book.
I sigh, cross my arms over my chest, and admit, “I was on a date, okay?”
“Wait, what?” Garrett nearly shouts. “Like, with an actual woman?”
“No, with a hologram,” I retort, rolling my eyes and groaning. “Yes, a woman. You’d think you’d be less excitable with all the action you see as a fireman.”
He ignores my deflection and carries on like I didn’t even speak.
“Was this like a fuck-and-run kind of thing, or are you trying to get serious with someone?”
I snort at his terminology. He really has a way with words. “Somewhere in between. I don’t plan on there being a second date.”
“Bummer.”
“I’m happy,” I argue. “I don’t really need someone, man.”
“Oh, trust me, I know you have that whole independent vibe down pat,” he interjects. “But even you can’t deny the fact that you’re even going on dates in the first place is saying something must have changed…” He pauses, waiting for my response to his assumption.
A correct assumption, but whatever.
“Chloe…feels like I need to find someone.”
“Okay, but let’s be real. As much as you love that girl, you’re not going to go on dates just for her benefit. Something has you flipped, too.” He stares at me like he’s trying to reach inside my brain and find out all my secrets. “I just don’t know what it is yet.”
Instantly, Holley’s face flashes in my mind, but we haven’t talked since we texted on Wednesday.
Yeah, and it’s bugging you a little that you don’t know what she’s been up to…
I’m sure she’s busy. We both are.
But I won’t dispute that it’ll be good to see her tomorrow.
“Nothing has changed,” I respond. “I’m just going on a few dates, starting with date number two tomorrow, to show Chloe that I’m trying. But that’s it, man. I doubt I’ll end up anything but single when it’s over.”
Garrett nods. And I get why. I sound believable and confident, and ninety percent of me says I am. Almost two weeks ago, though, that ninety would have been one hundred.
Which leaves me with one question.
Where in the hell did that ten percent go?
Holley
When Jake steps down out of his truck in the bright, beating sunlight of Saturday afternoon, he’s never looked better. He has a trailer hooked to the back hitch with two four-wheelers strapped on it, but he doesn’t stop to do anything with them. Instead, he slams the door behind himself and starts walking in my direction.
Dressed in jeans that hug his ass but don’t look too tight, an aqua-colored T-shirt, and square-toed brown boots, he’s like the outdoorsy cover model on any lifestyle magazine—except better.
Maybe it’s because I went a full three days without seeing him, and my memory somehow blocked out just how handsome he is, but as he walks toward me through the parking lot, it’s like he’s backed by a heavenly glow.
Stop ogling and get it together, woman!
I turn to get something else out of my trunk—anything will do, really, as long as it gives me something to do other than drool all over my chin—and wait impatiently for his arrival.
I’m still poking around looking for something slightly credible when his voice startles me so much, I jump enough to bump my head on the trunk.
“Hey, Holl.”
I wince, and he reaches out immediately to put a concerned and protective hand to my head, pulling me away from the trunk.
Somehow, when I stand to my full height and look him in the eyes, my fingers are gripping a freaking tire iron. Nice one, Holley.
He glances down and notices it, and a tiny smirk makes one perfect cheekbone arch higher.
“Have some tire changing to do?”
I try to think of an excuse fast, but I really could use some more time. “I was, um, looking for my umbrella and must have mistaken this for the handle.”
I stop just short of slapping myself in the forehead.
Is that really the best thing I could come up with? Did I hit my head harder than I realized?
Part of me kind of hopes so, just so I’ll have a legitimate reason for that lame-ass excuse. Some might say you can’t put a price on a concussion, but I beg to differ.
Desperate to move on from my laundry list of embarrassing moments—the day has just started!—I throw the tire iron back in my trunk, slam it closed, and turn back to Jake, shading the sun out of my eyes with a visor fashioned from my hand.
“So…are you ready to do some four-wheeling type things and stuff?”
“Four-wheeling