When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys 2)

“That’s… a lot of information.”

“It’s my official resumé. I broke into the head doctor’s office in the sanitarium one night and read my file.”

I snorted a laugh despite myself. This guy… In that moment I sort of felt bad for anyone who didn’t know Holden and proud that I did. Even if he was going to fucking ruin me.

Holden felt me relent and his arrogant tone returned.

“What I’m trying to say is that I don’t mind being your dirty little secret. Emphasis on dirty.”

“You’d be okay with that?”

“Spare me your pity party. I’ll survive if you don’t want to hold my hand in the hallway or make me your Prom Queen. We can keep it casual.”

“Casual.”

“You’re leaving to play football after graduation, and I’m going to jump on a plane and get the hell out of Dodge. What else can there be?”

Nothing was the correct answer. There shouldn’t be anything between us. Not even this. But the sense memory of Holden’s hot mouth on mine and his body pressed against me came roaring in to make its case.

“Friends with benefits,” Holden said in my ear, his voice low and husky. “Secret friends with benefits. Isn’t that what you want?”

No. I want you. All of you.

“Well?”

“I’m on my way.”

I drove up to the huge white Craftsman and parked along the side. Holden had texted me to take the side entrance, so I pushed through the gate and stepped into an immaculate backyard. The grass was cut to military precision and the pool was clean and sparkling with several deck chairs surrounding it.

Just the sight of the pool gave me flashbacks from that first night together. I knocked at the guesthouse, feeling as if the windows in the main house were watching. Holden opened the door and my breath quickened.

Holy hell…

Fresh from the shower, his silver hair was damp and slicked back from his face. He wore a thick maroon bathrobe—untied—over striped pajama pants and a white V-neck shirt. It clung to his chest and torso, hinting at cut abs that tapered to a narrow waist.

A heated push of want and denial, of need and guilt, swept through me.

“Uh oh,” he said, reading my face, stepping aside to let me in. “Second thoughts? Didn’t we just talk about this?”

I ran a hand through my hair. “I know, but I’ve never…”

“Been alone with a guy?”

“Maybe,” I said. “And maybe don’t be a dick about it?”

“You’re right. Sorry. I keep forgetting I’m the slut in this relationship. Beer?”

“Sure.”

I heaved a steadying breath and shook out of my jacket while he went to the kitchen. Holden’s place was as big as most apartments. The front room had a couch, chair, and coffee table facing a small gas fireplace that was buffered on both sides by full bookshelves. The fire cast dancing shadows across the walls.

Under a window on the right sat a huge desk with a small desk lamp glowing over a journal and pen. The pen I’d given him for Christmas. On the left side of the fireplace wall was a small, open-concept kitchen with a hallway that presumably led to a bedroom and bathroom.

I stopped in front of his bookshelves. Classics shared space with modern stuff I’d never heard of, plus volumes of poetry, Greek plays, Latin dictionaries, and at least three encyclopedia sets.

“You’ve read all these?” I asked. “Even the encyclopedias?”

Holden approached with two IPAs and handed me one. He was standing close to me; I could feel the heat emanating from his skin. I took a deep pull of cold beer.