Beyond the Play (Out of Reach 3)

Grabbing my pens back out of my bag, I take a long, hefty drink of my pumpkin spice latte and get back to work. I lose myself in the business ethics assignment and clear all thoughts of Holden Bailey from my mind.

Two hours later, my assignment is complete, the next week’s are started, and my latte is long since gone. Feeling accomplished and knowing I have the rest of the afternoon to myself, I decide to head home and get caught up on laundry. It’s been piling up for over a week, and I can’t keep ignoring it. Well, I guess I could, but it’s bothering the hell out of me to know it’s piling up. I hate being behind. Not just on laundry, on anything.

After closing down my laptop, I slide my books, notebooks, and computer into my bag. I gather my pens and highlighters and shove them in the small side pocket, and move to stand, but before I do, a shadow falls over my table.

I don’t have to look up to know it’s him. I can feel it in the way my body tingles. It’s only ever happened around him. There’s no denying our chemistry is strong, but I need more than that. That’s what I have to keep reminding myself.

Squaring my shoulders, I look up and find him smiling down at me. “Hey, sweet pea.” He winks.

“Holden.” I try to remain unaffected, but when you’re on the receiving end of Holden Bailey winking at you and calling you a sweet nickname, only then can you understand the challenge.

“Planning on going back to college?” I ask.

“College was a good time.” He nods. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Well, if you need the table, I was just leaving.” I move to stand, but before I can lift my ass out of the booth, he’s placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Stay.” It’s whispered and not at all the cocky version of the man I’m used to.

I don’t know why I listen to him. Maybe because I don’t want to cause a scene. Maybe it’s the sincerity of his voice. Whatever the reason, I find myself relaxing back against the booth, letting my bag slip off my shoulder and tumble onto the seat beside me as Holden slides into the booth across from me.

“Here.” He pushes a drink across the table at me. “I asked the barista if she knew what you were drinking. I thought you might need a refill. You’ve been at it for a while now.”

“H-How do you know?”

“I’ve been here for a while—almost two hours. I saw how focused you were, and I didn’t want to interrupt you. I figured that was the last way to convince you to spend time with me.”

“You want me to spend time with you?” I ask stupidly. I need to shake out of this Holden daze I seem to be in. Instead, I keep my eyes locked on his and take a drink, knowing it’s going to be another pumpkin spice latte. Susie, the barista, is here a lot, and her memory is like a steel trap. It helps that I’m a creature of habit, and Cup of Joe is my local study of choice.

“You know I do,” he says, once I’ve set my drink back on the table. “I’ve been here every day for weeks. I’ve even sat in this same booth watching the door, hoping to see you.”

I open my mouth to reply, but my mouth is dry. I reach for my drink and take another small sip. “Why?” I finally manage to ask.

He smiles, and I’m glad I’m sitting. I’ve seen him smile on TV a million times, I’ve been on the receiving end at the club, but this one, while I’m sitting here across from him, completely sober, it’s potent.

“You seem to like running from me. I thought I would level the playing field a little and come to you. A little birdie told me this is your hangout.”

“Autumn.” I shake my head. “I study here a lot. It’s quiet, which is hard to believe as close as it is to campus, but I’m glad that it is. I can disappear into my own world and get my work done.”

“It was something to see it. To watch you get lost in what you were doing and block out everything around you. Although, it’s not safe.” His brow furrows. “You should be more aware of your surroundings, sweet pea.”

“This place is perfectly safe. I’ve been coming here since freshman year.”

“And you’re a-?”

“Senior.” I remind him.

He nods. “I didn’t mind college. Most of the work came easy for me.”

“What was your major?” I find myself asking. I’m aware that we’re actually having a conversation that has nothing to do with him convincing me to jump into bed with him.