If You Want Me (The Toronto Terror Series)

Hollis

Popping by with the fob in a few.

I stare at the message for an unreasonably long time before I muster the nerve to compose a reply. Do I want to see Hollis? Yes, and no. I absolutely want an eyeful of his hotness. And I miss him. Not just his smile, or how sweet he is with Postie and Malone when he can be so gruff with everyone else, or the way his face softens when he calls me Princess. Most of all, I miss how easy things used to be. I miss talking about hockey and school and classes and what I’m excited about after graduation.

And while part of me wants things to go back to the way they were, another part doesn’t. This new version is awkward and uncomfortable, but it feels like something else, too.

I can’t tell if it’s all in my head, though.

So, as much as I want a Hollis hit, I do not want to deal with all the feelings that accompany seeing him in three dimensions. And I’ve been avoiding him again since I met Scarlet. I was super weird about the whole thing. For the past two nights, I’ve declined dinner with my dad, citing group study meetings. He’s been understanding, but I still feel like shit about it. I’ve never been good at hiding things from him, but I wouldn’t even know how to be honest about my feelings right now.

I’m so up in my head that it takes forever to compose a message.

Aurora

You can leave it at my dad’s.

I hit send just as there’s a knock at the door.

Hollis

I’m here now, so…

My shoulders sag, and my stomach does several somersaults as I flip the safety latch and open the door. I hate the way my heart rate picks up at the sight of him standing in the hall, dressed in a navy suit, looking gorgeous. “Hey.” I smile, but it’s forced.

His gaze sweeps over me, pausing at my shirt before rising to my face, one brow arched. “Hey.”

Shit. I’m braless. I took it off as soon as I walked in the door because it was an underwire nightmare. I’m currently wearing a thin T-shirt. There’s a fifty-fifty chance my nipples are saluting him. I hold out a hand. “Any special instructions?”

He glances at my open palm but doesn’t make a move to drop his fob into it. “Can I come in for a second?”

“Sure.” I reluctantly step back. He smells so damn good. Like aftershave, his body wash, and the product he uses to tame his thick, dark, wavy hair. I can’t wait to huff his sweatshirts while he’s away. I seriously need help.

“Is Rix home?”

I shake my head. “She’s at Tristan’s. Probably getting railed one last time.” I cringe, because what the hell? “Sorry. I didn’t need to say that last part. It’s sort of a given.”

He nods, eyes moving around the apartment. His gaze stops on the couch. My bra is hanging over the arm. “Do you want to grab a hoodie or something?”

I cross my arms over my chest to hide my nipples, which are stupidly happy to see Hollis. “I’m fine.”

I’m not even remotely fine. It’s become glaringly obvious, at least to me, that I have a lot of feelings about Hollis. They are real and inconvenient and a giant pain in my ass. The worst part is how fixated I’ve been on that phrase he uttered about if things were different and his admission that he can’t stop dreaming about me. In my head, I’ve turned us into a thing. A couple. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Husband and wife, even. It’s embarrassing.

His jaw tics. “Is that what you wore to school today?”

I frown. “Yeah. Why?” I’m wearing a cropped T-shirt, baggy jeans, and until I walked through the door, a bra. I also layered a hoodie over the top, plus a jacket and toque and scarf because it’s winter, and I hate being frozen.

His nostrils flare. “It’s February. You could get frostbite.”

“What are you? Eighty years old? I’m in my apartment. Half of my classes feel like a trip to the Sahara and the other half feel like the inside of a freezer, so I layer accordingly—not that it’s any of your business what I wear and where I wear it, Daddy Hollis.” I’m enraged that the first thing he did was pull some kind of dad-style judgment card and make me feel like a little fucking girl. Which I am not. I’m a woman, and I won’t be treated otherwise.

A thrill shoots down my spine at the way his eyes darken and his lip curls.

“You’re a real button-pusher these days,” he grumbles.

“What does that even mean?” He’s the one passing judgment on my damn outfit. Like he has a right.

“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve been avoiding me again.”

“Why do you think that?” Oh yeah, I’m diving headfirst into Denial River.

“Because you’ve missed dinner the last two nights.”

Which means he’s been at my dad’s if he knows this. “I’ve been busy.” Avoiding you.

“You never miss dinners with your dad before an away series,” he points out.

I’m building walls as fast as I can, trying to keep my truth from spilling out. “There’s a first time for everything, I guess.”

He flips his keyring around his finger. “We need to talk about the kitty cams.”

“What about them?” Every time I think about them, I get a little sweaty.

“Are you okay with them, or do you want me to turn them off? Because I will. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable at all.”

“They’re fine.”

“Are you sure? I feel bad that I forgot to mention them last time.”

“I know now. And you don’t need my permission to keep tabs on your pets.” Although I guess now he can also keep tabs on me. That sends a little buzz up my spine.

“That’s not—” He sighs. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, and I can’t fix it if you won’t talk to me.”

“There’s nothing going on.” I hug myself tightly, as though it will keep the ache from building in my chest. It doesn’t work.

“Liar,” he fires back.

Being around him is like staring at my favorite cake through an unbreakable glass case. I miss talking to him and hanging out like we used to. I want him more than I realized. But I can’t have him. And Scarlet already has. And she wants him back. I can’t admit any of those things, though. I’d never survive the humiliation. “I’m not.”

“You are.” He paces the length of the kitchen before stopping in front of me. “Is this about Scarlet?”

“She seems pretty interested in shooting her shot again with the whole ‘he’s the one who got away’ comment.” I didn’t mean to say that aloud.

He stops pacing and turns to face me. I can’t look at him, though. Can’t see his expression because I’m afraid of how transparent I am.

“There’s nothing going on with me and Scarlet,” he says softly.

It’s exactly what I want to hear, but his reason for saying it isn’t what I want. I will my eyes to stay fixed on his polished black shoes, but they lift, drinking in the sight of him. He’s wearing the tie I gave him last year for his birthday. That’s our thing—I always get him a tie for his birthday, and he always gets me silly socks. This tie is both ridiculous and totally him. It features banana duck, who is also wearing a tie. Stupid seeds burst with tiny buds of hope, until my eyes reach his.

He gives me a pained look and motions between us. “But there’s nothing going on here, either.”

I see the lie on his face. That’s the worst part of this whole thing. We know each other so well. Maybe too well. His denial makes it feel like he reached inside my chest and ripped my heart right out of it. I’m confused, and hurt, and angry, because it’s abundantly clear that there is something going on here. Maybe he doesn’t want there to be, but I feel the weight of attraction every time we’re alone together lately. I felt it when I admitted what I’d done in his bed while he was away, and again last week when I checked on him after his concussion. And I feel it now.

“What did you mean when you said ‘if things were different’?”

His jaw tightens. “Don’t go there, Princess.”

I hate that he’s paired my favorite nickname with a command. If he’s going to accuse me of being a button-pusher, I’ll do my best to push his damn buttons. “You’re the one who said it. I’m just asking for clarification.”

He runs a rough hand through his hair. “Your dad is my best friend and teammate.”

Light shines on that ridiculous bud of hope. “What if he wasn’t?”

“You’re still in university.”

“For a few more months.” Arguing this makes me feel stupid and pathetic, but I want confirmation that I’m not alone here, that I’m not imagining this new tension between us.

“You’re twenty years old with everything ahead of you.” His voice is low, gritty, but the words sound rehearsed, like a mantra he keeps repeating.

“And yet you’re still dreaming about me.” The words are out before I can call them back.

His eyes flare. “How the fuck do you⁠—”

His expression shutters, and I know I’ve pushed the wrong button. I open my mouth to apologize, but he cuts me off. “I’m not playing this game with you. I’m sorry if you took what I said the wrong way, but whatever idea you have—” He motions between us. “—this isn’t happening. Ever. The sooner you come to terms with that, the easier it’ll be for both of us.”

The humiliation is swift and cutting. My chest feels like it’s caving in. I need to keep it together, but tears prick my eyes, and my chin trembles. “Got it.” My voice cracks.

“Please don’t cry.” He steps closer, and his hand appears in my peripheral vision and for the briefest moment his fingers connect with the edge of my jaw. I want to lean into the touch, but it’s for all the wrong reasons, especially with what he says next. “You have to know how impossible this is.”

“Don’t.” I knock his hand away. “Don’t placate me.”

He looks so torn, like this whole conversation pains him.

I can’t handle it. Not my own feelings, not his unwillingness to admit his exist, not legitimate reasons why this can’t and won’t work. “You’re right, there’s nothing. This is nothing.” I wave a dismissive hand toward him.

“Listen, that’s not⁠—”

“You should definitely give Scarlet another shot. It’s obvious she’s still interested.” If he’s with someone else, maybe I’ll stop wanting him. “You two make sense.” And they would. They’re evenly matched. Her world experience is far more extensive than mine. Still, saying it out loud makes me want to vomit. “Anyway, you should go.”

He stands there a few more long seconds before he sighs and drops the fob on the counter. “I care about you,” he says softly.

Hearing that makes it so much worse. He’s mollifying, letting me down easy. Telling me without saying the words that whatever my feelings are, his don’t match. It’s the rejection I always knew would be there, but never wanted to hear. “Please, just go.” I tip my head back and will my tears not to fall.

Thankfully, Rix bursts through the door. “Girl, I think Tristan legit just broke my vag—oh, hi, Hollis.”

“Hi, Rix.”

“Tris and Roman are waiting for you and Flip in the lobby.” She thumbs over her shoulder, her gaze moving between us.

“I’m on my way down now.” He turns to me. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Yup.” I force a smile.

Rix waits until he’s gone before she whispers, “That seemed tense.”

“I need ice cream. And girl time,” I blurt. And promptly burst into tears.

Rix wraps her arms around me. “What the hell just happened?”

“Nothing. I’m getting my period.”

“Don’t be a liar-face. You had your period last week.” She pulls back, and her expression is all empathy.

It just makes me cry harder.