Page 13 of Finally Home

When I sit on the corner of the bed and fall back, I land against the pillow wall. I chuckle and scrub my hands over my face as I peer down at the dick tent holding the towel up.

Oh fuck, is this going to be a long-ass weekend in more ways than one?

Chapter 7

Ollie

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, tying my dress shoes, when the bathroom door rips open. Unlike my state of undress when I left the bathroom, Hollie wears a floral silk robe. Starting with her pink-painted toes, my eyes drift up her body. The silk material ends mid-thigh, so most of her smooth legs are on display. The tightly tied sash around her waist exposes her slim figure. Just the tiniest hint of cleavage peeks out of the top of the material.

Only half of her hair is curled, and when I finally reach her face, her eyes are screaming in distress. Her chest is rising and falling in deep pants as if she is on the edge of a panic attack.

Something isn’t right. That much is clear.

Hollie paces back and forth in front of the bathroom door.

“Who am I kidding? We can’t pull this off. This isn’t the movies, this is real life. I can’t do this,” she says as I worry shemight walk an actual hole in the carpet. Her hands are gliding across her collarbone, another sign that she’s on the edge of panic. I have to do something. I push up off the bed and close the distance between us.

She halts when she sees me right in front of her, her toes touching the tips of my dress shoes.

“Ollie, what are—” I don’t let her finish her thought before I’m tangling my fingers into her hair and pulling her lips to mine. Her gasp allows me the perfect entry to slip my tongue into her mouth. She tastes sweet, and in just moments, I already know that I’m never going to get enough of her. She must feel the same way because her hands grip my shirt and hold me close. With one last brush of my lips against hers, I slowly pull back. Hollie’s lips are parted, and eyes are still closed, and a fresh flush now paints her cheeks.

I smirk when it takes a moment for her eyes to open. She blinks a few times and brings her fingers to her now puffy lips.

“What was that?” she whispers.

“I needed you out of your head. Plus, I didn’t think our first kiss should be in public, didn’t you?”

Her mouth slightly parts in shock. “Uh-huh, sure. Good thinking.”

It’s hard, but somehow, I suppress the laughter bubbling inside me at her hazy look.

“Something clearly set you off while in the bathroom. And while I don’t know what that exactly was, I am making you this promise. Everything will be okay, Hollie. I won’t hang you out to dry, and I won’t leave your side. We’re in this together. It’s you and me against the world, baby.” I let out an exhale. “Now, how about I go wait at the bar and you take your time getting ready? If you need more time, then so be it. I can stall for a bit. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Her eyes widen when I approach. Is she wondering if I’m going to kiss her again? I mean, I am, but not on her lips. My hand grazes her hip as I step up and kiss her forehead. I step back, never taking my eyes off her, and grab my wallet and hotel key and slip both into my pants. It’s not until the hotel door clicks behind me and I lean against it that I release the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. With a harsh exhale, I run my hands over my face. My every step toward the bar confirms my decision; I couldn’t have controlled what might have happened if I’d stayed in that room with her after the kiss. Tackling her to the bed, telling her that her rules could shove it and see where else she tastes sweet, comes to mind.

My lips are still buzzing, even after I exit the elevator and make my way toward the bar. It reminds me of those stupid beeswax ChapStick my sister used in high school that would make my lips linger for hours.

The bartender approaches, dressed in a sort of tuxedo look minus the jacket. I’m thankful my brother lets us wear whatever the hell we want. After ordering a Jameson and Ginger,the bartender leaves, and I sit back on the stool. It feels weird, honestly, to sit on this side of the bar. I love my job. I’ve always been a people person, and bartending is the perfect outlet to talk to folks and allow them to empty their problems on me. Some people who come in have no one else to talk to, so I give them that. I always know people’s limits and cut them off when necessary and make sure those who have too much to drink get home safely.

The bartender returns, settling my tumbler down on a napkin, just as someone pulls out the stool beside me. With a quick glance, I see that it’s not Hollie.

“I’ll have a top-shelf Long Island Iced Tea,” he says, and the bartender in me can’t help but roll my eyes. Already, without even paying attention to this guy, I can tell he’s a douche bagby his drink order. You can’t appreciate high-quality liquor in a drink like a Long Island Iced Tea. Something tells me this guy is looking to get drunk and show off that he has money.

What someone orders to drink can tell us all we need to know about them. If we’re swamped at the bar and someone orders a complicated drink like a mojito, one might clearly not value other people’s time. When someone comes in and just orders shots, I think this person screams trouble. Guys who order rum drinks scream frat boy. When someone orders a sweet drink but asks it to be made with premium alcohol, I know right away they’re trying to impress someone.

I take a sip of the amber liquid and look down at my phone to see the time. I wonder what Hollie is doing upstairs and hope that I made the right call telling her I would give her space. Should I have set a time limit for myself, that if she doesn’t come down in twenty minutes, then I go up and check on her?

“Cheers,” the stranger beside me says, pulling me from my thoughts.

I hold my drink up and return the gesture.

“So, what brings you here?” Okay, then, I guess we’re making small talk.

“I’m here for an engagement party.”

The stranger beside me turns, angling his body toward mine, propping his elbow on the bar. “Ahh. Are you here for the bride or groom?”

“Neither, I guess,” I reply, and the stranger frowns. I hold my hand up so that I can clarify. “Sorry. I mean, I’m here with my girlfriend. She’s the connection to the bride and groom.”

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