Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends 2)

Now it looks bare.

Climb onto the couch and retrieve them, karate-chopping them in the center like I’ve seen my cleaning lady do. Fluff and chop, fluff and chop.

I had a long-ass day and walked in the door an hour ago, but Hollis had a shitty day, so I invited her over, thinking she might want to be fed and pampered a little.

I had to google “romantic things to do for a woman,” and some of the ideas were super lame, but a few of them I can manage on my own.

Draw her a bath. Check.

Light candles. Check.

Order flowers. Check.

Order take-out. Check.

Massage—that I can pull off with just my bear paws, one hundred percent into it. We all know where massages lead.

I chuckle to myself and stand back, eyeing the pillows I just rearranged for the tenth time, deciding I need to leave them the fuck alone and move on with my pathetic life.

Dinner arrives via delivery and I tip the dude a fifty because he recognizes me. If I don’t, he’s going to go online and tell everyone Buzz Wallace is a cheap bastard who only gave him five bucks while living in a giant house.

It’s not a mansion, or anything close to as fancy as what Noah Harding and Miranda are living in, but it’s a gorgeous place I renovated and remodeled with my bare hands. It’s not a gated community, so every now and again I get the odd passerby who drives slow past the house. Or a brave teenager who knocks on the door to meet me. Or a bored, brazen housewife who wants to try her luck at fucking me.

I won’t lie—there was a time I was down for that. I was bored and lonely, but now…

I’m not.

I have Hollis.

I have her, I know it—and I plan to keep her, and not in an ‘I’m going to make a lamp out of your skin’ kind of way.

The kitchen still needs some cleaning up and I transfer the take-out to glass bowls with lids; it’s Asian fusion and steaming hot. I hope she likes it. I ordered a shit ton, not knowing what her favorites would be but wanting to learn what they are.

I want to learn everything about her, she’s so damn adorable.

The look on her face when she saw me at the police station today was everything. Confusion, obviously—but also delight. Joy? Weird how someone can look visibly relieved. Her shoulders sagged when I touched her, wrapped my arms around her, and squeezed, something she’s never done.

I busy myself by double-checking the bathroom and pulling the quilt taut on my bed. It’s a big bed—a California King and extra long because I’m tall—but I don’t expect us to end up there.

Fine.

I’m hoping we will, but I’m not expecting it.

Pop my nose into the bathroom again and check on the bathwater. It flows from the ceiling—totally impractical, but super cool, I had to have it when I was shopping for houses. Had to. It’s so dumb, but something I thought kids would like.

My kids.

Three would be good. Or five. However many, getting cracking on a family would be swell.

Because I’m feeling extra romantic, I had candles delivered from Target through an app, and I start lighting them one by one, expecting Hollis to ring my doorbell any second now. No sense in waiting, as I intend for her to slip right into the bath.

Shit.

What if she thinks it’s bizarre instead of romantic that I want her to relax in the tub? What if she thinks I’m a pervert and just trying to get her naked? It’s not like I’m going to climb in with her, but there’s a nice ledge I could sit on so we can talk while she soaks. My plan is to pour a little bit of my heart out to her; the bubble bath seems like the perfect spot to listen from.

Again…is that weird?

The doorbell chimes as I light the last white candle. Guess I’m about to find out…

“Here goes nothing,” I say to no one, since I live alone.

Forever Alone, a new men’s fragrance, by Tripp Wallace.

That joke about my brother makes me laugh, and I’m chuckling when I make it to the front door, pulling it open with a smile. Take in a quick breath, because wow, is Hollis beautiful.

“Hi.” She’s standing on the stoop in a little floral dress and flip-flops, casual but feminine, comfortable, but put together. “I brought you these.”

She hands me a plate of chocolate chip cookies that still feel warm, and I hold them to my nose, sniffing. “Damn these smell almost as good as you.”

Can’t wait to eat them. And her.

I lean down when she steps up and into the house, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, and damn if she doesn’t surprise me by puckering her mouth for a kiss on the lips.