The Rules of Dating My Best Friend's Sister(102)

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Holden opened his door, and his eyes dropped right to my cleavage. He certainly couldn’t have missed it with the push-up bra and low-cut cropped top I’d changed into.

Desperate times. Desperate measures.

I twirled a piece of my hair as I spoke. “Hey. Do you think you can help me with a few of my boxes? I packed a couple of them a little too heavy, and I want to stack them up at the door. I’m afraid the bottoms will fall out if they’re not carried right.”

“Sure.” His eyes stole another peek at my cleavage before he pulled his door closed and followed me into my apartment. In the living room, he looked around with his hands on his hips. “Which ones do you want stacked?”

“The ones in the bedroom.”

He swallowed and frowned. “Oh.”

The lackluster response hurt my heart, but I did my best to pretend it didn’t harm my self-esteem. Walking to the bedroom, I exaggerated the sway of my hips knowing Holden had a weak spot for my tight yoga pants. Inside, I even pretended to rummage through a box on the floor without bending at the knees. My ass was impossible to miss. I caught Holden looking a few times, but he just seemed sad rather than turned on. When there was nothing left for me to pretend I needed help with, I still refused to give up.

“Thank you for the help,” I said. “How about a glass of wine?” Holden looked reluctant, so I pulled out the big guns to make sure he wouldn’t say no. “I can fill you in on my mom’s health, and I want to hear about how your recording went out in California.”

He nodded, but didn’t look happy. “Sure.”

Over the next hour, we had a nice conversation and caught up, but it felt like I was talking to Owen or Colby. Holden sat on the chair diagonal to the couch and made no attempt to touch me. This was the least physical connection I’d ever felt while near him. We’d had more of a spark when I was fifteen and sitting on the roof of my parents’ house with my brother sleeping ten feet away. And I got the feeling he couldn’t wait to get the hell out of my apartment. So I made one last-ditch attempt at kindling something by reaching over my head and doing a big, fake stretch. Holden’s eyes zoned in on my exposed midriff, but then he frowned and rubbed his hands on his jeans.

“It’s late. I should get going.”

Well, that move backfired.

After he was gone, it felt like I had a lump stuck in my throat. I guess the positive side was that it clogged up all the tears that were threatening. The way I’d acted had left me desperate and sad, and at two o’clock in the morning, I was still staring up at the ceiling in the dark, searching for answers I didn’t have. So I ripped the covers off and sat up, reaching for my phone. There was only one way to get answers, and that was by going straight to the source. Without giving myself a chance to change my mind, I shot off a text to Holden, even though it was the middle of the night.

Lala: Hey. Are you up?

He answered quickly.

Holden: Yeah. I think the time change and sleeping on the redeye screwed me up. What’s your excuse?

Lala: Will you meet me on the fire escape in a few minutes?

The dots started moving around, then stopped, and then finally began again.

Holden: Sure.

I grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses before opening the window and climbing out. Holden was already seated on the adjoining fire escape.

“Hey,” I whispered.

“You should be sleeping,” he said.

“There’s too much on my mind, and I need to talk, Holden.”

Our eyes caught, and he nodded.

There was so much I wanted to say, but my thoughts were all jumbled. So I took a few minutes to compose myself as I poured us each a glass of wine and passed one through the bars to Holden.

“Thanks,” he said.

I nodded and took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you kiss me tonight, Holden? We haven’t seen each other in a week.”

He looked down. “I didn’t want to crowd you. You have so much on your plate right now.”

“But I wanted to be crowded by you. I think I made that pretty obvious.”

Our eyes met and for a second or two, I saw the familiar spark in his gaze. But then he turned away. “Sex will just make it harder. I don’t want you to be sad or feel bad when you leave New York. Your happiness means more to me than my own.” He paused for a second. “Over the last week, I’ve been thinking a lot about Ryan. I promised him I’d always look out for you, and that’s what I’m trying to do. I don’t want to say or do anything that makes things more difficult for you. That’s one of the reasons talking was so hard when we were inside your apartment before. I don’t want to screw up.”

“Just be yourself, Holden. You can’t screw up when your intentions are good.”

He scoffed. “Didn’t you ever hear that saying, the road to hell is paved with good intentions? That’s me, Lala. I am the road to hell.”

We were both quiet again. Eventually, he chugged his entire glass of wine.

“How did seeing Warren make you feel when you were back home?”

I frowned. “It was sad. He cried and told me he still loved me. And before he left, he gave me an open-ended plane ticket to go out to California, so I can visit him if I ever want to. It’s hard to see someone you care about hurting.”