Page 114 of Cruel Steps

Holden smirked. “You offering?”

“What? Um. No. I mean. What?”

Holden laughed and reached for the waistband of his shorts. “Two-second warning. I’m about to drop these.”

I froze and stared at where his hand lingered on his waist. He shifted, and I remembered I wasn’t supposed to be staring at my friend. Friend.

“Eep.” I spun around so quickly that I almost fell over.

“I thought you were good on your feet, Wildcat?”

“Ha. Ha.” I walked over to the bed and kept my back to him, offering privacy. It had nothing to do with my red cheeks.

Unzipping my bag, I pulled out my pajamas. I’d grabbed a pair of old shorts and a tank top, assuming I’d be in my own room. It suddenly felt very indecent to wear them around Holden, but the alternative was sleeping naked.

Trouble. Trouble. Trouble.

I was in so much trouble.

The door to the bathroom shut, and I let out a sigh of relief. I busied myself with hanging what I needed and plugging my charger into the nightstand. Colter had sent a message, so I opened it.

Magic 8-ball: I can’t wait for your video.

Magic 8-ball: Let me know when you’re there.

Magic 8-ball: I hope you and Hol have a good time together. *Winky face*

Oh, that meddler.

Smirking, I sent back a reply. I only had one bar, but hopefully, it would go through.

Emerson: Just good? I thought you said I was great?

Emerson: If “Oh, my fucking god. You’re going to get us killed” is any indication, I’d say Holden enjoyed himself on the drive here.

Emerson: Nighty night.

Chuckling, I plugged my phone in just as Holden emerged from the bathroom. He was only in boxer briefs, and I sobered at the sight. Great googly moogly! I grabbed my stuff and ran into the bathroom. I could have sworn I heard him chuckle, but the blood was pumping too loudly in my ears to be certain.

Going through the motions, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and changed into pajamas. I didn’t know how long I’d been, but considering my cheeks were still pink, it hadn’t been long enough. Fiddling with my hair, I gave up on wasting time and opened the door. The lamp was the only light on in the room, casting a warm glow. Holden was under the quilt, his feet dangling off the end. I almost felt bad, but that evaporated when he shifted and grunted.

I climbed into bed, pulled up the covers, and turned off the lamp. Quiet descended around us as we laid in the dark. There was nothing in the room to make noise, so every little shift was noticeable.

The bed creaked.

The slide of sheets against skin.

The sofa squeaked.

Soft breathing.

I lay there listening to Holden, my mind suddenly on high alert. Having him this close had sent my body into overdrive, and my overthinking took off at rapid speed.

What did his eye-holding mean?

Why had he given me the bed?

Was that how he really saw me dancing?

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