“Sure you’re okay, Shortcake?”
“I’m okay,” I murmur softly. My gaze travels along his features, over the scar bisecting his eyebrow, and down to his sharp jawline before dropping to his lips. For some reason, the curve of his bottom lip, the fullness of it, captures my attention.
“Ignore Lora Ann.” I jerk my eyes up to meet his. “She’s not happy unless she has someone to bitch about.”
My lips part, ready to reprimand him for his language, but his smirk stops me. It’s different somehow. Like it’s almost…sexy?
Wait, no. That’s not okay. This is my best friend.
“Shortcake?” His brows slant together in a fierce expression. “You’re perfect. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
I nod slowly. “Okay.” I find myself transfixed by him. By his straight nose, the slight indentation just above the center of his upper lip, and the way he—
Crash!
The sound of dishes shattering has us spinning around in our seats. A few booths away, Bryce and some of the other guys are now apologizing to Ms. Margie while picking up the shattered pieces from the floor. Those guys are always roughhousing, it seems.
I hurriedly scoot back around to take my seat. Grabbing my sweet tea, I suck it down, and it gives me a chance to compose myself and soothe my suddenly dry throat.
What the heck was that all about?
Whatever my strange reaction was to Hollis just a moment ago, it can’t happen again. Ever. I can’t bear to risk losing my best friend. Everyone goes on about teen hormones, so I’ll just chalk it up to that.
It has to be it.
“Morons,” Hollis mutters under his breath with a little laugh.
I muster a smile, working hard to get myself under control and shake off the odd mood.
“What do you think? Bonfire or no bonfire?”
If we head home, we’ll end up alone in the treehouse, probably talking or doing some model car kit. And, right now, with the odd way my hormones are acting, it’s safe to say the last thing I need is to be alone with Hollis.
“Bonfire,” I announce firmly.
He nods and pulls out his wallet, tossing down enough cash to cover our bill and tip. I know enough by now not to challenge him on this. He always insists on paying.
“Bonfire it is.”
Saturday
MORNING OF THE SADIE HAWKINS DANCE
“What if he kisses me at the end of the night?” I knot my fingers, anxious at the prospect of messing it up if Dallas attempts anything.
Hollis shrugs, avoiding my eyes. “Kiss him back if you want. If not, then don’t.” Another shrug of his broad shoulders.
Geez, I swear, he just keeps getting bigger with more muscles every time I turn around.
We’re in his room, and he’s taking care of his laundry, putting his clean shirts on hangers. His mom isn’t home—I think she’s out getting fabric or something—and his dad’s at work. Suddenly, he stills and raises his eyes to meet mine.
“You know what to do if a guy tries somethin’ without your permission, right?” His tone is hushed, ever so serious, and it feels like everything stills.
“Um…” I nibble my bottom lip before answering with, “I think so?” It comes out sounding more like a question than an answer.
Hollis lets out a long sigh. His fingers release the shirt, letting it fall to the bed, before approaching me quickly. My eyes grow wide, unsure of what he’s about to do. His brows slant together, the crease between them more pronounced, and it draws my attention to that small scar.
“You do whatever it takes to get away from him. Use your elbow, stomp on his foot, jab your fingers in his eyes—anythin’. And as soon as you break free, you run.” He lowers his chin, eyes still locked with mine. A lock of his dark hair slides over his forehead. “Promise me you’ll be safe and do that”—his features turn anguished—“if somethin’ happens.”
“I promise.” My voice comes out in a soft wisp, and I reach up to slide his hair back from his forehead. As soon as my fingertips graze his skin, a jolt ricochets through me. I draw my hand back, unsettled, and he backs away.
He returns to his laundry. With his attention on the task, he continues, “I’ll meet y’all at six thirty since I have to work a short shift.”
Kelsey McCallister had asked Hollis to the dance, and when he suggested we could all head there together, I agreed. Having him close by makes me feel more at ease.
I nod even though he’s not looking. “Okay.”
He said his boss asked him to help out at the country club for a few hours tonight, and since Hollis has been saving up to fix a few things on his truck, he agreed.
I step over to the shelf that holds his favorite books—including a copy of Shakespeare’s sonnets—and I can’t suppress a tiny smile when I notice the dog-eared page that I know marks my favorite sonnet. I glance over the handful of model cars he’s put together—some with my help—but one book in particular snags my attention. Auto Body Repair & Technology.
Huh. I reckon I never realized he had such serious plans for his truck.
“I’m fixin’ to get a shower and head to work, so…” Hollis trails off, and I realize I’m lingering, holding him up.
I spin around. “I’m sorry. I guess the nervousness has frazzled my brain.” I pluck an invisible piece of lint from my skirt. “I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Hey.” I jerk my head up at the gentleness in his voice. His smile is the sweet, affectionate one I’m used to. “Get over here.” Arms extended, he gestures for me to come toward him. I take the few steps necessary and am instantly enfolded in his arms.
I hold him tight, exhaling a long breath. Just a simple hug from him makes me less nervous.
Hollis presses his lips to my hair, and his voice is hushed when he speaks. “You’ll be just fine tonight. Don’t stress over it.”
I nod, brushing my cheek against his cotton shirt. “Okay.”
When his arms drop from around me, internally, I pout, wanting to hug him a little while longer.
I force myself to step back. “Thanks, Hollis.”
His lips tilt up. “Yes, ma’am.” He winks. “Anytime.”
“Thanks for agreein’ to double with us.” I nudge Hollis’ shoulder as we walk to Dallas’ SUV parked in my driveway.
We’ve survived a million camera flashes from our parents, who are now waving goodbye to us.
“I’m so excited!” Kelsey, Hollis’ date, practically squeals. She loops her arm through his, and a sharp flash of unease ricochets through me. Probably because she’s not good enough for him. I mean, bless her heart, the poor girl practically sleeps with anything with a male appendage.
Regardless of his date’s questionable choices in allowing just anyone to frequent her lady parts, she chose a shirt that molds the muscles he’s gained through football conditioning and weight lifting.
“You ready for tonight?” Dallas holds open the passenger door, and his boyish smile makes my stomach flip—in a good way. He’s cute and muscular without being too intimidating.