Page 98 of Hold Me Today

“Andwhodo we have here?” she asks, sauntering close with a sway to her hips that all but saysyou will be mine. I’ve never been so thankful to be off a woman’s radar in my life.

Dom’s dark eyes shoot to mine, pleading.

I open my mouth. “This is—”

“My good friend, Don,” Mina exclaims, leaving my side to stand by Dominic. She pats his chest like they’re the best of friends. “He’s gay. Right,Don?”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

Silence pervades our group of four, and I risk a glance at Dom to see him physically holding back his laughter. He’s got a balled fist pressed to his mouth, and when he cracks out, “And ready to mingle,” he nearly loses it.

Sophia looks from me to Dom—orDon—and then to Mina, like she’s trying to figure out if she’s being fooled. “Well,” she finally drawls, “are you Greek?”

“Might be.” Dom flashes her a grin. “I’ve got no idea.”

That doesn’t seem to appease her at all. She sniffs and folds her hands behind her back, which only manages to throw her chest out with sublime overconfidence. “Endaxi.”Fine. Kicking her chin up, she stares at us with a little less pep than she had coming down the steps. “You’ll find the weekend’s schedule in your rooms. Don’t be late to tonight’s event.” She turns to go, only to whirl back around and home in on me. “I was disappointed to learn that you booked a room with Mina for the weekend, Nick. Especially the room with the fireplace. That wasmyroom.”

She flounces off before I can get a word in.

“Don DaSilva,” Dominic muses, rubbing his chin. “Can’t say I’ve batted for the other team before, Mina,butI like the way you think quick on your feet.” He nudges Mina in the shoulder, then grabs his duffel bag from where he dropped it on the settee to our left. “Meet you guys back down here in thirty? I’m game to explore the town if you are.”

With a plan in mind, we go our separate ways, Dom tromping up the stairs while Mina and I head for the last room on the first floor. The wood floor creaks beneath our feet, and if I’m being honest, this place looks like my grandmother’s wet dream.

Lace and crochet decorate every window. The wallpapers are a muted, paisley pink. As I unlock the door to our room, I can’t help but feel like I’m walking into a Victorian dollhouse. It’s unnerving as hell.

Glancing down at Mina, I mutter, “Let’s hope for the best.”

I let her go in first, only to realize I need to duck my head or risk smacking it on the frame. “Gamóto.” Hunching my shoulders, I step into our temporary room for the next two nights. I set my duffel bag and Mina’s suitcase down by the door, noting its crooked frame. If that’s any indication as to how this weekend is going to go, we’re in for a doozy.

The rest of the room is decent enough. A full bathroom with more paisley wallpaper that should be thrown out or burned. A tiny kitchenette with floors that quite clearly slope. The bedroom itself is large, and the as-promised fireplace exists like the only beacon of hope.

Mina bounces on the bed with a sheet of paper clutched in her hand. “Our weekend schedule,” she announces, shaking the paper. “You ready for this?”

I sit down beside her, and the mattress dipsdeepbeneath my weight. Oh, this is gonna be fun. “As much as I can be.”

Clearing her throat, she points to the first item on the list. “It seems the kind Sophia has given us a few hours this afternoon to do whatever we want, but tonight we have dinner at the Bethel Manor up the street for—and I repeat verbatim—dating games and dinner.”

“That sounds terrifying.”

“Which part?”

“Which one do you think?” I lean back, allowing my weight to fall onto the mattress. Right before I make contact, I hold my breath and pray the damn thing won’t give out beneath me. I’m a big guy, but I’ve never worried about breaking beds before. Then again, I never thought I’d fall through a staircase either. “The last time I played any sort of dating game, I was fourteen and playing spin the bottle.”

“Ah, a classic.” Mina’s face fills my vision as she braces her weight on her hand. “Who’d you have to kiss?”

I barely remember. “Some girl from homeroom, I think. No tongue. There was a parent chaperone.”

“Achaperone?” She sounds absolutely aghast at the thought. “You’re kidding, right?”

I chuckle, low. “Wish I was. It was more scarring than I’ll ever admit, especially when one of the guys tried to get to second base and the dad—our chaperone—only turned on the TV and ignored the fact that his son was sticking his tongue down this girl’s throat. What about you?”

Her honey eyes bore down on me, wide and unassuming. “You’re funny, Nick.”

I didn’t think that was ever in question. Lifting one arm, I slip my fingers into her usual tamed and perfectly wavy hair. “Tell me what you mean.”

She huffs out a breath. “I didn’t have my first kiss until I was eighteen. No Seven Minutes of Heaven. No spin the bottle—though after hearing your story, I’m pretty sure that I’m the lucky one.”

Eighteen . . . a year after her prom night. Angling my fingers at the base of her skull, I tug her down until she’s inches away. “If there are any games tonight, just know that I’ll be first in line to pop your cherry.”

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