Tracing Holland (NSB Book 2) (8 page)

The voice startles me, and I almost jump at the intrusion.

“Huh?”

“Those girls.”

“Oh, what? No,” I say, shaking my head and focusing back on
Holland. She’s grinning, so I know she’s just teasing me. “Not my type,” I add,
not sure why.

“Hot girls in bikinis aren’t your type?”

“Not unless they’re just as hot when they open their
mouths.”

She laughs. “How can you tell they’re not your type then?”

She’s close now, way closer than she needs to be. I can feel
the heat of her body, the intentional contact that can still be disguised as an
accident as she pretends to squint at the gathering on the beach. It’s messing
with my head again, not that I would have known how to answer her question anyway.
I just know from experience and that’s not a conversation we need to have right
now.
Or ever.

“I don’t know.
Just my gut.
They
picked that spot to be noticed. They’ve been studying our boys just as much as
our guys are checking them out. There’s nothing wrong with the game, it’s just
not my thing.”

“Really? Your reputation says otherwise.” Surprised, I
glance over at her, and she shrugs. “What? Am I wrong?”

I stiffen a bit, annoyed at her bluntness, at myself for
making her right in the first place. “About my reputation? No.
About me?
Maybe.”

“You don’t even know what I think about you yet, so how do
you know?”

“I know you think I’m hot,” I tease, trying to lighten the
mood. She laughs and shoves me a bit. The playful contact is enough for my body
to react again. Shit. I’m just glad the water is past my waist.

“Everyone thinks you’re hot. That shouldn’t even count as an
observation.” She quiets. “What I didn’t know was that you were also a little
shy,
kinda
sweet, and so damn intelligent.”

“Careful. You’re going to ruin my reputation as a badass.”

She grins. “Don’t worry. I think your bad reputation is
safe.”

I smile and shake my head. “I said badass, not bad!”

She returns it. “I know.” She grows serious. “I also learned
you’re a hard person to avoid. Way harder than I thought.”

I glance at her. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs and stares off at the other group again, but I
had caught her revealing gaze before it fled. “I don’t know how to explain it
exactly.” She stops and shakes her head. “Let’s just let that one go, ok?” she pleads,
and I’m disappointed I have to accept when Wes spots us and breaks up the
conversation anyway.

∞∞∞

Holland
and I don’t get another moment alone on the beach, and we’ve barely even
exchanged complete sentences with each other by the time we return to the hotel
to clean up for dinner. No one else seems to notice the change in our silence,
no one except Wes. I can’t help but observe how he seemed to be a constant
presence for the rest of the day, always the third wheel, the barrier
separating us from any chance of exploring whatever that was by the water’s
edge, her cryptic comments later on.

Part of me is disappointed, but another part is strangely relieved.
These feelings for Holland are confusing at best, and I’m having a terrible
time converting them into a reality I can process. Better to make the entire
issue a non-starter. I’m very comfortable with my plan to try to avoid her for
the rest of the tour when she catches my arm just as the others disappear around
the corner of the hall to their respective rooms.

“Hey, um, do you have a sec?” she says. “Can we talk?”

I swallow. “Yeah, sure, what’s up?”

She glances around. “Not here. Maybe in your room or mine?”

My heart races, blood pounding
violently.
The memories of her wet body close to
mine is ravaging my brain.
Her eyes as they scanned me with
that hunger for possession.
Even I’m not that stupid.

“Holland, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say quietly.

Our eyes meet and she knows exactly what I mean. I can tell
she feels it too as she bites her lip and studies me again with a troubling
intensity. It makes everything so much worse.

“No, I know. You’re right.” She seems frustrated and grows
quiet for a second. “Come out with me then,” she offers.

I stare at her. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. Let’s go do something.” Suddenly,
her face lights up. “Let’s play mini golf! I haven’t done that in fifteen
years!”

I laugh. I can’t help it. “Mini golf? Are you serious?”

She shrugs. “Why not? You’re too much of a badass to slap a
tiny ball around a pirate ship?”

I grin and shake my head. I have no chance against that
challenge. “You are serious! Crap. Ok, fine. But I have to warn you, I don’t
think I’ve ever actually played mini golf.”

“What?” she cries. “Never? That’s so wrong! Ok, you’re
coming. Let’s go.”

“Right now?” I laugh.

“Yes, right now!”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

She shrugs. “We’ll grab a hot dog or something from the snack
bar. Quit whining and walk, rock star.”

She practically pushes me back to the elevator, and I’m
still in disbelief that this girl is getting me to agree to a game that
involves golf clubs and pirates.

“You don’t even want to change first?”

“Change? What’s wrong with my outfit? You don’t like it?”
she teases.

I roll my eyes. She knows full well how good she looks. “I
love your outfit, I just know you women. You have outfits for everything. I
can’t believe your beach outfit is the same as your golf outfit.”

“Ok, first of all. It’s mini golf, not golf. There is a huge
difference which drastically affects the dress code.”

I grin, loving how she can match me at every turn. “Ok,
fine. And second?”

“And second, you can just toss everything you think you know
about ‘women’ out the window. It’s time someone exposes you to the big secret.”
She stops and glances around before leaning close. “No two are alike,” she
whispers.

I offer a shy smile. “Fair enough. I’m sorry.”

She’s clearly not offended, just being gently honest, and
grabs my hand as the elevator doors open back to the lobby. “Let’s walk. It’s
not far.”

I like that idea as well, and am surprised when she doesn’t
let go of my hand. Instead, she laces her fingers with mine, and falls into a
casual stride beside me, as if this is just another walk in our long history of
walks. It’s almost surreal how effortlessly she fits into my universe.

I want to call her out on her recent behavior, which is
completely at odds with her earlier warnings, but her hand feels so good in
mine. I don’t care if it doesn’t make
sense,
I need it
there at the moment and can’t risk losing my grip.

“I’m sorry about Wes,” she begins as we move out of the
hotel complex and onto the sidewalk toward Highway 17.

“What about him?”

She shrugs. “He’s being difficult. He’s protective, you
know?”

“I can see that.”

“It’s complicated,” she mumbles, and something about her
tone unnerves me. There’s history there, deep history that is going to impact
more than I can imagine I think.

 
I glance away.
“It’s fine. I get it. I’m used to it,” I mutter.

She seems hurt by that for some reason. “You shouldn’t be.
It’s not fair that you have to be.”

I try not to react. “Is this what you wanted to talk to me
about?”

She nods. “Yeah, among other things. Luke…” She pulls us to
a stop and faces me. “I know I don’t really know you and you don’t know me. But
I want to make sure you understand something. I don’t, I
won’t
, judge you for your past. I know all about the rumors and
perceptions of how you were before, but I believe in the present. I want us to
be friends.” She quiets and meets my eyes. “I respect you as an artist. I’m
glad you’re back sharing your gift with the world.”

I just stare for a moment, not sure how to respond to any of
that. I’m filled with so many conflicting emotions I don’t know where to start.
So, as usual, I go with nothing.

“Thanks. You’re very talented too,” I manage finally,
totally lame, but it’s all I’ve got. She grins and shakes her head.

“Am I now?” she muses, moving forward again, the brief cloud
lifting. This time she takes my arm, which still feels completely natural for
some reason.

“What? You’re not?” I challenge.

“Oh, I am! Incredibly talented, actually.” I love her
playful expression.

“So what’s so funny?” I ask.

“Nothing, just us.”

I laugh. “Us?”

She returns my grin and leans against me a little as we
walk. “Yeah. Our conversations.
The open book talking to a
piece of granite.
I pour out my soul and get ‘thanks,’ ‘ok,’ ‘sure.’”

I laugh again and meet her gaze. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I
advertise myself any differently?”

She scoffs. “No, my friend. You are exactly as advertised.”

∞∞∞

“Holy
crap, you’re terrible!” Holland laughs as I hit the limit on yet another hole.
Thankfully, the final one.

“I told you I never played before!” I return.

“Yeah, but the 7-stroke max was meant as a limit, not a
goal!”

I give her a mock glare. “Oh, really. Then I suppose I
should stick to fronting a highly successful rock band instead of smacking a
ball through fake alligators.”

“Crocodiles.”

“Huh?”

“Um yeah, pretty sure those are supposed to be crocodiles.”

“Oh, whatever! I’m hungry anyway. Let’s grab some food.
What’s the final score?”

“I have no idea. These tiny cards are way too small to keep
track of all your strokes.”

“Hilarious,” I mumble, following her to the equipment stand
to return our clubs. The girl in the booth is looking at us strangely, and I
try to ignore it. She thinks she recognizes us. She does, but is too shy to
risk being wrong. I’m fine with that.

I buy Holland a hot dog and drink at the snack bar, and we
settle onto a painted cement ledge surrounding the tables. We’re quiet as we
eat, enjoying the warm evening air and rare moment of “normal.” A couple of
teens strum some rough versions of popular songs on a guitar nearby, and I can
see Holland’s look of amusement as she watches them. But her smile isn’t
critical, only content as she takes in these kids’ love of music and
fearlessness at expressing it. Something strange happens in me as well as I
study them. Watching the two boys treat that guitar like it’s the answer to something
in their lives. That was
me
once. Hell, that was me
most of my life. There was a time when that was all I had.

I jump up from the ledge, startling Holland, startling
myself, but my brain has latched onto an idea and won’t let go. I move toward
the boys and notice their surprise as I approach with a warm smile.

“Hi, I’m Luke,” I say holding out my hand.

The boys’ jaws are on the ground as they shake it. “Wait,
are you…”

“Oh, shit! You’re Luke Craven!” the other one cries.

I exchange a smile with Holland across the snack area,
suddenly filled with something I can’t identify. Joy, maybe? I don’t know what
it is, but my heart is warm as I turn back to the boys and absorb their awed
expressions.

“Mind if I play with you?” I ask, motioning toward the guitar.
They don’t even move at first, as if my request made no sense to them. Finally,
one of them nods, eyes wide, and grabs the guitar from his friend’s hands and
holds it out to me.

“Thanks,” I say, taking it into my own. I already know from
listening to them earlier that it’s grossly out of tune. The strings are dull
and should have been replaced ages ago. It’s actually not a bad guitar once I
get it balanced in my arms, and for rocking the snack bar at Pirate’s Adventure
Mini Golf, should do just fine.

We’ve gained a lot more attention, and I can feel the crowd
gathering as I give the instrument a quick tune. The action on the guitar is
rougher than I’m used to as I test out some chords, but it reminds me so much
of my own beater I’ve been carrying around since I was eleven that I feel a
strange air of familiarity. My “Percy” is in my hotel room now, beside my bed,
waiting to hold me and comfort me like it always is. Like it had since the day
my father gave it to me and told me to take care of it after he was gone. I
had. It was the only thing I ever took care of.

I draw in a deep breath and start to play. I cast a quick
look toward Holland and love the moment when her face ignites in shocked
recognition. Her smile is priceless, the way her eyes dance as she shakes her
head, staring at me in disbelief. I almost lose my rhythm as my grin widens and
I have to look away to concentrate.