Page 34 of Holly Ever After

“So you kidnap me?” she shouts, still kicking and twisting.

“Not kidnapping. Consider this forcible persuasion. You're going to sit down, far away from the crowd of horny men you've stirred up with your writing, and you're going to have a drink with me.”

I feel her go momentarily still, and it's enough to tell me I've made my point. Now we'll see if it holds.

I take her back inside the bar, my grip still firm around her. As we re-enter, I lower her down slowly, finally releasing her back onto her feet. A mix of cheers and boos greets us. Clearly, our little spat has become the evening's entertainment.

She immediately folds her arms across her chest, giving me an icy glare. “Forcible persuasion, huh? What's next? Are you going to club me over the head and drag me back to my newly remodeled cave?”

“Tempting, but no. Though I think you'd be pretty impressed with how the cave's turned out.”

She rolls her eyes but can't hide the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Alright, Neanderthal, what's it going to be? Beer? Whiskey? A Cosmopolitan to match your delicate sensibilities?”

I laugh. “Whiskey. Neat. And you?”

“I'll have the same. If I'm going to endure a drink with you, I'm going to need it strong.”

I signal the bartender, ordering two whiskeys. As the drinks are poured, the atmosphere between us shifts. The tension's still there, crackling in the air like static, but it's different now—more electric, less hostile.

We clink our glasses together, a mock toast to our continued aggravation of each other. As the liquid fire trickles down, warming me from the inside, I find my eyes locking onto hers.

She breaks the gaze first, a slight flush coloring her cheeks. “So, you finished my house.” She changes the subject, trying to steer us away from the dangerous territory we're skirting. “Thanks, by the way.” That one sentence almost killed her to say, I know it. “It’s beautiful. But if you installed a beer pong table while I was gone, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Damn,” I say, feigning disappointment. “There goes my housewarming gift. And you’re not kicking anyone’s ass. I saw you get in a fight with a cardboard box last week and lose.”

“It was huge!”

We both laugh, the tension momentarily diffused but not forgotten. It lingers, like a ghost we both acknowledge but neither of us is willing to exorcise just yet.

“Alright, let's cut the crap,” she says suddenly, setting her glass down with a determined clack. “Why did you really drag me back here? Just for a drink?”

I consider playing it off, but something in her eyes tells me she's not in the mood for games anymore. “Honestly? I didn't like the idea of you becoming the evening's entertainment. Call me old-fashioned.”

She pulls back, her eyes searching mine as if looking for something—approval, challenge, I don't know.

“Alright, carpenter boy, you've got yourself a deal. Let's finish these drinks and you can show me all your hard work on my house. But I warn you,” she says, picking up her whiskey glass again, “I have very high standards.”

“And I aim to meet every single one.” I clink my glass against hers one more time.

Christ, we’re flirting.

I’m playing with fire.

We finish our drinks, but we don’t leave, neither one of us quite ready to be alone for too long in fear we’ll strangle each other or… Or what? Why do I suddenly fear being alone with her?

Because I want to rip off that oversized sweater and see what I saw when she came out of her room in just her underwear? Because I want to see more? Because I want to hear the sounds she makes when she screams my name?

Yep, time for another drink.

She keeps chewing that fucking lip, so I reach across the table and pull it away from the hold of her bite.

“Stop that?”

“What are you going to do about it?”

I inhale a steadying breath, ignoring the swell in my jeans.

“Just stop it,” I warn.

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