I hold it up to toast.
“To?” he asks.
“Uh… birthday wishes.”
“To birthday wishes.” He taps my glass. “You didn’t blow out a candle.”
“I don’t have one.”
He shakes his head. Motions one second. Moves to the drawer next to the sink.
The sink full of cocktail glasses.
The mixers and bottles are still sitting there, in a neat row, beckoning anyone who wants a shortcut to relaxation.
No wonder my brother drinks all the time.
This is nice.
That voice in my head is gone.
Is it the same for him? How many drinks does it take?
No, I’m not going there. Tonight is good. Tonight is already perfect.
I down half my water in three sips.
Holden turns to me. He holds up a candle. A lighter. A bar of chocolate.
“That isn’t going to work,” I say.
He raises a brow just watch me.
“Upstairs,” I say. “By the pool. I haven’t gone in yet.”
For a second, his green eyes fill with desire. Then, he blinks and his expression is confused. Conflicted even.
He’s not sure if he wants to sleep with me. If he will.
But I’m not asking that.
Not yet, at least.
“I, uh, I’m going up.” I finish my water. Brush against him as I take three steps to the counter. Pick up the bottle of tequila.
He shakes his head.
“Are you my keeper?”
“No. But I’m not letting you drink tequila with chocolate. At least not blanca.” He places his body behind mine. His chest against my back, his crotch against my ass.
Slowly, he peels my fingers from the bottle. Places said bottle on the counter. Picks up the bourbon.
“Fuck, I can’t believe there’s this much left.” He sets the bottle in my hands. “We can get the ginger beer if you want that too.”
“No.” I can handle this straight. “This is good.”
“Is it?” His breath warms my ear.
“Yeah.” I rock my hips, rubbing against him.
He lets out a soft groan. Releases me. Steps to the side.
My body whines. It wants him. All of him.
It overtakes my senses. Swallows me whole. It’s a familiar want. So much like the want that used to own me all day, every day. That part of me that screamed for pleasure. For nourishment. For food.
The part of me I tried to deny. That I hated. That I called all sorts of names.
No wonder she’s shy.
No wonder she needs half a dozen drinks and the sexiest man in the world.
No wonder I’m completely out of my depth.
“Shall we?” I hold up the bourbon.
He gives me a curious look, but he still nods sure.
I move to the stairs.
He grabs a water bottle from the fridge. Follows close behind me.
It takes every bit of my concentration to climb without slipping. These stairs are narrow. And they’re long. Three flights.
There. I step onto the top floor. Cross the hallway to the sliding glass.
Warm air greets me as I pull the door open. It fights the air-conditioning. Then I move outside and the warm air wins.
I sit on one of the cream lounge chairs. Slide out of my shoes. Set the bottle on the glass table.
Holden sits next to me. Between me and the table.
He unwraps the chocolate. Lays the paper over his thigh. Places the bar on top of it.
“You’re going to stain your pants,” I say.
“Should I take them off?” He arches a brow.
“Definitely.”
“Nice try.” He lets out an easy laugh. Turns his body toward mine. Enough that his jeans brush my thigh. “I like this side of you.”
“Which is that?”
“Happy.”
“I’m happy all the time.”
He shakes his head you’re not. “I wish you were.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It does something to me. Makes the world into someplace beautiful.”
“When I’m happy?”
“Yeah.”
My heart thuds against my chest. That’s so sweet. Romantic even. Or maybe he’s about to say something like but only as a friend. Or the more horrible you’re like a sister to me. “I like it too.”
“When you’re happy?”
“When you are.”
“I’m always happy.”
“You always act happy.”
He breaks off a row of squares. Holds them up to the lighter.
Flick. Flick.
There.
The tiny flame glows against the dark sky. Casts highlights over his beautiful face.
It melts the chocolate a little at a time. Then enough the cocoa drips onto the paper.
“Here.” He places the candle in my hand. “Hold it there.”
I nod sure. “It’s going to taste like gas.”
“It’s the thought that counts.” He laughs as he melts the top of the bar.
Then the bottom of the candle.
He presses the chocolate to the tiny candle.
Turns them sideways, so he can hold the flame against both.
Slowly, they melt into each other. Into some inedible mix of wax and chocolate.
“Perfect.” He turns off the lighter. Blows on the birthday candle.
“That’s my job.”
“You could bring up something about blowing.”
“I have my own style,” I say.
“You have a seduction style?”
“Yeah.” I laugh. “I like to call it awkward virgin.” I try to make eye contact, but I can’t. It’s too much. “Is it working?”