Page 27 of The Holiday Fail

Was it a good time to blurt out I found his hands sexy as fuck? And not just his hands, but those drool-worthy forearms of his.

They screamed power, enough power to hold me down with ease. I wanted to trace the path of those strong veins with my tongue?—

“Have we decided what we’re having tonight?” a voice chirped to my right.

I jumped at the sudden question. My hand jolting out from Andy’s.

He gave me a questioning look before telling the waitress we needed a few more minutes. Damn him for still being all cool and collected while I was feeling like twisted yarn inside.

The waitress topped off our water and then left again to give us some more time. I’d been so caught up chatting with Andy that I hadn’t even looked at the menu yet.

“We should probably decide what we’re having tonight,” I said and cleared my throat, hoping it would dislodge those inappropriate and very confusing thoughts I was having aboutAndy. He wasn’t old enough to be my type, and most importantly…

This wasn’t a date.

Andy opened his mouth, and I worried he’d say something about the moment earlier—and dear god, I hoped I hadn’t been giving him googly eyes, because explaining that there was this confusing attraction toward him was the last thing I needed.

Thankfully, he didn’t bring it up, and we started chatting about the food the restaurant had to offer. Andy was impressed by how fancy the meals they had were and went into detail about the difficulty of some of the dishes.

He lit up as he spoke, brow still furrowed but somehow more gentle now, as he named dishes I couldn’t even pronounce.

I quietly listened, occasionally nodding, though I had no clue what he was talking about, which didn’t bother me. I could probably listen to him talk all day. The mellow cadence of his words was soothing, capturing me in a hazy spell.

“Sorry, I probably sound like a food snob,” Andy said suddenly.

I shook my head. “You’re passionate about your cooking, which I think is cool since I can’t cook to save my life,” I joked.

Andy grinned. “Henry told me about the time you tried cooking porridge and almost burned right through the pan.”

I groaned. Dad had been sick and craving Pops’ comforting porridge, but Pops had been out of town for the weekend, so being the good son I was, I tried making it for him.

“I’m never doing anything nice for him again,” I muttered, which earned me a deep rumble of a chuckle from Andy.

At that moment, the waitress returned to take our orders. I didn’t miss the appreciative glances she shot at Andy. I couldn’t blame her.

Serious-faced Andy was hot, but laughing Andy? The way his dark eyes sparkled as if he was experiencing joy with every part of his body?

He might as well be sucker punching me with how fast my breath was leaving my body.

We quickly placed our orders, and the waitress gave one last lingering glance at Andy before leaving. I had to push down the desire to block her view.

“So, you must know how grateful we are to have you,” I said, bringing the conversation back to him so that I could have a little time to calm down.

Andy sobered as he took a deep gulp of his water. Neither of us had chosen to get any alcohol tonight—him probably because he was the one who drove, and me because I didn’t need the booze fucking with my judgement any more.

“Trust me, I’m the grateful one. You guys are giving me the freedom to really buildsomethingduring my time here,” he said, fists clenched on the table, and jaw tightened.

I hesitated on whether I should cover his hand with mine, but chose to do it in the end. He’d comforted me in this same way, and I wanted to show him I could be there for him too.

“This really means a lot to you.”

He nodded and looked at my hand with a strange expression, but he didn’t break our connection.

“We didn’t have much growing up, and when you grow up dirt-poor, it’s hard not to feel helpless, like you’ll never be able to break that vicious cycle,” Andy said with a sigh that shook his entire body.

I squeezed his hand harder.

“And most kids in my neighborhood don’t—escape, I mean. They fall into the same trap as their parents: drugs, gambling, anything to give them that tiny bit of high to forget about theirmiserable lives, even for a moment. We’ll never make anything for ourselves, so why even try, you know?”

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