Page 55 of Holding Hope

“I asked what the queer dating scene is like out here,” she repeated. “I know this is the South, but there has to be at least a few girls here who wouldn’t mind making out a little.”

There was a strange desperation in her voice—like she needed the answer.

I knew the answer. I knew every queer girl in town.

Hannah Stetson—older, sweet, had tried to take me out a few times.

Honey Atkins—pretty, shy, trapped under her mother’s thumb.

A handful of others who stayed hidden until they could escape this place.

I shrugged, coughing to hide my annoyance. Why was she asking this? Here? Now?

“I didn’t know you were interested in country girls,” I said lightly. “I assumed we could never live up to the promiscuity and sensuality of California girls.”

Avalon shrugged, scanning the crowd. She was looking for someone. “Someone told me I need to find an alternative way to let out some pent-up frustration. And why not do that by doing something I enjoy?”

I snorted, lifting my sparkling water. “A therapist told you that? I didn’t know you were in therapy.”

Avalon laughed, nose scrunching adorably. “Jonas is not my therapist. He’s probably the furthest thing from that. He’s my manager who turned into someone I couldn’t live without, I guess.”

I blinked. “So he’s not your therapist, but you took his advice anyway? Do you think that’s what you really need?”

“I know what I need,” she said softly, “and I’m ready to admit that when you are, Clarke.”

Her voice held no sarcasm. No teasing. Just truth.

The firmness in her tone sent shivers crawling down my spine.

The butterflies in my stomach rioted.

No. No. No. Don’t go there, Clarke. She doesn’t mean it.

But what if she did?

What then?

You had me at hi.

My mind flashed back to our texts. Was I foolish to think there was something deeper beneath her sarcasm?

“I think… there are several here, if you look hard enough.”

I chose my words carefully, trying not to sound like I was throwing myself at her. Because I wasn’t.

But what if…

If I threw myself at Avalon, would she catch me?

Or would I wake up alone again?

Something flickered in her eyes—disappointment? Or was I imagining it?

“Okay,” she said quietly. “I think I’ll do just that.”

She looked like she wanted to say more. Like she wanted me to say more. But neither of us did.

After a moment, she finished her drink, leaving a perfect red stain on the rim.