Page 29 of Holding Out

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Her eyes got huge when they stepped into the Met, which made the whole thing worth it.Becca had fucking amazing eyes, a shade of blue that was like the clearest North Coast sky in July.She was wearing some smoky eye makeup—not cat eyeliner or anything, but something silvery that made her eyes even bluer and prettier.And whatever you called that stuff on the lashes, so they were a thousand miles long.

But he liked her the other way, too.Without makeup, the way she’d shown up the other night at Alia’s.Lashes the same light blond as her hair and the skin around her eyes pale and delicate.That look made him want to peel her slowly out of her clothes.This one made him want to tear them off.

It might be tougher to go slow with her than he’d thought.

She tucked her hand into his, a trusting little gesture that made something slip in his chest.Her head was practically swiveling as she took in their surroundings.

He was awed by the Met, too, but for his own reasons.All those photos—signed—of famous Seattle sports personalities.Like many of his North Coast friends, he was a Seattle sports fan, so he’d keep his eyes open in case any Grizzlies or Mariners or Storm players showed up.

They got seated in a quiet booth, like he’d requested.

“Is that the wine list?”Becca asked, pointing to a leather-covered tome.Her eyes were big again, and he realized she was panicking about how fancy things were.Maybe they would have been better off somewhere more casual.Or, you know, with Indian food.Maybe this wholesnow herthing had been a bad idea.

“I knowshitabout wine,” he told her.

The corners of her mouth turned up.“Me neither,” she admitted, and he watched her shoulders drop and her lips soften.

It made him want to kiss her.

The waiter drifted back a moment later to see if they wanted wine.He must have correctly interpreted the glance that passed between Griff and Becca, because he asked, “May I recommend the Gramercy Cellars Cabernet?It’s an excellent value.”Actually, he didn’t so much ask asinquire, because that’s what guys like him did at restaurants like this one.

Griff was so grateful at being rescued from the price problem that he didn’t even mind that the waiter obviously knew he was not a $300-a-bottle kind of guy.Or a $1,000-a-bottle kind of guy, because he was pretty sure that people who ate at the Met popped that kind of money regularly to show off for their friends.

“Sounds good,” Griff said.“We’ll take a bottle of that.”

When the waiter had gone, Griff turned to Becca and said, “That was cool, how he did that.Said it wasn’t expensive without saying it.When I grow up, I want to be that natural.The kind of guy who can make everyone feel comfortable and not like a schmoe because they have no idea what kind of wine to order.You know?”

“Yes,” she said.Just that.But she reached across the table and took his hand.Which—well, fuck, it felt really good.Her hand was small and cool, her fingers were slim and—wow, there was apparently a direct line from his digits to his dick, because all she’d done was slide her hand into his and he was hard.She pulled her hand back again right away and bit her lip, like she thought she’d overstepped.

It didn’t go with the vibe they were supposedly setting up here—this one night, one time,I’m doing you a favorsetup—but it hadn’t felt wrong.

It had felt right.Maybe a littletooright.

“I guess we should figure out what we’re having,” he said.

They opened their menus and she made a small noise from the other side of the table.

“Forget the prices,” he said.“I just wanted you to feel special.”Because that was the thing.Losing her virginity was aboutBecca, and any guy who’d try to make it about himself was just a dick.

The look she gave him pretty much tore his chest open.Because it was sosurprised.That feeling, of being ripped throat to gut, gave way to something way more familiar, a sense of anger at all the idiots—the CJs—who’d missed seeing that there waswaymore to her than met the eye.

“Get whatever you want,” he said.It came out rough, almost abrupt, because he didn’t necessarily want to spill out all the thoughts in his head, not to mention the crap crowding in his chest.

The waiter came back with their wine.He uncorked it, poured a little into a glass, and handed it to Griff.To taste, Griff was pretty sure, so he did.“It’s, um, great,” he said, and it was, though he had no real point of comparison.Now, set him up with a blindfold and a few brews and he would know his way around.But he wasn’t going to fake it and do the wine-talk thing,noseorfinishor whatever.He’d leave that to the rich guys at the tables all around him.

The waiter poured the wine and took their orders.Becca ordered a fancy salad and a filet with garlic mashed potatoes, and Griff ordered clam chowder and a boneless rib eye with a baked potato.

The waiter jotted their order down and melted away.More fancy restaurant waiter skills.

“So.Um.Tell me shit about you.”

Becca laughed.“Is that always your small talk opener?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, you know some of it.Alia and I grew up in Seattle.Our dad died of pancreatic cancer when I was six and Li was nine.”

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