Page 42 of Stroked Hard
The only problem with that is I don’t know what love is. I don’t plan on trying to figure it out, and I have no intention of ever being in a relationship with a man.
“Are you okay?” Hollis asks as he opens the door for me. “You seem a little tense.”
“I’m fine,” I answer curtly. I settle in his Prius as he shuts the door on me. I buckle up and stare straight ahead. I can’t look at him. I’ve exchanged too many glances with him tonight. My mind is on overload, and I don’t trust myself. Who knows what I might do?
For some reason, he cautiously gets in the car, as if he might startle me, puts his seat belt on and starts the car but doesn’t start driving. From the corner of my eye, I see him glance in my direction, trying to gauge my mood.
With a deep sigh, he puts the car in drive, looks to the side for oncoming traffic and pulls into the road . . . without holding my hand.
Anxiety flushes over me.
Not that I really wanted to hold his hand, but why isn’t he holding it? He said he was going to. He told me multiple times throughout the night when Reese and Paisley were consumed with each other that he couldn’t wait to match our palms together, to slowly rub his thumb over my knuckles, to have the privilege to walk me to my door. Yeah, he said privilege. What man says that?
A liar!
Because right now, when he’s supposed to cash in on his promises, he doesn’t. This is why I don’t get serious with men because they can’t even follow through on even the simplest things.
Melony, I can’t wait to see you, sweetie.
Melony, your birthday present is in the mail.
Melony, I’m going to fly you out to Florida to spend the summer with me.
All lies. My father, the king of over-promising and under-delivering. Why did I expect anything else from Hollis?
The silence in the car is eerie, uncomfortable, awkward as all hell. What was supposed to be a fun night with friends has turned into a melodramatic disaster with a man I never even wanted to get “involved” with in the first place. If that’s what you want to call our minimal interaction.
We come to a stoplight. The car lightly hums beneath us and once again, I can see Hollis checking on me, assessing me. Assess all you want, fucker. You’re a liar and this will be the last interaction we have.
“Melony,” he breaks the silence, startling me slightly. His voice is serious, trying to pull my attention but I refuse to give it to him. “Look at me.”
No.
I can’t.
“Melony, fucking look at me.” The timber of his voice rumbles through me. “Do not make me ask again.” Why does his demand slightly turn me on? Is it because it’s the first time I’ve seen a bit of an alpha man in Hollis? He’s supposed to be Mr. Romantic, a bit of a girly boy. Where did this side come from?
Curious I turn to look at him and I’m greeted with a smoldering, angry Hollis. His brows are cinched together, his blue eyes a darker, fiercer shade, and his chiseled jaw with the perfect amount of scruff is set tight, pulsing right below his ears.
“Yes?” I ask, holding back my gulp.
“What’s wrong?”
Well, besides the fact that you’re a liar?
I hold my tongue and notice the change of color in the light. Nodding toward the intersection, I say, “Go, it’s green.”
His jaw ticks as he says, “Fuck that,” and pulls the car off to the side, parking along the curb. He turns in his seat, his built frame taking up all the space in the front seat of the car.
Shit, he’s intimidating when he looks like this. It’s intimidating but it’s also turning me on. What is wrong with me?
“Tell me what’s wrong, or else we’re going to sit here all night, which I don’t mind. It’s not that far of a drive from my pool. I can easily sleep here and get ready for practice quickly.”
Knowing he’s telling the truth, I haven’t really seen him budge on anything, I give in. “You lied to me. I don’t like liars and I don’t put up with them.”
The strong set of his jaw and the furrow in his brow relaxes as he takes in my words. Quickly his anger turns into confusion and concern. “When did I lie to you?”
God, the next words coming out of my mouth are going to sound so childish. Which probably is the truth, butit matters to me. Keeping promises matter to me.
