres is fucking stunning. She’s come a long way from the wild-haired suck-up with caterpillareyebrows I knew back when we were both students at Carlton, a private school on the Upper East Side. It’s almost unfair how incredible she looks. But while the smirk on her red-painted lips is new, the knowing glint in her dark eyes is the same.
I clear my throat and try to dispel thoughts of kissingValencia Torres. “It just seemed like you were struggling. To order a drink, I mean.”
The smile drops from her face as she glances back to the bar. “They’re totally slammed. I don’t know how they’re managing with only two bartenders on a Friday night.”
She’s turned away from me. This is my chance to sneak off and try to put this out of my head until my session with Ralph next week. God, he’ll have a fucking field day with this.
Thinking of Ralph reminds me that I don’t run away from things anymore, and I’m hit with a bolt of clarity.
What if, somehow, I’m being granted the opportunity to make up for all the bullshit I put Torres through back in middle school? What if this is my chance to interact with her the way I wanted to in high school if I hadn’t been so fucking scared?
Before I can begin to imagine what that might look like, Torres spins around and grabs my forearm. Her eyes sparkle like obsidian in the flashing lights. “I love this song.”
I’m instantly glad I didn’t run away if it means I got to see her looking at me like this. Like she’s okay with touching me. Like she doesn’t hate me.
But then her gaze turns appraising as it sweeps me from head to toe, taking in my hair, my face, my clothes.
Her perusal makes me sweat. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
She squints at my shoes. “I’m judging you.”
“And what’s the verdict?”
I expect a response like,Guilty as charged.Instead, she gives a decisive nod. “You’ll do.”
“As?”
