Page 55 of The Rebel (Looking to Score 1)
“A few years ago, I got so burned out and tired and depressed from always having to be the one to take care of her. Picking up the pieces for the thousandth time without knowing if anything can ever be fixed is mentally exhausting.”
I nod reassuringly and wait for him to continue.
“I decided to go and talk to someone. She made me see that I play one small role, being a good son, but beyond that—my mom’s sobriety, the costs for rehab—all of it wasn’t my responsibility.”
“It sounds like it was good advice.”
He nods. “Yeah. I guess.”
“So, what happened tonight? Is she okay?”
With a sorrowful look, he meets my gaze. “She’s been in and out of rehab many times. Tonight she had a relapse.”
“Is she okay?” I hear myself asking.
He nods. “For now. Yes, I guess so.” With a heavy sigh, he puts his head in his hands. “It’s just such a mess.”
I press a hand to his shoulder and rub, not knowing what else to do.
A moment later, he opens his eyes and looks over at me. “Thanks. I’m sorry about all of this.”
Shaking my head, I correct him. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
My emotions are all over the place. First, there’s a flooding sense of relief that he hasn’t rejected me, but it’s short-lived because his mother’s situation sounds grim. I listen as he fills me in on his childhood, on what it was like growing up with a mom addicted to drugs, and he holds little back.
After a while, I wrap Holt in a big hug, which he returns. We stay like that for a few minutes, and when we pull back, I feel calmer. I hope he does too.
We decide to pour some wine and order a pizza because the meal he planned to make tonight has been long forgotten. And I am more than okay with that, because . . . pizza. And Holt. It’s a win-win.
We refill our wineglasses and take our slices on paper plates out to the balcony that looks so inviting. And it is. As we settle under blankets, little lights twinkle around us.
Our conversations tonight have turned deeper, and even though I feel for him, I actually love that he’s sharing part of himself with me.
And it’s far from one-sided. I share memories from my childhood too. About my dad’s run for office, and my parents’ later divorce. Ugh. That was rough. As was my breakup with Alex, which we touch on briefly.
But then Holt changes the subject, and I’m grateful. I sense he doesn’t want to hear all the gory details any more than I want to relive them. It’s in the past. With a pang of emotion, I wish Holt’s troubles were in the rearview mirror too. I have no idea what’s going to happen with his mom, but I can see by the set of his shoulders it’s something that weighs heavily on him.
We finish our food but linger together, huddled under the warmth of a blanket.
“Thanks for opening up to me tonight. I want you to know, you don’t have to hide those things from me.”
He gives me a grim smile. “You mean the ugly parts.”
I shake my head and press a hand to his cheek. “There’s nothing ugly about you, Holt Rossi.”
My words are the absolute truth. He’s courageous and beautiful. And kind and protective. The depth of my feelings for him scare me. I still don’t know where we stand, and I have no idea why, but everything seems like it could be on the verge of crumbling. Only I hope that’s not the case.
He glances to the street below before meeting my gaze. “Did you ever want something you can’t have?”
A wave of lust rolls through me. “Yes.” My voice is just a whisper.
21
* * *
HOLT
I guide Eden to my bedroom as my heart pounds steadily.
Part of me can’t believe this is happening. I thought I ruined our date earlier with my foul mood, but Eden doesn’t look bothered by any of that. She climbs onto the bed and dutifully lifts her arms so I can remove her sweater.
Dressed in a black bra and dark jeans, she looks like a sexy temptress. I have no idea how I’ve ended up lucky enough to get her into bed tonight.
As we kiss, Eden unsnaps her bra, momentarily distracting me. She’s so damn beautiful. I caress her breasts while her hand drifts south, causing a stir of arousal in my boxers.
Between kisses, we take turns removing each other’s clothes. Eden isn’t the shy, uncertain girl she once was. She wants this—wants me. That much is obvious by the way she tugs at my belt to free it from my jeans. My body hums with anticipation.
After several minutes of removing and tossing stray articles of clothing to the floor, we lie together bare, kissing and moving as her breathy sighs and soft moans succeed at cranking my libido to an uncomfortable twelve out of ten.
