The Relationship Pact(41)

Boone sighs. “Anyway, I hope to see you there, Hollis. It’s a great time. I promise.”

“Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” Hollis smiles at Boone. “We’ll see how things go.”

Boone looks at me and grins. “Call me tomorrow.”

“I will. And tell your mom thanks for the bracelet.”

Hollis looks at the gold circling my wrist and gulps. His hand goes into his pocket, and he frowns. I can’t think about it too much because Bellamy is hugging me.

“If you get Cheez-Its on this dress ….” I warn her.

“I hope that’s not all that gets all over this dress tonight,” she whispers in my ear.

I shove her away, making her laugh. “Get out of here.”

She exchanges a quiet goodbye with Hollis, and I’m glad I can’t hear it. The mischief in his eyes tells me it was something that would’ve embarrassed me.

As soon as the two of them are gone, the energy in the house changes. It gets hotter. Thicker. More alive.

“You look beautiful,” he tells me. The grit of his tone scratches wonderfully over my ears. “I meant it when I said that earlier.”

“And you clean up well. I love the suit and tie on you.”

“Do you?” He looks down at himself. “I don’t wear this shit often. I feel like a monkey.”

I laugh. “Well, you look handsome.”

He reaches for my hand. I hesitate before putting my palm inside his.

I hiccup a breath as our skin makes contact, and I feel the warmth of his hand as he closes his fingers around mine.

“Ready?” he asks, looking so deeply in my eyes that I think he can see my soul.

“Yup.”

“Let’s go then.”

With a final exchanged grin, we head out the door. And even though I know where we’re headed, the rest of the night is a mystery.

Like the man holding my hand.





Thirteen





Hollis





Holy shit.

I mumble the words under my breath as I take in the activities around me. I don't know what I expected when I agreed to accompany Larissa to her stepfather's event, but I think it was all along the lines of something like a football banquet. A table of food with caterers, even. I figured there would be a stage for people to get up and talk about a bunch of shit nobody really cares about.

This is not that.

A large ballroom in a ritzy hotel in Savannah sits in front of us. It’s filled to capacity with men and women whose Audis and Mercedes surround my Mustang in the valet.

I look down at Larissa.

That fucking dress has given me a hard-on since the moment I saw her. It was difficult to hide in front of her cousin, and it made the car ride here uncomfortable. Every time I look at her, I have to battle not throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her out of here.

The fabric is soft and hugs her body in a way that makes me jealous. Her exposed shoulder showcases a swath of tanned skin, and the slit up her right leg is a tease if I’ve ever seen one.

I might not have had the nicest car in the parking lot, but I have the hottest date. Period.

Larissa looks up at me through thick, dark lashes and smiles nervously. “Hanging in there?”

“I feel like you didn’t accurately describe what we were getting into,” I tease her. “I heard some work event for your stepdad, and you brought me to a who’s who of Georgia.”

She giggles. “This is one of the more low-key affairs of the year. You should see the Fourth of July thing. They get a boat and caterers, and there are fireworks. Last year, someone brought a giant floating duck that attracted a shark, and things got a little hairy.”

“You’re kidding.”

She shakes her head. “Nope.”

“Can I get an invitation to that?”

She laughs.

A woman approaches Larissa. I’m briefly introduced, but her name slides right by me. They get involved in a conversation that I lose interest in immediately. Instead of trying to follow along, I gaze around the room and wonder what her stepfather does for a living.

The walls of the banquet room are covered in black bunting. Lights shine behind it that somehow make the room feel like a forest or some kind of magical cave. Trees and shrubs have been brought in to add to the effect.

It’s definitely on a level I’m not used to. The five-piece band is playing smooth jazz, the commercially-oriented crossover jazz. From memory, I know it became dominant in the eighties. But it suits the opulence of the night and is doing exactly what it’s intended to do by creating an easy-listening ambiance.

Maybe my music minor isn’t a bust, after all.

Round tables are set up throughout the room, and I know from a communications class I took that the arrangement encourages conversation. I wonder if all the conversations tonight will include the life-sized ice sculpture of a man with a baseball bat pointing at the sky in the middle of the room.

Larissa touches my arm and brings my attention back to her.

“Okay,” she says. “Sorry about that. That woman is a talker.”

“It’s cool.”

She exhales. “My mother knows we’re here. Are you ready to start our mission?”

“I’m ready and willing.”