Page 87 of Never Your Girl

One side of my mouth rises in a smirk. “No, you don’t.”

There’s a beat of silence. “No,” she murmurs, something in her expression making my heart stumble. “I don’t.”

Her mom watches our exchange with a soft expression. “Didn’t I tell you that one day you’d meet someone who would change everything? I think Bridger just might be that guy.”

It’s almost a surprise when Holland doesn’t immediately refute her mother’s comment.

“Hey, babe,” Jigsaw rumbles from beside her, “why don’t you tell them about the rally last weekend.”

As her mom launches into a story about leather-clad mayhem and questionable decision-making, Holland gradually relaxes beside me. Her shoulder presses against mine, and it takes effort to resist the urge to wrap my arm around her.

By the time the food arrives, the conversation has turned to lighter topics, mostly led by Jigsaw recounting some of his glory days with his “brothers.”

Holland picks at her fries as she stares at her food. Her brows pinch, as if she’s trying to solve an equation. I nudge her under the table with my knee to catch her eye.

“You good?” I ask quietly.

She nods but doesn’t look at me. “Yeah, fine. I’m just thinking about the work I still need to get through tonight.” The way she avoids eye contact makes me wonder if she’s telling me the truth.

An unexpected surge of protectiveness rushes through me. “We can take off whenever you’re ready. Just say the word.”

Her mom notices our exchange and smiles. “He really is perfect for you, Holland. Don’t let all my mistakes frighten you away from taking a chance when the right one comes along.”

Holland scoffs, but her cheeks flush. “It’s a little early to be thinking long term.” Her gaze flickers to mine. “Like I said before, we’re taking this relationship one day at a time.”

Jigsaw nods. “Nothing wrong with that. Plus, Hammer wouldn’t mind getting a shot with you. He’s a real fan of fiery redheads.”

I slip my arm around Holland before tugging her close. “Tell Hammer to find his own woman. This one is taken.”

Jigsaw shrugs before raising his glass. “To new faces and old friends.”

“To getting out of here as fast as humanly possible,” Holland mutters, loud enough for only me to hear.

I grin, my chest tightening in a way that feels alarmingly permanent. It’s the moment I realize that whatever this is between us isn’t so fake after all.

29

Holland

The door to Bridger’s room closes softly behind me, the quiet click somehow louder than my heartbeat pounding in my ears. His space is an odd mix of disarray and organization. There’s a stack of books and papers on his desk, hockey gear tossed haphazardly in the corner, his bed neatly made. It smells like him, clean and woodsy with a hint of something darker, and it settles over me like a weighted blanket.

“Well, the good news is that we both made it out alive,” he says, pulling his hoodie over his head and tossing it onto the chair. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge of something else buried beneath.

Nerves, maybe?

It’s oddly comforting to know I’m not the only one experiencing them.

“Kind of feels like it was by the skin of our teeth.” I settle on the edge of his bed, the soft mattress sinking beneath me. My fingers toy with the hem of my shirt as he grabs two bottles of water from the mini fridge tucked beside his desk.

“Here,” he says, passing one over before dropping into the chair across from me. His legs sprawl out, brushing against mine, and he looks so at ease, it makes me want to fidget.

“Thanks,” I mumble, twisting off the cap.

Silence stretches between us. It’s heavy but not uncomfortable, like we’re both waiting for the other one to speak first.

Finally, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, your mom and Jigsaw…”

I groan and cover my face with my hands. “Please, can we not?”

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