Page 29 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
An adult now, I know better than to be ashamed of my actions that night. A hefty dose of hormones and misplaced lust sent me into Holt’s bed. I couldn’t blame myself. The man is very attractive, in a brooding, outcast kind of way.
“We actually, um . . . we hooked up once,” I murmur, trying to keep this public conversation as private as possible.
Unfortunately, Gretchen doesn’t take the hint on my preferred volume for this topic. Her jaw falls slack, releasing a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeal. “Holy shit, no way. In the arena?”
“Oh my God, no,” I whisper-shout. “This was back in college.”
“Oh.” She’s quiet for a long moment, then her lips purse, suppressing a smile. “I kind of wish it was in the arena instead. At least I’d know you were getting some action since you-know-who.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I say with a laugh.
“But wait, when in college was this? I can’t believe I didn’t know. Was this before we met?”
I shake my head. “It was actually the same night you remember. The one of the fight at the frat house. I went off looking for Alex, and Holt found me along the way. And then . . .” A flush creeps across my cheeks. “And then we hid out in his room, drinking and talking, and . . .”
I don’t finish the rest of that statement. David keeps his eyes down, focusing on my manicure. I’m sure he’s heard much worse before, but still.
While David is gone to get the hot towels for my manicure, I dish to Gretchen on the details of that night, everything from the swigs of whiskey from his flask, to the hastily written note in the morning.
When I’m finished, I draw in a deep breath, the smell of acetone and apricot scrub serving as some small comfort as I wait for her reaction. But instead of one of the responses I’m expecting, like a Wow or I can’t believe I never knew that, her brows shoot up to her hairline, urging me to go on.
“And then . . .” She presses for more, her eyes as wide as her smile.
“And then I started dating Alex a few months later,” I say with a sigh. “And you know exactly how that story ended.”
Disappointment flashes over Gretchen’s face, then quickly fades to a small smile. “And then six years later, your hockey team just so happens to hire his private security firm.”
“Yep. Crazy coincidence, right?”
“I don’t think so.” Her tone is matter-of-fact. “I think it’s a sign.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, but before I can tell her how ridiculous she’s being, Gretchen’s focus shifts to her manicurist, who keeps her gaze lowered and doubles down on buffing out the ridges of Gretchen’s nails. By the time they’re done discussing her desired nail shape, my best friend has other topics on her mind.
“So, what about you-know-who?”
My brows push together in genuine confusion. “Do I know who?”
Her eyes roll so far back, I’m momentarily concerned they’ll be permanently stuck that way. “You know. Alex. Do you think you’re over him?”
“Alex and I are done,” I say firmly. “Plain and simple. If anything, he’s helped me realize exactly what I don’t want. No more hockey players, and no more cocky assholes.”
“Huh.” Her lips lift in a smirk. “So, someone like, I don’t know . . . Holt Rossi?”
“Have you been huffing nail polish?” I tease. “What happened between Holt and me is so far in the past.”
“College wasn’t that long ago, Eden.” She clucks her tongue, a self-satisfied smile spreading across her lips. “And do you really think it’s just a happy accident that six months after your breakup, an old hookup from undergrad shows up in your life?”
“Yes, I do.”
I’m being short with her now, but I can’t let this turn into a legitimate topic of discussion. Especially not when Holt and I have already wandered into dangerous territory, discussing the fact that we’re both very single at the moment.
Naturally, my brain ran rampant with that information. Hell, I even told him about my clunker of a date Grandpa Pete set me up on. Why did I do that? So Holt would know I’m open to dating? Jesus. Thank God Les didn’t leave the two of us alone for too long. I could have let our chemistry carry us away.
“You’re all set.”
David caps the bottle of gold nail polish I didn’t see him grab and dips his chin toward my nails, each one painted kelly green with a touch of sparkle added to the tips. It’s the kind of perfect touch only someone who has been doing your nails every week for six months would know to do. The fluorescent lights bounce off the tiny gold flecks in a way that’s almost hypnotic.
